Painting
There is no necessary depth to this. Someone asked me what I liked yesterday.
Years ago, I read Joe Graft’s Sons and Daughters obsessively. Before Sons and Daughters, it was The Passport Of Mallam Illia and before that was a book that held a collection of JP Clarke’s poems. I do not remember that book much. I only remember that it was red, and it gave me a headache and smelt the same as all the other books in the room, dusty. I like literature. And the enthralment that comes with reading the thoughts of other people. Don’t you like literature too? Don’t you feel heady when you hold a person’s ideas in your hands? If there is a heaven, I hope it’s a bookstore. A pleasant, warm bookstore with the finest of books and scones too, because I like scones.
I also like the feel of neckpieces on my skin, crop tops and low-rise jeans and shrimp crackers because they remind me of my mother. Conversations also, because the idea of baring myself to the scrutiny of strangers excites me. I like gatekeeping my favourite music from some people. Maybe all people even. Because I fear that if they know how beautifully Meimuna sings, they won’t appreciate her enough. And the thought alone saddens me. I like stained glass and Campbell Fauber’s playlists. I think the creator of Pinterest went off with that idea. Sometimes, when they are not being bigoted, I like my people.
I don’t particularly like the rain. Storms scare me. So when it’s raining heavily, I lie still on my bed and pretend that I am dead, the same way I always did as a kid. Or I listen to Harry Styles. I like V.E Schwabb and Harry Potter and Malta Guinness in that other. The thought that people exist who voluntarily drink Amstel Malta gives me anxiety. The first day I listened to Alice Phoebe Lou, I felt the urge to go out and get my heart recklessly broken. I like soft people, people who love you with some form of tenderness. I like vulnerability.
I like platform boots because they make a statement. I don’t think I could pull them off, though. I live to give ridiculous names to the stories I write. I like the following words and phrases: emotionally bankrupt, kafkaesque, potpourri, bruschetta, fuck off. I look forward to conversations with my brother because he is the most brilliant person I know. I sometimes pretend that the complexity of life does not startle me. Because even if I admit to this startlement, what difference does it make? I like to end my days by watching Timothee Chalamet’s edits on TikTok and occasionally crying.
Corgis, glass, Foccacia, Legally Blonde, family, all the breeds of cats except Sphynx because they scare me, girls that are or look like Victoria De Angelis, Doja Cat, Friends- the show, Ethan Torchio. I also like these.
