There once was this girl I knew, who called herself star, but really was a Mary.
She had kitten eyes and long dusty colored hair, and a tight sweet smelling, pussy (sorry mom) she was the kind of raver girl that always got parodied in media based comedy, and was amused by it rather than offend “It’s not… quite right” she would say in a regal way.
I loved the way her chin looked when she did that.
She lives in a house that is a tangible dream, a five bed-roomed-detached-house, with real fireplace and discreet distance from the road. But although that statement sounds a little bull-shitty, the monetary bit, the quality of her house isn’t the ‘tangible dream’ bit.
When you first walk in, your are greeted by a large, well lit hallway, with lanterns and a censer of incense that when breathed in great amounts blows your fucking head off! The stairway going upstairs…was on the right and was of natural wood, too cherry in tone to be cheap pine.
The Kitchen was dead ahead and was stupidly big (My favorite dinner still, is fried egg and chips, bread and butter and a cuppa) It was painted and tiled in a pine colored green with a dark stained wood, would have been dark in there, if not for a window wall, that wall scared me when I was fucked, I kept on imagining myself staggering drunk through the thing, even though it is thick as fuck.
The living room had an over hang that was meant to ‘define’ where the dining room was and she had color graded the room in autumnal colors, and the furniture was rick-rack and matching at the same time.
Everywhere there are sharis and wall hangings, posters in all sizes of atoms up close and human and animal skeletons and constellations, phrenology, astrology, even the ceilings had framed poster on it each and every picture frame was precisely and mathematically placed, each square inch was calculated, poster content, color and type! and each picture on the wall beneath those, was mapped into the theme and the link in subject to those upon the ceiling, then out of the room, they were all precisely branched like the tree of knowledge, (I have never seem anyone else in my life sparkle this way at something I say, to brighten up the way she did, when I ventured this comment) The whole entire house has the same shelf running around it and even has what she calls ‘struts’ so that the fucking thing can go upstairs and around the house up there, and the books upon it, all in size and color order, in the order that I see numbers in color! (Well one or two were off).
Basically if my Synaesthesic brain had off had lips, they would have dribbled in ordered desire! Her house was like that because years of working as a graphic artist from home and speeding and partying for days on end and obsessive collecting and arranging and remapping.
Ahhh! My speed freak girl and I.