And you can step aside, you snore-making drowsy bowl of cold oatmeal; I want to know what this “trippy new drug” is that apparently all the women are high on. It better not be some intangible bullshit like “They’re high on life!” or high on their own accomplishments. I’d also like to know what fool at Marie Claire is trying to make the word passionista happen (it’s NOT going to happen, Gretchen!)
Kristen Stewart took a break from trying to pull ‘OMG so serious’ faces in her bedroom mirror without falling asleep (almost nailed it, too) to give a real eye-roller of an interview to Marie Claire. In it, she comes across sounding like a teenager who just discovered Avril Lavigne’s Let Go (“Sk8er Boi is, like, the dopest”) and also, despite it being nearly 2 years later, touches on her affair with Rupert Sanders:
On how she’s sorry-not-sorry about cheatin’ and busting up a marriage:
“I stand by every mistake I’ve ever made, so judge away.”
On why someone needs to remind this her she makes movies about vampires for 13-year-olds:
“I really like being thrown into the unknown and then finding my way. I don’t want to show someone something. I want people to watch me find something.”
On why she’s just, like, such a Cure-listening, black lipstick-wearing misunderstood loner, you guys:
“People are like, ‘She just can’t handle’ – for lack of a better word – ‘the spotlight’. No, actually, I can’t, and that is totally who I am. I love being an actor, but I’m the last person to want to have a birthday party.”
On how someone should call a doctor, because this bitch is clearly delusional:
“I don’t want to sound so fucking utterly pretentious, but after I write something, I go, ‘Holy fuck, that’s crazy.’ It’s the same thing with acting: If I do a good scene, I’m always like, ‘Whoa, that’s really dope.'”
Put your hands together and thank the higher power of your choice, because that writing she’s referring to is poetry, and she wrote something for Marie Claire (YAAAASSSS). According to The Wrap, Kristen called it “So embarrassing” (understatement alert) but it’s also way too fucking long, so I’ve put it after the jump.
My Heart Is A Wiffle Ball/Freedom Pole by K-Stew
I reared digital moonlight
You read its clock, scrawled neon across that black
Kismetly … ubiquitously crest fallen
Thrown down to strafe your foothills
…I’ll suck the bones pretty.
Your nature perforated the abrasive organ pumps
Spray painted everything known to man,
Stream rushed through and all out into
Something Whilst the crackling stare down sun snuck
Through our windows boarded up
He hit your flint face and it sparked.
And I bellowed and you parked
We reached Marfa.
One honest day up on this freedom pole
Devils not done digging
He’s speaking in tongues all along the pan handle
And this pining erosion is getting dust in
And I’m drunk on your morsels
And so I look down the line
Your every twitch hand drum salute
Salutes mine …
I’m so glad she’s given us the go-ahead to “judge away” because – daaaayum – that sad excuse for a poem was worse than the first draft of Renesmee from Twilight: Breaking Dawn.
(Pics: Marie Claire)