Fiona Apple covers Pure Imagination from Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory
You smell like a flower that is neither alive nor dead, because no one has changed its water for weeks. You have a sleepy smell, like when you wake up in the morning and you’ve been dreaming too long.
I think of pastel icing, pink candles burning in the pale November afternoon light, and there is a sense of shame and failure. I close my eyes, wait for pictures. I need to fill in the black square of time, go back to see what’s in it. It’s as if I vanish at that moment and reappear later, but different, not knowing why I have been changed. I close my eyes, wait for pictures. I can tell it’s the wrong memory. But the flowers, the smell, the movement of the leaves persist, rich, mesmerizing, desolating, infused with grief.