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12 Feb 2006 |
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Night Island again.
It’s a quirk of mine that I love the Madonna version of ‘Evita’. I’m known to watch it over and over or leave the soundtrack playing all night. I love her in it. Despite what most think, I believe it’s one of her crowning moments. She was very good in it. I like the music as well, how it rises and falls, the scenes it goes with.
( My Favourite Part )
I think it’s the relationship of Eva and Che I like the most, the interaction of them with the waltz is another of my favourite parts. The ending is wonderful where Che brings back to Peron how things went at the end. He really was nothing without her. Really didn’t hurt that Che is played by Antonio Banderas in that movie. Who knew he could sing as well as look good, not to mention dance? And play Armand in that movie?
( My Favourite Part 2 )
I’m tired of walking through these empty halls. I sat in Armand’s study until the sun forced me to go away and sleep. I got some paint tonight when I got up, and I’m going to start repainting. I can see why people don’t like to live in a house once someone has died there. No matter what you do, it feels like the corpse is still in the room. Maybe Night Island is haunted in that respect. I could be the ghost that wanders its marble walkways and floats through its luxurious rooms.
Black is a fascinating colour. It creates such a contrast flowing over pale skin, sliding across crystalline nails. It slides along the white slat of a wall, staining the pureness with shadows. My fingertip trails through the black paint, drawing up a palmful of it and slapping it onto the wall. There’s a kind of sick pleasure at the wet splat, watching the darkness bleed along the formerly white wall of Armand’s study. It matches pretty well with the matching handprint that’s on the screen of his plasma television. I think I’m going to have those removed and sold. I don’t like the idiot box that much and have no desire to hear it chattering on.
Technology isn’t my love after all.
Drips and splatters of black mark my progress through our villa. When the security system had beeped, alerting me to one of my staff being at the one private entrance, I didn’t think to clean up. I think I gave the poor girl a bit of a fright. I caught sight of myself in a mirror after I had taken the packages and shut the door. I’m not exactly a neat painter to begin with, and the fact that I had chosen to do my remodeling without benefit of a brush only emphasized that fact. Licks of black interrupted my hair, giving me a striped look. More had spilled across my face, probably where I had pushed the hair back from my face or scratched my temple and not realized I had gotten paint everywhere. My clothing was likewise ruined.
I’m not insane. I’m not. I’m moving on and fine. It’s common when one is haunted by memories to remodel or rework a home to be less reminding. It’s perfectly normal.
I think I might get some midnight blue from that one shop down on the second level. I never did like complete darkness.
Oh yes, and happy birthday, Nicolas.
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