Now I am quietly waiting for
the catastrophe of my personality
to seem beautiful again,
and interesting, and modern.
The country is grey and
brown and white in trees,
snows and skies of laughter
always diminishing, less funny
not just darker, not just grey.
It may be the coldest day of
the year, what does he think of
that? I mean, what do I? And if I do,
perhaps I am myself again.
- “Mayakovsky,” Meditations in an Emergency, Frank O’Hara
Um Frank - can you just stop being so true, amazing and insightful. Also that having an amazing way with words so a paragraph sounds like a song and looks like a painting thing - stop that too please. Theres just no hope for the rest of us.
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