The day wraps itself around her like a well-worn dress. She steps out on to the hot pavement, down on the Bowery, where the boys in their trucks call to her, "Hey, Blondie, over here!" She swings her hips across the street to the place on the corner, ordering cafe con leche just how she likes it; the place where the woman mixes three packets of sugar in her coffee and says as she hands it over, as she always does, "You aren't sweet enough?!"

Summer is ending, but it still hints on the wind. She wears flip-flops, her red-painted toenails giving her a start of satisfaction when she looks at her feet. What to do with a day where the banks are closed and real life is suspended? On such a day, she concedes, she should pay bills and clean her cupboards. Throw open the smudgy windows and balance on the ledge with a bucket full of soapy water and a grim smile. She could iron her sheets and spray them with lavender, or organise her bookshelf alphabetically.

In the park she shuts her eyes and surrenders to the sun. She has a careless picnic of swollen cherries and peaches spread before her. Today shall be used to think and dream, she decides. She watches the neat swaddled babies pass by in their prams, the lovers new and old, like the pair wizened together like the trees, ancient and wordless. In the paper there are wars and lives and deaths all spread tidily before her, and she sighs and smiles before engaging the crossword puzzle.

As evening comes, she shivers. Her mouth is implicated; a dark cherry ring around it. She walks downtown, rolling her hips in that way she has. Up and down on her small feet, as if she is dancing.

Tomorrow she will wake up and go to an anonymous office building, where nobody knows she can pick up things with her toes, recite the opening page of The Catcher In The Rye verbatim, or that her favourite colour is violet.

When she sleeps, the lilies next to her bed spill into her dreams.

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It is a little trite but I love it anyway. She wrote a novel, didn't she? I think I need to get my hands on a copy.

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you mean 'the man with the dancing eyes'? or has she written something new? i came across her in a monograph book amanda de cadenet put out what.. last year? i agree with you, her writing isn't.. something.. but it's rather lovely all the same.

i think i mean the man with the dancing eyes. her writing isn't... original? i don't know, it's more than that. she's every fifteen year old who ever read francesca lia block or emma forrest or hell, even sylvia plath. but that said, i love it in spite of that. or because of it? maybe there's just a soft spot in me for that kind of language.

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im so picky i couldnt read a whole novels worth of that, but i love little vignettes or clips. little peeks into it.

i like it when i dont focus so much on the language, except in poetry. its too distracting for a thousand pages!

Her mouth is implicated; <3

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the cave mouth shines
by pure force of will
i look down on the world
from the top of this lonesome hill
and you can run, and run some more
from here all the way to singapore
but i will carry you home in my teeth
-mountain goats

gosh maybe that's my problem.
i am so terribley unpicky about what i read.
almost all of it is romancey girl angst crap.
and the rest of it is about serial killers.

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yes.. I think that is it... there's little gems in there, it's PRETTY. and there's nothing wrong with pretty.

no, there is definately a place for pretty.
she's like nice tea cups or fancy lingere.

very pretty to look at, a little uncomfortable at length.
good sometimes. but not for every day use.

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ps - her favourite colour is only violet because she loves the way the word sounds, just like she adores the way lilac rolls of her tounge.

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well, considering that i noticed her because 'sophie dahl' is such a pretty name, it all works for me

Sophie Dahl (born September 15, 1979 in London) is an English fashion model and authoress. Her mother is writer Tessa Dahl (daughter of the children's author Roald Dahl and the actress Patricia Neal) and her father is actor Julian Holloway (son of actor Stanley Holloway).

Dahl was discovered by Isabella Blow on a London street at the age of 18. At a voluptuous dress size, Dahl defied the stick-thin modelling status quo; she is largely known for being a plus-size model, although she has since lost weight and is now of similar proportions to other fashion models. Her best-known work was a magazine and poster advertisement for an Yves Saint Laurent perfume called Opium, showing her lying naked on a black velvet sheet. There were many complaints about the advertisement, resulting in its being removed from billboards in the UK.


As a child, Dahl was the inspiration for the character Sophie (the giant's helper) in her grandfather Roald Dahl's The BFG. Later she became an author herself, writing several short stories and in 2003 publishing the novella The Man with the Dancing Eyes, an "adult fairy-tale" (ISBN 0-7475-6372-1).

She recently performed in Childrens Party At The Palace for Queen Elizabeth II's 80th birthday.





ok, maybe i am developing a little bit of a crush on her.
one thing is for sure, she's certainly got a pedigree!

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she LOOKS like a sophie dahl. I may join your crush.
although roald dahl and patricia neal? odd couple. never knew that.

she is so gorgeous

i like the story, but i agree it is very pretty pretty language. however, if you're in the right mood there's nothing wrong with that! hehe

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don't you think every kitten figures out how to get down
whether or not you ever show up

i didn't know that either, all though i think i already knew roald dahl was her grandfather.

also, wikipedia has informed me that patricia neal is also flannie flagg's real name.
oh, what a bounty of knowledge i am.

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Aww, that's so sweet. I loved that book so much when I was little.

And she totally reminds me of Miranda Richardson in that pic.

youre not unpicky! youre so not unpicky that you can read difficult text. i can NOT read difficult text or text that is language orienbted unless its kathy acker and really i can only read her bc its transgressive which is the only thing i understnad. i cant read any high romance or anything GOOD. i got i captured the castle bc of you and couldnt focus on it because it was a novel without sex SEX sex SEX im fucking retarded and i say picky so i dont have to tell people im retarded

youre not unpicky, im retarded

__________________
the cave mouth shines
by pure force of will
i look down on the world
from the top of this lonesome hill
and you can run, and run some more
from here all the way to singapore
but i will carry you home in my teeth
-mountain goats

i don't think i can ready anything that ISN'T language orientated. if i don't like the way the words fit together then 9/10 times i can't finish it. for example, i have never read classics like pride and prejudice or wuthering heights because the style of language makes my head hurt. I KNOW THEY'RE REALLY GOOD GUYS. i just can't read them.

i capture the castle has my favourite opening line of all time,
I write this sitting in the kitchen sink...

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ps kathy you are SO, SO not retarded. you are one of the smartest people i have ever had the pleasure of knowing.

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i know i loved that line.

i finally just got the movie and enjoyed it immensely especially enjoyed it because i knew i was finally getting a story that you loved.

the only novel im interested in reading is the House of Leaves. somefday. when my brain isnt stuffed with work and raising a child. SOMEday

__________________
the cave mouth shines
by pure force of will
i look down on the world
from the top of this lonesome hill
and you can run, and run some more
from here all the way to singapore
but i will carry you home in my teeth
-mountain goats

i laugh at fart jokes. nuff said

but thank you

__________________
the cave mouth shines
by pure force of will
i look down on the world
from the top of this lonesome hill
and you can run, and run some more
from here all the way to singapore
but i will carry you home in my teeth
-mountain goats

i do love it. it was gifted to me when i was ten or eleven, and i still have the same copy. it is dog eared and tea stained and loved to death because there is always SOMETHING in it to get me through. i can pick it up at any place find solace. that book is like a deck of tarot to me or something. in fact, i think i may need to do a re-consult again soon.

house of leaves is fucking amazing. i really, really enjoyed it. didn't sleep very well for a couple of weeks after i read it, though.

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