Saturday, December 26, 2009
Andrei e-mailed another photograph of me from that day the count came to visit us.
Andrei's in love with his camera. says he's gonna be the new Steven Meisel. says I'm to be his muse. says he's gonna show the world true beauty.
"Aurora, you're the star of every moment," he purrs against my skin with the camera two inches from my chest, making his best Andy Warhol imitation.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
She knows I can't play with an audience. She knows - still she keeps sending the maid to come and get me. "All those piano lessons, Aurora, all those expensive piano lessons - and for what?" she said the last time the Rovanows came over for lunch.
"You should be grateful - do you even realize how much you have?" says my mother, the materialist, but she keeps forgetting that all I ever wanted was to learn how to play the guitar, and that she kept refusing, saying that the guitar certainly wasn't something nice and well-behaved girls wasted their time on.
Merry Christmas everyone
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
child, you're strange, whispers the baroness's eyes across the dinner table, but I'd rather be strange than forever ordinary.
the evening progresses; I sit immobile as my sisters charm the rest of our guests.
Monday, December 7, 2009
do you see the sun, Andrei?
invitation after invitation on Facebook (add me darlings), but I hate clubs. bodies filled with alcohol; minds as empty as the shot glasses in front of them. thinking they understand life (still no one noticed the lost boy in the corner). we're at the Roosevelt and Hollywood never smelled more sour. money being tossed like the gravel found in your shoe.
the clock is coming to its end. Andrei takes my hand, leads me towards the back door.
we exit gracefully, forever trapped in a hiphop world.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
father's back from Berlin. sister no. 2, the thin one, telling stories about her magnificent life while I watch quiet, my head bandaged. she'll be attending Yale next year. mother's proud; father's happy everything's going so well in our family.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
supposed to take over her family's business (an only child due to sudden sterility). romanian aristocracy in its most austere form; they never bothered to get to know her.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
there are bite marks on your thighs, the nurse said slowly, eyeing me carefully. mother looks away, ashamed.
Friday, November 27, 2009
I know it all; how he'd piss all over Jewish corpses; how he'd shoot them right between the eyes.
suddenly an Arado bomber plane flies across the troubled skies outside our classroom windows and below it Hitler has gathered his cold army - they salute him. years later they'll swear never to do it again, but have no idea history will always come to repeat itself.
the Arado crashes on the school yard. I realize it's just a car backfiring, but it's too late; I'm already shaking. the epilepsy's back. I'm on the floor, head on the threshold with blood creating a morbid halo. I'm shaking. twenty-nine pair of young eyes watch me carefully. they've paid for a freak show and they'll expect to see the star.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
the maids have opened all sixty-seven windows of our house in order to get rid of the dusty smell mother detected the other day. beating the persian carpets and polishing the antique wase in the dining room.
the count's coming to visit, all the way from Bucharest. not even grandfather would get this much attention.
Andrei and I hide in the basement. he snaps my picture as I sing summertime to him.
Monday, November 23, 2009
lying in bed, below my windows.
memories from a long gone Romania, flickering like candles before my eyes; suddenly I'm five years old and falling down grandfather's three story Victorian house all over again. I'd thought I could fly -I still do sometimes. nineteen stitches after landing on the garden rake; the gardener was fired the next day.
scar tissues as thick as the glass my windows consist of; Catalena's sweet lips taste them as the short hand of the clock reaches its end. it looks fatigued as I glance at it through the moonlight. -will it ever get to rest?
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Monday, November 16, 2009
I'm sorry for being such a terrible blogger. Andrei is currently seated in front of me, listening to a song I wrote about the soldiers in Iraq. I've created a myspace -will share it with you as soon as my body's calmed down. this epilepsy is taking its toll on me.
Monday, November 9, 2009
the school uniform itch. Grigore drives me to Andrei instead and I give him the afternoon off to not tell my mother.
education is not for us, we decide when we realize that after all of this schooling, the world's still unlearned.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
it's Sunday and time evaporates quickly through the pores of my skin.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Monday, October 26, 2009
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
calling, "Aurora! Aurora!"
what now? what this time? they're thinking as I climb out my window and into the day.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Thursday, October 8, 2009
two bottles of Amarone and 33 cigarette-ends on the bathroom floor later I realize that there's not much more to the world than these two.
he soaps her breasts - they're dotted with goose bumps.
I snap a picture.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
my first year here in Hollywood:
eight years old, trying to run away back to Romania. away. away from stiff families - away from a house full of maids.
but our driver finds my tiny body wandering on Sunset Blvd the next day and brings me back home.
my sisters looked pale; mother got another wrinkle ; only the maids cried.
give it some time, kiddo, said my father. you'll love it here.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Andrei's hard body,
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Thursday, October 1, 2009
maybe I should get a myspace-account and put up some songs, I'm not sure.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
life is a dance, says Andrei for the seventh time since last night, and orders me another glass of Bellini.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
two thin sisters in the pool. mother loves them while I'm the disappointment of the family.
synchronized swimming lessons early this morning - I observe from my balcony. an oppressive hangover thudding against my temples.
they're beautiful, and I'm thinking, maybe beauty never really was waisted on the young ones after all, but on the wrong ones instead.
Friday, September 25, 2009
we'll return the painting within time, says Catalena,
Thursday, September 24, 2009
and I figure that,
maybe I should begin documenting this unfortunate existence of mine.