An ode to the contemporary woman and wanting it all...
I’ve finished Art School. I’m now a qualified Video Artist. That doesn’t sound good. No one bought my work at the grad show. My classmates did well. I’m married. Probably to the wrong man. I knew it. I know it. We live in a little house. I should clean it. I can’t be bothered. I’m freelancing in video production. I hate all the emails. Making changes. I actually hate this line of work. I create nothing. I’m drinking too much. I love the TV. Elizabeth Taylor has died. So did Glamorous. So did my Dad. I think about cleaning the house. I find my Dad’s old walking stick. I wonder what he thought of me. iTunes shuffles on Bruce Springsteen. I wish I felt cool. He seems cool. I should really catch up on work. I can’t remember if I have any money. Eyes tight shut at the ATM these days. I should really clean my house. OK. Please don’t stop me. No one is home. I put my hand on Dad’s walking stick handle. I want to tap dance. I start to sway like Liz. I should probably get a divorce too. I feel better. Please don’t stop me. I put on a nice dress. That is for you Liz. Put a fan on the floor. Tilt the lamp so I look grand. Light grabs at my body. I think I probably look really good right now. It’s dark. I’m classic. Get me Lynch. Please don’t stop me. I feel hot. I feel like a dreamy contemporary woman. I hear something vaguely industrial. It’s powerful. Listen to my last prayer. Don’t know what it means. Belittle me from nowhere. I think I’m happy. I feel sexy. I answer to no one. I hit repeat. Please don’t stop me. It's just talk, talk, talk, talk, till you lose your patience. I re-enact. I pretend. I feel a little silly. But mainly I feel good. Deliver me from nowhere. Please don’t stop me. I’m making some thing for me. I’m making something about me. I’m thinking. I should really do this more often. Please don’t stop me. Please don’t stop me. Please don’t stop me.
