I’ve fallen into the bad habit of trimming my own hair,
making wild cuts with nail scissors - snipping a few
strands at a time, feeling quite glamorous when it is
complete, but spilled red blood is a grim reminder it
is a professional hairdresser’s demesne; yet I have
no faith in them as much as disdaining beauticians
trying to sell inferior products at exorbitant prices
And make-up artists who make me look like a low-
level crook, I’ll have no truck with them, all I want is
a Gatsby dress for my sister the Duchess’ wedding,
have already fashioned the loose swinging fringes
making movement so exciting at the time - have no
idea how to get hold of such a dress or where, but
the joy of playing with interesting fabrics
Can’t be stemmed by limitations of reality - even if
in the end I have to wear old pants & black T-shirt,
the games will live forever in my mind as the best
times of my life; I also smudged my eyes in black
eyeliner & pranced around in fabric which spreads
glitter everywhere; it’s the beginning of a dream
stage with visualisation unlimited
No potential reality is more probable than another,
I can play my heart’s content, even concocted hair-
styles; though nothing has ever comes of it, I enjoy
these dreams - they are better than the reality that
eventually unfolds…
[8 September 2014]
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