This strip is part of a small zine I'm hoping to print myself in the next few weeks. This will be the interior of a gate fold book. And yes, it's more to do with relationships...one in particular. Some of the images are not self-explanatory, but I'm going to work that into the pages before, so don't worry.
Well anyhow, I'm going to New York this weekend to visit la bella Nonna and see Tosca at the Met, in what has become our yearly tradition (this is our third year). Tosca is my grandmother's favorite opera, and I'm interested as ever to see what happens, and how this love story won't work out and how all of these characters will die miserable, inevitable, poetic deaths. I mean, I've been through every last hacking cough of La Boheme, and the live entombment of Aida, along with countless others, but Tosca, Tosca seems like drama-rama. I need some serious power lipstick, hello Nars, shade AMAZON!
I also found this creepy and kind of cool animation to "E Lucevan Le Stelle" (the smash-hit from the score--I've been jamming to it on my iPod as part of the Ultimate Puccini collection I downloaded). I'm basically super-excited. [And I know not everybody feels this way about the opera, but just try to think about some really big treat you like, and, well that's how I feel right now.] In any case, and even if you have to press mute, I hope in some way you like this video. Enjoy!
Slow writing today, a lot going through my head. Read between the lines.
I understand that sometimes people need another person to fill some kind of lack.
Well it isn't always fun when you are the space filler, that person, who is only needed, wanted in
I usually know when this is happening, and I let it happen because I like being around people who need a lean-to. But it's always with this
wholly benevolent, ultimately melancholy understanding that I am just what is needed rather than one who's needed.
Yesterday I posted a comment on facebook that I wished I was fifty.
I don't wish I were fifty.
But sometimes I get frustrated with all of the politics of figuring shit out when you're young. Tedious.
Or being the casualty of somebody else's process of figuring things out for themselves. Brutal.
I am happy to be young, eating peeps for breakfast, going out at night, wearing mini-skirts and sneakers, complaining about things like leg hair. And the newness of everything; the endless possibility.
But, you know, I've never felt like I fit in much with people my age. Either that or I have a natural propensity to feel lonely, even when there're people around me who are present, who care, whose insight I trust, need.
Despite this, how lucky I must be. I'm the girl at the other end of the lunch table, eating alone, thinking, doodling, daydreaming. Wondering if or when home will be.