I could tell you about the dress, how I found it at a pop-up in Chelsea, and that it’s made by a reclusive South Korean designer I can’t find on the internet. I could wax poetic about tea, though I only drink herbal. And of course I could tell you much about the photographer, Orlando Economos, a dear friend I admire for his talent and personality alike.
But the memory of this day with all of its floral smells and city smells calls for poetry rather than prose. Its fantasy yearns for freedom. And I think the photographs speak for themselves. Fall with me, down the rabbit hole…
“Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast!”
Third, that the earth is a hexagon and fourth, that book characters come to life when we sleep at night.
Fifth? If you want it then it’s good for you and six– some perfect things do last.
Forever is a first kiss, a burnt thumb, and a stubbed toe. But it’s also a long walk, a good year, and a strange dream.
Forever feels long when there’s nothing to do, and short when there’s everything to say.
Madness: senseless folly
1. Acting in a self-destructive manner, or
2. Facing someone in an elevator to defy cultural norms, or
3. Struggling to find happiness in the darkness, or
4. Believing in things that aren’t real, for joy, or comfort, or
5. Pure surrealism.
“I believe in the future resolution of these two states, dream and reality, which are seemingly so contradictory, into a kind of absolute reality, a surreality, if one may so speak.” –André Breton
6. All Of The Above.
* * *
We’re all mad here.