you and me – POSTCARD #9
This one was sent in by the amazing artist and good friend of mine Michael Alesich. He’s one of those prolific artists that manages to do so much it makes your head spin, but I was delighted and honoured he found time to send me this fantastic hand- altered postcard.
Censored For Your Pleasure
I don’t know what he looks like.
I mean, he sent a photo but that could be bullshit. I know the one I sent him was taken on an angle that didn’t show that mole on the side of my chin, or the way these jeans give me a muffin top. He looks real classy if it is him. He’s wearing this jumper that my sister told me was cashmere. That’s expensive wool. Only jumpers that guys I know wear have hoods on them. He says that he’s an artist too and that he works mostly with his hands. I love hands, I love dancing with mine up in the air at the over 28 nights at The Pelican Bar. My bangles jingle down my arm as I grind to hip-hop and I feel like fucking Cleopatra. She was a Queen and a nympho or something. I don’t swear in my emails to him or write about sex. No way, I write like my sister speaks, she went to Uni and is classy. She doesn’t drink out of cans or wear her Uggs down the street. In his last email he offered to take me out somewhere real nice. This restaurant in the City and I want to go bad. I imagine him talking about his Art and reaching over to take my hand in his smooth ones. My nails are fucked from hairdressing, all brownish and broken. Even if I borrow a dress from my sister. No matter how nice I try to speak. He’ll see that I’m not what I’ve been pretending to be. I guess that’s why I haven’t answered yet. But I am thinking about taking another photo. One that shows who I really am.