Shadow Sense and the Pins Beneath My Fingers

 

I have been exploring vision and sound as of late. The way a blind child will ask to touch a person's watch, bracelet or ring a thousand times in one sitting. The way the air changes when a door is standing open, as opposed to when it is shut. The tactile world that I am only fractionally familiar with. 

One of the things that remains a learning curve for me when it has been a while since I have been a guide to a blind person is pacing and movement. 

Do not walk illogically slow. 

Do not run. 

Remember that you are the width of two people and be aware of anything that may block or trip or trick you both. I recall my first time guiding when I, unthinking and standing on solid/dry pavement, led a DeafBlind man onto a patch of black ice. 

Be aware, but don't overthink it. 

It's like when people ask me if it is rude to say things like "sounds good" to Deaf people. Nobody cares. It's not like hearing people are saying "wow, that sound sounds incredible in my ears" when they use that phrase. It's a turn of phrase of agreement or confirmation. 

Don't over think it. 

But still, there are times, when I feel a person's hand on my arm- and I feel my legs stiffen and my stride become stuttered. 

Get over yourself, I think lovingly to myself within my head.  

Don't over think it.

k.

(image: Miguel Miguel)

Song for an Angel, or, Prayer to Meet You on the Other Side of the Lion's Gate

Yesterday I tried a new type of hummus that turned out to be a company that does suicide prevention work. I lifted the lid and was met with freshness foil that talked about looking for the light to continue. I pulled up their website because I thought I had been tricked into buying some kind of advertisement for Christianity (maybe I have) but, it turns out, "looking for the light" was more about not killing yourself and keeping an eye out for people who might be struggling.  It's not what I had expected from hummus, but, there it is.

[pause]

Today I am laying across a bed in a guest room - house empty. My hair is wet and combed, dripping a bit. I am freshly out of the shower and dressed in all white: a tank top and spotless sweatpants that feel like a soft cloud along my legs.

Today I have been thinking of the angels I have met in my life. Perhaps that's what this outfit is. Some sort of lazy camp towards dressing like an angel. 

Angels not so much in the religious sense but, rather, in the starseed or alien sense of the word. 

I've been thinking, specifically, about angels who have cut through my life in the throws of some kind of growth or pain, or growing pain. Frustrated and downtrodden, perhaps, yet still having a beautiful gleam in their eyes. Hopeful. Clear. Determined. 

I wish I could have healed some of your pain

or made something easier

but I know better than to try and interfere with celestial wounds. 

You will heal in time 

and will continue 

with your pure-hearted and necessary flight. 

(image: Ellis Ahn photographed by Jin Woo Jeong for Teeth Magazine)

Studying Your Pinstripes as a Means of Understanding

Yesterday was incredibly sweet. I was picked up in a Lexus that was previously owned by a Hollywood star and, although I won't mention what person, I will mention that I have been questioning their choice of Lexus ever since I got into the car.  

But I digress. 

The 45 minute drive was comfortable and beautiful in its sights and company. The meal we had when we arrived at the secret destination was outstanding. The temperature was the exact level of sunny and cool that you can hope for. 

This morning, I am slowly waking up. Although I have been out and about and getting things done, I've still been slow in moving and speed.

(pause)

One of the tenderest gestures to me is someone stroking my hair.  

It can take years to work up to this with someone. 

People who were punched in the face by a guardian understand this. 

Other people will just think you're uptight.

k.

(image: Hye Park by Nathaniel Goldberg for Vogue Italia, December 2005)

Ode to Bella Being Pissed That Edward Won't Turn Her Into a Vampire

 

Nights like these 

can be the worst.

When your pussy is wet

and the person who loves you 

kind of hates your ass.

Nights like these

when the lipstick smears on your door frame are your own

and you stayed out too late

simply because you can.

Nights like these

that smell like summertime

and beckon trouble

but you spend most of the evening 

dodging reaching hands 

that are not the ones 

you want upon you. 

k.

(image: by Michael Lau, model is Pawel Gralevitz)