Earth Day
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latest archive about email links yearbook japan photoblog wish list	Sat Apr 22 00 / 12:27 AM I think bruises are sexy. They're like flowers; a shy cluster of mottled blue-black violets, a pile of browned petals, a large round rose green as a cabbage with a sunny yellow tinge. My skin is your earth, your blooms are temporary. A bright bruise is such a surprise on a lovely side. It stops a gliding hand, pulls a hungry gaze, furrows a sure brow. I can only speak of myself, but I love my bruises. They give my mind something different to focus on, a different imperfection that pushes away the others like anti-gravity, shines like a little galaxy, and leaves. There is something wrong with perfection. No. What is wrong with perfection is that there is nothing wrong with perfection. A bruise means I am active, am surely living. Perfection means death.
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Lisa Higgs
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