It is Brendas birthday today and it was Emilys Bday yesterday! I have been giving Brenda advice to get through some hard stuff by telling her to read Francesca Lia Block. If you haven't read or heard of her go buy all her books now, starting with Dangerous Angels. Here are some beautiful writings of hers, dedicated to my beautiful, best friends, Brenda and Emily! Emily and I have roots in Dangerous Angels, enjoy! Thanks Francesca for the inspirational advice, lovely escape.
"Just like any woman,...we weave our stories out of our bodies. Some of us through our children, or our art; some do it just by living. It's all the same."
"Any love that is love is right."
"What sexual preference do you hope she has?” “Happiness.” Isnt that cool?"
"Sometimes you fall, spinning through space, grasping for the things that keep you on this earth. Sometimes you catch them. They can be the hands of the people you love. They can be your pets- pups with funny names, cats with ferocious old souls. The thing that keeps you here can be your art. It can be things you have collected and invested with a certain sense of meaning. A flowered, buckled treasure chest of secrets. Shoes that make you taller and, therefore, closer to the heavens. A suit that belonged to your fairy godmother. A dress that makes you feel a little like the Goddess herself.
Sometimes you keep falling; you don't catch anything.
Sometimes you fall, spinning through space, grasping for the things that keep you here. Sometimes you catch them. Sometimes you don't.
Sometimes they catch you."
"But be careful; sand is already broken but glass breaks. The shoes are for dancing, not running away."
"Our eyelashes brushed like they would weave together by themselves, turning us into one wild thing. I say, “I think I missed you before I met you even."
"Nothing happened. And everything did. Your whole life you can be told something is wrong and so you believe it. Why should you question it? But then slowly seeds are planted inside of you, one by one, by a touch or a look or a day skateboarding in a park, and they start to burst out of old hulls shells and they start to sprout. And pretty soon there are so many of them. They are named Love and Trust and Kindness and Joy and Desire and Wonder and Spirit and Soulmate. They grow into a garden so dense and thick that it starts to invade your brain where the old things you were once told are dying. "
"Pain can give you sight or make you blind."
"The wishes might not come true the way you think they will, not everything will be perfect, but love will come because it always does, because why else would it exist and it will make everything hurt a little less. You just have to believe in yourself."
"...choose to believe in your own myth
your own glamour
your own spell
a young woman who does this
(even if she is just pretending)
"What shall we do, all of us? All of us oassionate girls who fear crushing the boys we love with our mouths like caverns of teeth, our mushrooming brains, our watermelon hearts?"
"I'll be inside the one who holds you. And then I won't be. "
"Maybe i would become a mermaid... i would live in the swirling blue-green currents, doing exotic underwater dances for the fish, kissed by sea anemones, caressed by seaweed shawls. I would have a doliphin friend. He would have merry eyes and thick flesh of a god. My fingernails would be tiny shells and my skin would be like jade with light shining through it I would never have to come back up
"Why was fabulousness important? The world was a scary, sad place and adornment was one of the only ways she knew to make herself and the people around her forget their troubles. That was why she had opened her store almost five years ago. Everyone who entered the little square white house with miniature Corinthian columns, cherub statues, and French windows seemed to leave carrying armloads of newly handmade and well spruced-up recycled vintage clothing, humming sixties girl-group songs, seventies glam and punk, eighties New Wave one-hit wonders, or nineties grunge, doing silly dances, and not caring what anyone thought.
Weetzie loved the old dresses she found and sold, because they had their own secret histories. She always wondered where, when, and how they had been worn. What they had seen. Old dresses were like old ladies."
Pictures that remind me of Blocks writing:
Yvan Rodic, Zippora Seven TFS, Y. Muratovich TFS, XVII, off on road, Girl in grass flickr, W mag 1999, V suicides, Tina Luther, Tamburic, Tatiana Mikhina, Tanga, Soundless drop, metin Pemiralay