George is my other love...
George is very special.
Dot is very special too... Have you ever seen a character and just thought...
"She is me."...?
I have.
Nothing seems to fit me right.
The less I wear, the more comfortable I feel.
More rouge...
George is very special.
Maybe I'm just not special enough for him.
If my legs were longer.
It my bust was smaller.
It my hands were graceful.
If my waist was thinner.
If my hips were flatter.
If my voice was warmer...
She sings with my voice... or do I sing with hers?
And George sings with a voice that's unlike anything else I've ever heard.
Mapping out a sky.
What you feel like,
planning a sky.
What you feel when voices that come
Through the window
Go...
Until they distance and die,
Until there's nothing but sky
And how you're always turning back too late
From the grass or the stick
Or the dog or the light,
How the kind of woman willing to wait's
Not the kind that you want to find waiting
To return you to the night,
Dizzy from the height,
Coming from the hat,
Studying the hat,
Entering the world of the hat,
Reaching through the world of the hat
Like a window...
George is an artist, Dot a work of art. They are my greatest inspiration.
I don't think you, reader, could possibly understand the power of this poetry until you hear it sung through George's lips.
If there is one new thing you listen to this week let it be Sondheim's aesthetic masterpiece Sunday in the Park With George.
This is what perfection sounds like.
2 comments:
your drought break is more promising than mine.
that was jon.
maybe one day i'll go back to it. just don't feel like i have much to say at the moment!
Did I imagine it, or did you say you'd kindly lend me the soundtrack at some point? 0:)
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