Trimethylxanthine and the delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn

I am in love.
Yes, Love like nothing I will ever experience. True love, like my marriage to the stars. Unrequited, pure, wholesome, ever-lasting love!

11:11 make a wish

But to my love... it is known that I have had a crush on Oscar Wilde since I was fifteen. I even recall vividly, sitting at fence with the Herp Society, Kraken entwined in my fingers, passing the time by day dreaming. My mind was not filled with the faces of handsome young actors. Not Orlando Bloom, or Jake Gyllenhaal... but images of myself wearing high collared gowns, gawdy hats, laced heeled shoes, and long cigarettes. Of course, I was in the company of Mr. Wilde, and as we smoked our long cigarettes, we spoke of frivilous matters... but I knew I fascinated him. In our banter of light topics, we grew into deep societal discussions, debates, disagreements and consent. We laughed heartily...

Such were the fantasies of 15 year old Lily Morris.

I haven't come far from that... and this evening, as I sat down with the Portrait of Dorian Gray times 2, I absorbed each word individually... slowly... sweet, Sweet ambrosia of the mind.

I am not reading to get through it to say I did this time. I am reading it to get into the soul. Like the artist puts himself into the canvas, the writer to the script, and I, as the reader am responsible for soaking in each bit of text and finding the blood within it... transfusing it into myself, and becoming not just Lily Morris, but a depository for the emotions of the past.

As a lover of Oscar Wilde, my duty is to preserve. ... and some day, when Fahrenheit 451 goes down, it will be I, sitting by the riverside, reciting passages of the Too resplendent sun, who hurries the pallid and reluctant moon, back to her cave, 'ere she hath won, a single ballad of the nightengale.

Speaking those words aloud, just as he wrote them... just as he might have spoken them... a century ago.

My body is shaking after that first chapter... but I also realize that that could be accounted for by the caffiene in my small, sensitive system.

I drank a Mountain Dew after 8. That pretty much means that any attempts at sleep will be futile... and who would WANT to sleep when you've got energy, Dorian Gray, and a pulsing artistic flow?

Everything that I need to get done will get done... and I even plan on going back to my room tonight and making at least one art card with the box of pencils my Mom gave me. I am thinking that I will use my sketch of Galaxy that I did last summer... before she died. :( ... BUT HOW COULD I SELL THAT?! It will hold too much of my self! My dear, dear rabbit... the plump, single baby with chocolate spots... Bastard child of Celestial Beauty and a dastardly mini rex buck... Rest In Peace Morris's Galaxy...

But I digress.

Home was beautiful, and I am glad I went, and I am equally glad that I have again returned to my College. Yes yes yes.