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Hollow-Holler

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2004-03-05 - 11:13 p.m.

Wearing an ice blue satin formal from the late 80's, metallic gold slippers upon my feet. I just put shiny rose gloss on my lips, and it wasn't until after I was done that I realized that I was gotten up and fancy for what? For nothing. I have no intentions of leaving this house for days. I have black velvet flowers in my hair, and if I truly am to leave this house, I'm not doing so without my newest most precious familiar of a patchwork quilt. It's about my shoulders as I say. Something happened when this quilt was conceived, the patches were drawn from all the dresses i've owned and'll own. The dandy who made it so many years ago will probably attend my funeral, as I think that she and I are quilt mates. But what if the oldest man, made her? Than he and I will marry. These are my feelings on the quilt. They are strong and probably fleeting, pretty soon I will probably be sleeping and she will be sleeping on top of me, and neither of us will even be aware of the other's presence. You know, like an old married couple. Soon enough she'll probably just be a blankin, and i'll just be some old 'user'. But for now, I feel like it might wrap and heave like the most loving of boa constricters, a tight little affirming nuzzle.

And now later, I am stepping back from the quilt buzz, and I am realizing that I do this sometimes, assign roles to inanimate objects. I think that it is because it is so easy for me to breathe myself into them, and interact with and control the object and derive just what I am wanting, because essentially it is just, me. Just myself poured into a quilt trying to offer myself something solid. This is such a depressing realization. So much less magical. My whimsy is tapped, and I am a spent woman, at the moment. I cut the high lace neck off of the aforementioned dress, attached some elastic and made it into a head band dressing. Now, I look like a Bride. Marrying a quilt, I am.

Quilting bee's knees