12 June 2012
This, the first letter is written by Diane that wasn't responded, before she became the girl living on the roof of the restaurant she priorly was the chef of;
'I wore that tight black dress of mine today, and my gothic mary-janes, was feeling very very confident.. darlin'. I felt as though people saw me as I don't know a mistress, a domme and thought those unapproving looks were because of that. So I didn't care, I felt even more confident. But people.. Oh well, I feel the need to explain the whole thing, not only highlights.. I went to La Senza, bought some pretty underwear, y'know how I feel about bras and those transparent prostitute wear; bras are chains and well that's what street whores should wear to sell their bodies, 'cause they don't have a personality to offer instead. And well the salesgirl checked me out and after I picked those panties from the shelves you know what she asked me? Do I want matching nightdresses? They're not fucking nightdresses, they're dolled up price tags, my body is not for sale, for any costs; compliments, love, it doesn't have to be money. My body is sacred, I rule it. As Manson says; 'I won't lay down on the floor like I'm the whore in your head'. I don't understand why women accept the claim that their bodies are countries that are open to invasion. If my body is a country; only you are invited, because they don't understand, you don't want to rule this country, you just want to stay with me and I want to show you around, take you on journeys. When people say 'you belong to me' what they mean is 'your body is mine; I can do whatever I want to it' and if they're female they mean; 'you can screw only me; only I can get wasted under your muscly monstrous body' Fuck!? This makes me wanna fucking purge! And this makes me scared darlin'. That salesgirl assuming I'm one of them bodies for sale.. this makes me scared. So you need to hurry up, so we can protect each other from this ugly world.'
And this second one; I've found it on the table, don't know who wrote it, don't know how is it possible as I live alone..
'I don't know if you are him; or if he is you, but there's this guy that looks just like you who is *always* with me; he's not really here and no one else can actually see him; unless I tell them about him. I talk with him; about baking, while baking.. About how much I love him; when we're alone(but again I'm always alone). When we're in the kitchen-he likes helping me and I tell him to cream the butter and sugar together, add eggs; one at a time.. When mom comes home; he's always shy and silent, but he tells me beautiful things when we're alone. When I'm taking off my clothes; he unzips my dress; sometimes he tells me; 'Why are you trying to put your already tiny body in tiny measures?' but he mostly says 'How can you breath in it?' and I get a bit mad but not like I would, to other people saying something likely.. When I smoke, he lights my cigarette and when I walk my dog, he walks with us and we chat while my pup is running in the grass. He sings his songs only for me; and I cook&bake for him.. We're sitting on this bridge now, I'm happy and *light*, I will just open my arms and float like a bird now..'
The Beginning/The End • Opuss № I