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claudia, oil on canvas 11"×14"

#claudiaaaaaa #the picture is so blurry but idk how to fix it #i tried i really tried #iwtv #interview with the vampire #claudia iwtv #claudia #<333333 #my art #oil paint #oil painting

i hold onto it like a feather or more like a four-leaf clover. at some point, it's going to happen. at some point, we will all get the news of his passing.

we play prophet, my brother and i, discussing the point endlessly. he says that if it happens at night, we probably won't hear for a few days while they scramble; a governmental weekend at bernie's. i say i want it to happen live on camera; my brother says, chuckling, that's dark. oh well, it's dark, then - suddenly now we have to believe in the sanctity of life, just because he's an old white man?

it's going to happen. i keep it like a lozenge or a warm cup of tea. i like to imagine where i'll be. will i be mid-dinner or on a walk with my dog or at work. i'll have to take a few sick days, immediately. maybe i'll be on a date with my pretty girl, and we'll have to pause the dinner to run to the car, consummate dessert. i imagine how i'll find out - some part of me kind of wants it to be through that one destiel meme, or thousands of crabs dancing. maybe i'll be in a crowded room: and for once, a newsreel push notification goes off, and every person starts laughing.

my friends and i invent possibilities. what will we do, in those blissful few hours after? surely we should get a tattoo of the day and the very minute, that's got to be a new kind of angel number. or maybe we should fill the house entirely with bubbles, walk around in lingerie; surely we should bring our instruments and voices onto the streets. in every version of the future, we all mention dancing, because yes, haphazard and wild and free, we are going to be dancing, kicking up our heels and howling. it will be beautiful, we keep saying, the joy will be so wild; the omnipresence of it almost cloying.

it's going to happen, i hold onto it like a stone fruit or a seedling. i make promises to those around me: if you ever get two calls in a row from me, it's because somebody is dying. or it's because the person that died is that somebody. we pinky-promise: as soon as you know, please tell me. call me at work. call me if it's 3 in the morning. i want to know as soon as you know. i don't even care if i'm told by my sleep paralysis demon or the spider that lives on my ceiling. tell me.

of course after it happens we'll need to do a bunch of other things. the work will not stop, it is unyielding.

but i picture that moment, of course. and i know, warmly: at some point, it is coming.

#warm up #spilled ink #you come back after a hike a little tired a little thirsty but satisfied. you didn't have service on the mountain #and there it is. six missed calls from your friends #at first you panic. but then you read the accompanying text:#THAT MOTHERFUCK IS DEAD!!!!!!!!!!#imagine that :) just like. picture that for a moment.#because isn't that just an amazing sort of feeling. how you'll breathe a little lighter for the first time in a century.#no the work wont stop and protestant-work-ethic types will hound you about how you need to BUCKLE DOWN #and how you need to get right back to protesting.#and you will! you will!#but for that moment. for a few hours. he will just be dead.#and you will be living in the world FINALLY without him.#<333333

it has been years and this still remains the most meaningful advice i have ever read. every time i'm editing my own writing and getting really fed up with it, i stop bashing my face in and just think about this. "You hate the most valuable thing about your art." my writing is supposed to read like i wrote it! because i did! i should be happy to have my own voice and style! ugh thank you forever to this tweet fr

#<333333 #talking to strangers #writing tag #hit post