Jason Purcell

Original pieces of writing, music, and visuals

112,609 notes

beautilation:

“I’ll never forget the day Marilyn and I were walking around New York City, just having a stroll on a nice day. She loved New York because no one bothered her there like they did in Hollywood, she could put on her plain-jane clothes and no one would notice her. She loved that. So as we we’re walking down Broadway, she turns to me and says ‘Do you want to see me become her?’ I didn’t know what she meant but I just said ‘Yes’- and then I saw it. I don’t know how to explain what she did because it was so very subtle, but she turned something on within herself that was almost like magic. And suddenly cars were slowing and people were turning their heads and stopping to stare. They were recognizing that this was Marilyn Monroe as if she pulled off a mask or something, even though a second ago nobody noticed her. I had never seen anything like it before.” - Amy Greene, wife of Marilyn’s personal photographer Milton Greene

(via foolishoats)

3 notes

The Telestar

The writing scares me when it doesn’t come,
But then when it does, and I am honest,
I shake and tear the words with my teeth
And swallow them back down in gulps.
All I want to do is beg to be left alone.
I beg to be forgotten and anonymous.
I have cursed myself enough.

Filed under writing poem poetry

5 notes

9:39 PM, April 27 2013

We begin again. We wake up to unjacketed mornings and we walk, through the long and short of it, until we arrive, hopefully not too tired for work. It is spring. It has been a long winter.

Can I start over? This is the question that unfurls itself whenever I look inward, raising its head, looking sadly up at me. It is spring and I want it to be gentle and good. I want to leave everything of my old life behind. I send out apologies into the wind and I hope they all arrive. I wish everyone a good and peaceful life, and I wish that for myself as well.

I have been weak in the past, but I hope it is not too late to be forgiven. I am here, ready to work, ready to be good. Under the coal dust inside of me there is light. There is earth beneath my hands. This is my forehead against the grass, whispering to the flowers, asking them to grow again for me. Please show me that I am worth it.

Please let me be. Let me cut away the dead branches and save what I can, give it some sun, whisper soothingly to it. I forgot that I am vulnerable, but now I know. This could be a beautiful life. I begin again.

Filed under writing hope journal