Sunday, July 19, 2015

Necessary Rings of Hell

Things feel irresistibly and measuredly new.

The worked-for type of new.

The kind that makes you feel comfortable and proud all at once.

Muscles that ache feel triumphant in their throbbing.


This weekend there were unfoldings that were both unexpected and relieving.

It is a profound feeling to feel not just not alone, but connected in an undeniable way.

Blood is thicker than water may be bullshit in a lot of contexts, but in some, it proves to be slyly undeniable.


My jawline is defining itself these days.  A rounding of the face has been squaring off to show diligence or gender.

As with everything, the answers emerge from the shadows.  Contours and new directions are no exception.

Be well, be loved, be evocative in the shadows you play within and create.


(image via neveriaa tumblr)

Wednesday, July 15, 2015

Slipping Masks and Thirst of Tasks: Tales of Summertime

There's a type of lipstick that I wear from time to time that feels thick in a good way. My lips are already full, and, when I wear this particular lipstick, my lips feel borderline obscene.

I'm okay with that.

Today is one of those days that I don it.


I've started reading The Phantom of the Opera.

In high school, every long haired theater boy (the few straight ones- the ones with long hair, scabs on their elbows, and the perpetual but faint shadow of a mustache) wore a Phantom of the Opera shirt. Admittedly and regrettably, this may have been why I avoided having anything to do with it.

Recently, however, I have been doing research into various types of masks and their histories.  Not surprisingly, the famous mask of Erik from Phantom keeps coming up. 

Three chapters into it, I can't believe I waited so long to read it. Ballet, a ghost, a theater, a mystery, and notes written in an almost indecipherable scrawl of red ink:  All of the elements necessary for me to fall in love. 

Some of the descriptions leave me faint but excited in their detail.  One young ballerina is described as having a tip-tilted nose. Incredible. The allure of all the happens behind the theater curtain prevails:

Raoul had to stop before the inrush of the little troop of ballet-girls who blocked the passage which he was trying to enter.  More than one chaffing phrase darted from little made-up lips, to which he did not reply...

Yes, please. 

It may be summertime,  but even nights lined with abandoned iced tea glasses and their wilted lemons are due their fair share of French haute hauntings and dramatic divas.

Be well; be loved,


(image: Hollis Johnson via untrustyou tumblr)

Friday, July 10, 2015

Dancing Upon the Lips of the Awe-Stuck, or, How to Play Upon an Open Mouth

The evenings have been jeweled as of late.  Wide, see-through-blue skies looming over the petals of royal purple, delicate pinks, blossoming whites.  Such an alluring perfume that spreads just as the evening unfurls into night.

There has been a strange sorcery as of late.  Conjuring up the jawlines and perfectly scarred hands of those I miss, in the flesh. Something with this global warming nightmare has given us a second spring.  The messages that are slipped between (and among) us leaves the tips of my neurons peaked. Such a delicious depth beyond the usual curiosity.

Take in the expanse of these evening skies. Let their wide-spread and rubied hands lure you into the dark of night. Surely you will catch the glints of the diamonds scattered across that velvet as you descend.

By the time you hit whatever ground there is
if there is
the iron taste in your mouth will tell you
that it was all

worth it.


(image: Archie Savage, 1942, photographed by Carl Van Vechten)

Thursday, July 2, 2015

Cloak(s) and Dagger(s)

I've been reading the words of Colette today, Earthly Paradise. A treat handed to me by the most favored of hands, these days. I am preparing for the next week, which will include the shadowed and curled arm of the forest, water, light, dirt, books, eight wonderful creatures, and time. 

[Admittedly, I've made believable excuses as to where I will be to some. "A cabin." "Some friends." Things of this nature. For now, I need only to focus on what lies ahead, as opposed to describing and explaining something that hasn't occurred yet.  For me, somehow, it risks the syringing of magic from its veins.  No. No, indeed. Stories are better told afterwards, after all, are they not?]

I am sprawled upon my bedroom floor, at present.  There is the vibration of a jackhammer plummeting away outside in my hip bones through the floor. Construction and destruction is everywhere these days. How pleasant it is to feel the movements of building in such a tangible, savorable way. The body as a frame to absorb.

For now:  Lips glossed. Hair brushed and surrounding my shoulders. The scent of a perfumed oil hints that a stranger has slipped into the room behind me. One can only hope.

Here is to the depth of the scent of what's to come.

It's time to go, now. The quickening of my pulse is the only timepiece necessary.


(image: via Vaspour Tumblr)

Wednesday, July 1, 2015

For the Love of the Day: A Brief Update

A few months back, late March I would say, something happened that changed my life in such a positive way that I'm not sure I can fully explain it.

I've been trying to rearrange and find the words for it, but I can't quite yet. Only one person, the person I see almost every day, knows for now.

In any case, just know that- in general- everything is good. 

That I'm waking up, much like today, with excitement in my veins and a smile in my heart that is, well, visceral.

More soon.