“And although Weetzie adored her father, who reminded her of a cigarette, of Valentino, of a prince with palm trees on his shoulders, she couldn’t leave where it was hot and cool, glam and slam, rich and trashy, devils and angels, Los Angeles.”
“ ‘ They are in love. But even before they were in love they knew they were going to be happy and in love someday. They trusted. They have always loved themselves. They would never hurt themselves.’ “
“A kiss about apple pie à la mode with the vanilla creaminess melting in the pie heat. A kiss about chocolate, when you haven’t eaten chocolate in a year. A kiss about palm trees speeding by, trailing pink clouds when you drive down the Strip sizzling with champagne. A kiss about spotlights fanning the sky and the swollen sea spilling like tears all over your legs.”
“But even in the rosy house, Weetzie felt bittersweet; bittersweetness was like a liqueur burning in her throat and dripping down slowly into her heart.”
“Weetzie’s heart cringed in her like a dying animal. It was as if someone had stuck a needle full of poison into her heart. She moved like a sleepwalker. She was the girl in the fairy tale sleeping in a prison of thorns and roses .
‘Wake up’ My Secret Agent Lover Man said, kissing her. But she was suffocated by roses that no one else saw – only their shadows showed on her lips and around her eyes.
‘Weetzie’ he said, kissing her mouth. ‘You are my Marilyn. You are my lake full of fishes. You are my sky set, my ‘Hollywood in Miniature’, my pink Cadillac, my highway, my martini, the stage for my heart to rock and roll on, the screen where my movies light up, ‘ he said.
Weetzie curled up in a little ball in the bed.
‘Weetzie’ he said ’your dad’s dead but you aren’t baby.’”
“She kenw they were all afraid. But love and disease are both like electricity, Weetzie thought. They are always there – you can’t see or smell or hear, touch or taste them, but you know they are there like a current in the air. We can choose, Weetzie thought, we can choose to plug into the love current instead. […] I don’t know about happily ever after.. but I know about happily.”
“But Witch Baby did not see her eerie, fairy, genie, moon-witch beauty, the beauty of twilight and rainstorms. ‘You’ll never belong to anyone,’ she said to the bald girl in the mirror.”
“In Mexico people wear hummingbird amulets around their necks to show they are searching for love. Here people pretend they aren’t. Searching.
I hope that you are being sweet to yourself. I wish that I could comb the snarl-balls out of your hair and hear you purr.”
“The moon makes my insides stir. Then we hear something. You stop combing my tangles. Music. Pouring from somewhere in the empty desert. It’s like fountains in the sand or sky islands. “Celestial music,” you say. No one else hears it. I tell myself I have to stop thinking words like celestial and heavenly. An angel. But that last one is hard.”
“But me, maybe I fit in a place like this. Maybe the cold inside of me will seem less cold in this winter. Maybe the tall buildings will make the brick walls I build for myself seem smaller. Maybe the noises in my head will quiet down in the middle of all the other noises.”
“If he were a needle I’d be shooting up just like these jittery junkies. I’d be flooding my veins with Angel Juan. When we made love it felt like that.
And doing it can be as dangerous as shooting up if you think about it.”
“We both believe in monsters. But all the ghosts and demons are you. And all the angels and genies are you. All the kings, queens, Buddhas, beautiful boys. Inside you. No one can take them away.”...Continua