Even if I went with you, I'm not the girl you think I am
I'm not going to match you
cause I'll lose my voice completely
I'm not going to watch you because I'm not the one that's crazy.
I currently a ball of frustration wrapped in a coat of anger flavoured..something. It's purely because I can find the fucking words or formulate a plot. I have an accordion player and a street prefromer who love one another painfully. My street performer is a living statue who is greatly influenced by Amanda Palmers 8ft bride. In my mind my street performer is a bride who hands out flowers, and maybe even dances with her patrons. I'm not sure yet. I know that she has long matted brown hair and freckles speckled across her face. She has bright green eyes and a strange pallid yet olive complextion. She's from Tuscany and moved to Florence to chase a bohemian dream. She never really had friends never bothered to give her heart to anyone because she was to beautiful and exotic.
My accordion player is a young man who is lean and perhaps almost Skeletal. He wears white face pain that resembles a mime, but has vivid rouge cheeks and long think eyelashes like a woman would. He wears a top hat and a coat with tails, and he wears white gloves with gold buttons on them. His hair is slicked back but very long, with one white stripe running through it. Underneath all of the make up he has very olive skin tone that's incongruous to the victorian theme he's got going on. No one knows where he is from, for he doesn't speak much. He plays his accordion on the same square everyday, rain or shine, playing because he loves the music so much. One day he is affronted by these glowing green eyes behind a white mask. An 8ft woman is posing in a wedding dress across the pavement from him. He falls in love with her immediatly.
I already know something possibly unpleasent is going to happen to my accordion player.
I'm not yet sure whether that unpleasent thing is death. It could be something worse (to me), he could give up on his art and his heart could break for the girl that he couldn't attain. Maybe he'd go somewhere else, or even be discovered?
Are my young couple even going to converse in this little story of mine? Is it an unrequited love?
What is going to change the dynamic? Could a totalitarian Government suddenly fuck up Italy?
I DON'T KNOW WHERE TO GO WITH THIS.
But I know I love my woman and man too much to abandone them without a real beginning or end.
I hate deadlines.
I also hate really inconvienant people deciding they want to be in my life again. It's thrown my creative juices right out of whack.
"No one gets it, no one gets it
You're on a low, your honour
can't you protect us?
Who needs love when there's law and order
Who needs love when there's Southern Comfort
Who needs love when the sandwhiches are wicked and they know you at the Mac Store!"
Oh, oh, oh, someday, someday...
Amanda, you're giving me a fairytale.
She's so talented. She wouldn't let a twatbag uninspire her. She can write the most beautiful songs and be so wonderful and oh...
If I can't sort out what I want to do about my real life how can I possibly write out a life for my two lovelorn characters?
I need help with this!