Hoy compré Death The Deluxe Edition, que contiene todas las apariciones claves de Muerte y un antiguo seguidor en twitter me preguntó cuál novela gráfica de Muerte venía con la introducción de Tori Amos. Esa es The Hight Cost of Living.
Acabo de releerla luego de haberla semiolvidado y fue como si los pantanos se movieran, como volver a abrazar ese lado tuyo que creías ahogado, y recordar que debemos seguir llevando nuestras mariposas con orgullo. Si te permites sentir como te sientes en realidad, tal vez deje de darte miedo ese sentimiento no?
No lo olviden eh, no dejen que nadie les haga olvidar su Delirio y vayan y busquen a alguien que los haga sentir como Muerte:
“Death: the high cost of living | introduction
It’s funny but on good days I don’t think of her so much. In fact never. I never just say hi when the sun is on my tongue and my belly’s all warm. On bad days I talk to Death constantly, not about suicide because honestly that’s not dramatic enough. Most of us love the stage and suicide is definitely your last performance and being addicted to the stage, suicide was never an option – plus people get to look you over and stare at your fatty bits and you can’t cross your legs to give that flattering thigh angle and that’s depressing. So we talk. She says things no one else seems to come up with, like let’s have a hotdog and then it’s like nothing’s impossible.
She told me once there is a part of her in everyone, though Neil believes I’m more Delirium than Tori, and Death taught me to accept that, you know, wear your butterflies with pride. And when I do accept that, I know Death is somewhere inside of me. She was the kind of girl all the girls wanted to be, I believe, because of her acceptance of “what is.” She keeps reminding me there is change in the “what is” but change cannot be made till you accept the “what is.”
Like yesterday, all the
We almost lost a master take and the band leaves tomorrow and we can’t do anymore music till we resolve this. We’re in the middle of nowhere in the desert and my being wants to go crawl under a cactus and wish it away. Instead, I dyed my hair and she visited me and I started to accept the mess I’m in. I know that mess spelled backwards is ssem and I felt much better armed with that information. Over the last few hours I’ve allowed myself to feel defeated, and just like she said if you allow yourself to feel the way you really feel, maybe you won’t be afraid of that feeling anymore.
When you’re on your knees you’re closer to the ground. things seem nearer somehow.
If all I can say is I’m not in this swamp, I’m not in this swamp then there is not a rope in front of me and there is not an alligator behind me and there is not a girl sitting at the edge eating a hot dog and if I believe that, then dying would be the only answer because then Death couldn’t come and say Peachy to me anymore and after all she has a brother who believes in hope”.