lucy

My life. A pretty blur. Parties, late night orgies of fashion and fabulousness, the sensual touch of a makeup brush; a heady drug, one to rival cocaine as I put on, and primp, and preen,
and pose;

and pose,

and pose.


Late nights. Late nights and early mornings, the night blurring into the morning as I touch up the bit of red eyeshadow nestled snugly in the crease on the lid, red to bring out the green flecks in my irises, red to hide the bloodshot that comes from too little sleep and too much time spent dancing and too many questions turning charmingly dizzying pirhouettes in my head.


I went to a shoot party last night. Two nights ago. The days, they blur. Two hours sleep in the past few days. Does that still count as one? Probably not. Day hours are concrete, harsh; not pretty; steady and boringly dependable on how long they last. 24 hours is one day. NOT ENOUGH. TIME. I need more. I'm greedy with life, I want more, more, as much of it as I can drink in and a little extra more just to choke on a little. If you're in the GTA, pick up the Metro paper on the 16th and you might see me.

. Are you sick of my face yet? I'm getting there, I think.
So many photos of me.
At least I don't suffer from obscurity...







I wish I could float.




Valentine's day is nearly upon us. Fake it extra good for me.

Will I be? Faking it, I mean? No, I'm genuine. A bit too genuine. And possibly a bit too smitten. He only likes me when I'm beautiful. Story of my life. Make love to the mask.



Up ahead for Lucy: gilding lilies, more kissy faces for the camera, and the ongoing saga of La Danse Burlesque.

Same old, same old but will it ever get tiring?
I hope I grow out of this before I grow too old to do it. Let that not be for years from now.

this rant-job nutting brought to you by a head of racing thoughts, shaky hands, insomnia and the last bit of resin coating my pipe.
xoxo
love lucy