Where do you see yourself in two years?
Alone. Living in New Orleans in a visually stunning apartment with one of those lovely wrought iron wrap around porches. The kind that the drunken frat boys dangled beads off of as a suggestion and a reward a year ago when I was being drawn through the streets of the French Quarter. My only flat mates being Bunny and a short haired all white forever kitten named Lux. I'd live by myself and for myself. I imagine setting water on to boil and packing a bowl while I wait. My cooking always punctuated by smokey inhales as I'd stand in the kitchen in some oversized white button down and lacy black panties keeping watch to make sure my precious tortellini didn't boil over. My image always topped off by whatever color adorned my head for that week. The dirty dishes could comfortably rot in the sink while I'd go about my day working in some off beat salon creating an army of rainbow colored children with aesthetically jarring haircuts. My surroundings would only be a back drop; no close friends. My life would be a permanent vignette. I'd live in a calm sort of bliss going about my own life without having to take into account others needs. I could peruse Bourbon Street like some moderately amusing book in the store, never actually engaging in the drunken encounters taking place there. My quiet observation would fuel pages and pages of stories that would flutter across the floor every night as cocaine induced mania feverishly scrawled it's words. From time to time I'd wander into a book store to see some novel I'd written late one night bound and bar-coded on the shelf. My macabre titles starring at me from glossy covers and my face splayed across the back. Occasionally I'd be recognized and some superficial talk of themes and moods and adjectives would be exchanged. Already assumed connections made by strangers. I don't want to be exiled or hated, just admired from afar. Occasionally a celebrity; appearing in movies for flickering moments of visual bliss. Never actually having my own personality but trying out those of each new character I'd prepare for. I'd be reckless but loveable; capable of staying young forever because of the air of celebrity status. Living by no rules but my own and partying, hard. I'd be content with answering to no one and being a ghost to all. I see words like model, actress, author, hair dresser, investigative journalist, shrink, and God float through my dreams. I want to be beautiful, strung out, worshiped, talented, but most of all; loved.
Life would be calm anarchy. Engaging simplicity.