Begging for a lift

She was crying now, frightened and helpless, hot tears pouring down her face.
Why am I doing this?
There was no one to blame. She'd stopped blaming Paddy.
So why am I doing this? I don't want to.

-This Charming Man by Marian Keyes

So the woman this is about is an alcoholic, but these sentences just hit me so hard I had to put them here.

Innocence
Sunk the glow and drowned in covers
Send for all your absent lovers things

Sheepish wolves
Looking lived-in, eating buttons
Wink, just don't put your teeth on me

(Go on)

Accidents
Let the evening in the back door
Filled the room
Ceiling to the floor

Beat backbones
Grazed the poem and made it strange
I wasn't born to be a skeleton

http://www.plyrics.com/lyrics/panicatthedisco/shesahandsomewoman.html

You're not pretty enough
You're not skinny enough
You're not healthy enough
You're not shaking at our touch

You're not lonely enough
You're not holy enough
You're not saying too much
About what you think we want
( So shock me... )

Isaac Mizrahi Live Launch Party
They look really nice here.






Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen - Out in NYC, November 4th


Unsweetined Book Scans
Rare and Never Before Seen pictures from Jodie Sweetin's book. I love the one from the Full House reunion dinner.

more

the rest are here at shadowed_icons

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I cannot find the voice for you,
Something left unsaid, impossible
In your presence, culture-bound to vogue,
The central attraction to runway values,
The tights and blouse that cling
To contours of bone, sharp ridges
Of hips, the pubic mound, are Christian Dior.
The pouty mouth dry from crystal-meth,
What you take in your defense,
A charmed life of sea-kelp and spritzers
Through palpy lips, vulnerable
Vortex of sex, beauty, and early death.

You bring your papers to my desk
With eyes moody, promiscuous
And leave with an endless line of boys
To be controlled, spent, then sent away
In your search for the perfect cure
Which somehow always returns to pain.
The golden image of the golden girl
With skin cool, marmoreal, you turn
To say, "I'm sorry," once again.

The black hollow eyes of marble Greeks
Through which the world is said to stare
Are yours, product of a consumer culture,
First to be consumed,
Your eyes grow dark, you descend
Past anything that would have led
To self-discovery, flesh following flesh.

I cannot speak for you.
You will remain your wish,
Something left unsaid,
Obsessive image, in five years
At the outside by physicians' count
Those studio teeth will calcify
Hard as stone—the heart gone—
And I will insist I have some voice
In matter, asking
For what you would only scorn,
Some small honor grieving still.

from the Journal of the American Medical Association (June 11, 2003)