Below are the 4 most recent journal entries recorded in Violet Velours' LiveJournal:

Wednesday, June 17th, 2015
11:16 pm	Love & other catastrophe's Love & other catastrophe's..... VIOLET FOREVER Friends only... unless If you are a dreamer, Come in, If you are a dreamer, A wisher, A liar, A hop-er, A pray-er, A magic bean buyer.... Come in..... for where the sidewalk ends, Violet's world begins. Leave a comment and you may be added. Current Mood: amused Current Music: Verve unmixed (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Tuesday, October 24th, 2006
9:43 am	Hiatus time.....for a bit anyways. :) (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Saturday, July 8th, 2006
11:53 am	The purpose of the Moon One of the many reasons why this man is my favourite author..... The Purpose of the Moon fiction by Tom Robbins 1 Vincent van Gogh cut off his ear and sent it to Marilyn Monroe. Marilyn Monroe was so touched that she gave up everything -- her career, her swimming pool, her wiggle, her telephone, her suicide, everything -- and moved to the south of France to be with Vincent van Gogh. Did they live happily ever after? No, no one ever does. But they pretended to live happily ever after. And since all things become what we pretend they are, fake happiness is as good as the real stuff. 2 Vincent van Gogh cut off his ear and sent it to Marilyn Monroe. When she unwrapped the package and found the ear, Marilyn Monroe dished up her famous cat-that-swallowed-the-banana smile. Marilyn Monroe put the ear in a rosewood box on her dressing table. Every now and again, she would remove the ear from the box, pet it, blow on it, scratch it and giggle. Once, she hooked the ear on a silver chain and wore it to a party. She always intended to write the ear's original owner a pretty thank-you note, but she never quite got around to it. Was Vincent van Gogh a fool? Maybe Marilyn Monroe was the fool. After all, Vincent van Gogh made a grand gesture and Marilyn Monroe received it frivolously. 3 Vincent van Gogh cut off his ear and sent it to Marilyn Monroe. Some weeks later, the package was returned to Vincent van Gogh. It was marked, ADDRESSEE DECEASED. Vincent van Gogh checked into the matter and found that it was true. In his research, he learned that Joe DiMaggio had ordered that fresh red roses be placed on Marilyn Monroe's grave every three days, forever. Not for Joe DiMaggio's lifetime, mind you, not for the duration of Hollywood, its films and its cemeteries, but forever. Vincent van Gogh leaned against the dizzy crown of an epileptic sunflower. Said he, "After the end of the world, Joe DiMaggio is going to have some money coming back." 4 Vincent van Gogh cut off his ear and sent it to Marilyn Monroe. Whereupon Marilyn Monroe cut off one of her ears and sent it to Vincent van Gogh. Vincent van Gogh cut off his little toe and sent it to Marilyn Monroe. Marilyn Monroe sent one of her little toes in return. Next, Vincent van Gogh cut off an eyelid and posted it. In the return mail, he received an eyelid from Marilyn Monroe. Their friendship was growing warm. They exchanged ring fingers, tongues, belly buttons and nipples. One day, Vincent van Gogh cut out his heart and rushed it to Hollywood -- but by then Marilyn Monroe had become bored with the whole affair and run off to Tijuana with Warren Beatty. Vincent van Gogh was shattered. Yet he should not have been so surprised. That is often the pattern love follows. 5 Vincent van Gogh cut off his ear and sent it to Marilyn Monroe. Not long afterward, Marilyn Monroe flew to Paris, drove a rented car to the south of France and called on Vincent van Gogh. Following proper introduction, Marilyn Monroe produced a package of Hostess Twinkies. Because Hostess Twinkies always travel in pairs; because, like the coyote, the gorilla, the killer whale and the whooping crane, Hostess Twinkies mate for life, there was a Twinkie each for them to share. When the snack was done, Marilyn Monroe reached into her sewing basket, drew out a needle and a spool of green thread and proceeded to stitch Vincent van Gogh's ear right back where it belonged. "There," she said, licking a smear of Twinkie cream from the corner of her mouth. "There, you naughty boy. And the next time you want to clip off a piece of yourself as a token of affection, you might keep in mind the old Jewish custom. It's less messy, more socially acceptable. Remember, to ear is human, but to foreskin is divine." 6 Vincent van Gogh cut off his ear and sent it to Marilyn Monroe. The severed ear reminded Marilyn Monroe of a crescent moon, and for hours she contemplated it by moonlight. She telephoned Vincent van Gogh. "Does the moon have a purpose?" she asked. Vincent van Gogh considered her question. He decided it was silly. Albert Camus wrote that the only serious question is whether to kill yourself or not. Tom Robbins wrote that the only serious question is whether time has a beginning and an end. Camus clearly got up on the wrong side of bed, and Robbins must have forgotten to set the alarm. There is only one serious question. And that is: Who knows how to make love stay? Answer me that and I will tell you whether or not to kill yourself. Answer me that and I will ease your mind about the beginning and the end of time. Answer me that and I will reveal to you the purpose of the moon. 7 Vincent van Gogh cut off his ear and sent it to Marilyn Monroe. Paul Gauguin was aghast. "That was in very bad taste, Vincent," Gauguin said. "Years from now, after you are dead and gone, you will be better remembered for cutting off your ear than for the beauty and truth of your art." From beneath his bandages, Vincent van Gogh looked at Paul Gauguin and smiled. "Don't worry," he said. "Art takes care of itself. And what the world thinks of me when I am dead and gone is none of my concern. What matters is life. What matters is love. Yeah." The next day, Paul Gauguin cut off his wife and sent himself to Tahiti. "Poor Gauguin," sighed Vincent van Gogh. "He understood only half of what I said." 8 Vincent van Gogh cut off his ear and sent it to Marilyn Monroe. Immediately, he had second thoughts and fell into a deep depression. "Oh, why was I so presumptuous?" he asked. "An ear is much too intimate. And what if she doesn't fancy ears? I might better have sent violets or phosphor. I should have sent potatoes, tooth paste or brush strokes of significant width. That ear will offend her, I know it. Oh, they ought to call me Vincent van Gauche. I've blown it again." In the midst of all his fretting, a note arrived from America. "Dear Mister," it began, "Thank you so much for the silk purse." Vincent van Gogh relaxed. He grinned from ear to.... Oops. 9 Vincent van Gogh cut off his ear. He wanted to send it to Marilyn Monroe, but he didn't know how to go about it. He couldn't afford to deliver it in person. They had no mutual friends. And were he to send it to her movie studio, a stout woman in a tweed suit would be certain to throw it away. Dare he trust it to Railway Express? To United Parcel Service? To Brink's? Vincent van Gogh's ear was his love. Unable to send it through normal channels, he went out into the wheat field and sent it by crow. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Saturday, September 17th, 2005
10:46 pm	The pursuit of divine union can be a tricky one. Violet had as her fortune the company of exquisite companions, a favorite tree, and a passion for dancing. So one can forgive her naive assumption that despite his penchant for wearing bad shoes, his arrival in her life was a promise of further joy. In his warm hands she found the key to infinite bliss while the beauty of his countenance promised a life of eternal rapture. Overcome by these new delights, she made an invocation of gratitude to the supreme deity for creating a situation where her biggest love, deepest secrets, and superb eccentricities were soon to be understood by a perfect other. In response to her praise, a victorious big-band trumpet mysteriously sounded, as she saw in his eyes a brilliant signal for a completely new world to which she happily absconded. For such an adventure, she felt it only appropriate to pack her largest suite case with sustaining provisions, and at the very least adorn a pair of fresh socks. There was no room for her tree, but she lifted its spirits with promise of continuous kisses on their next meeting. After a while her big feelings for him made her grow to such enormous proportions that she soon left herself behind. Her friends too became obsolete as companions and served only as ears to hear about this love. This magnificent love! The love that forced her to buy new undies, swing naked from chandeliers, and shake in public places from too much feeling. This love was so extensive that even a small foal on holiday at the north pole knew all about it and felt overwhelmed. All things were suspended in its glittering spendour. She longed to tell him of these exploding emotions, but suddenly she felt afraid, and to say the least, tre's vulnerable. It occurs to her that maybe dancing would help. As if by sheer serendipity, a passing stranger suggested the canadian three-step was a particularly effective method of healing one's inner fool. Feeling more secure of herself, she decided to wear a brave dress to see if he would notice the size of her heart. He didn't. Finding herself alone in the dark, she searched blindly for solace and inspiration. After some time, she stumbled upon the thrill of wearing gorgeous boots, and not long after, the gentle fulfillment that comes from patting a quail. Feeling a little more hopeful again, she decided that new hair might effectively showcase her true feelings and inner desires. Then again, perhaps it wouldn't. In the end she nesteld into a red hunting hat and hibernated through a self-imposing winter. Awakening refreshed but still a little shaken, she knew that to be victorious her next move had to be flawless. So to avoid any possible faux pas, she presented him with a box of generous proportion containing her many different selves. He had only to make his selection. Tre's belle. Spontaneous. Ubersmart. Philosophical. Good at dinner parties. Deep. Unfortunately, she failed to establish that only one selection was possible at a time, and yet she was still victorious. For a while at least. Until it started. First, the inertia, then the video nights, the waiting for real moments together, interspersed with betrayal, deception, and mind games. In the depths of the nadir, she yearned for a existence unencumbered by this smorgasbord of lo-fi moments. So she ruminated through her options, and imagined her life if she were to continue on in the same manner, if she tried to analyse the problem in the advent of a situation, or perhaps if she left it altogether. Before her shadow self could take over entirely, she took herself to a cliff top where she sang a little song to a norse god for guidance. Within the hour she was blessed with a moment of unprecedented clarity. And with epic silence, she concluded that perhaps she had idealized him. A group of familiar onlookers gathered in humble appreciation to witness her first sane thought in years. Suddenly the life she had known prior to this romantic misadventure was imbued with a scent of possibility. Her friends seemed funnier than she remembered, her tree was more charming than ever, and everything seemed to move to the pulse of an invisible samba beat, making her swell with joy. And with a strange sense of liberty, she became the person she was looking for. Current Mood: grateful Current Music: Verve Unmixed 1 (Comment on this)