Jawlines and Fingertips

Peter (A Young English Girl) by Romaine Brooks

My niece once told me she looked up to me because I didn't care what anybody thought of me.  It threw me off guard but, I have to say, I took it as a profound compliment both in content and source.

Perhaps, here, one may expect a crumbling story about how in reality, I care deeply and cry often and in private about these things.

I can't offer that.

However, I've been realizing and feeling lately what she was picking up on, as she was not the first, nor the last, person to say this to me.

Obviously, it is not because I'm cool or evolved. Perhaps less obviously, it is because I am too enmeshed in my unfortified social skills and following perception to understand why people give a fuck about certain things. Or why they strive for certain things.  Social expectations, I guess.

I do try, mind you. I just never get to the point of understanding.

Not always a black sheep, just simply and obviously out of step.

The trade off and the other side of this, of course, is that the things that no one seems to care about are the things I care about so delicately.  Which may explain why most of the time I feel and dress like a lad plucked out of another point in history who's been dropped into the current year and thus feel like a total weirdo.

But I digress.


In any case, I will tell you this: 

Things have felt stoic and serious; lighthearted and perfect as of late. 

It is an incredible combination, and I am enjoying every curve of this glove of time and people quite fitted to my skin and bones.

And in this time of incense and tie wear, zippers and creased pants, shared hair pomade and propositions, I will continue to toss my glass towards everyone stomping about in their crumbling castles of judgement and feigned betrayals and say, with limp wrist and intonation: 


I just don't give a shit.






Be well; be loved.

k.
(image: Found at my favorite, Yvonne Constance Tumblr)