Flash of bronze

My eyes, too practical to be meaningful

Built by light-years of hard-fought wisdom

Decorated dishonorably with a web of wrinkles

Ignored by your genius, your solar flares of creation

 

The vapid gaze of my thick space bubble

Fuels escape into wormholes of defeat

Not self-defeat but soul-defeat from love

Lost in the impenetrable imploding future

 

Fleeting flash of bronze from my deep brown eyes

When the sun kisses my face, I remember:

Floating away on a feathery orb of skin on skin

Landing into the cloudy atmosphere of your arms

 

Your collapsing arms, your rapid disenchantment

With my rough hair, my tri-colored face with scars

With my naive generosity and silent respect

Your orbit never collided with my bronze eyes

 

You never felt the molten gold inside my chest

The massive sculptures of the galaxies, unseen

You didn’t wait for my moon to glow

A pure stream of bronze against the black light

 

For you, my eyes were too practical to be meaningful

My bronze too subtle to be loved

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Looking within

Under the scope

there is no

race

no religion, cells are individuals

devoid of

history

pink and purple

purple and pink

they shine purity of thought

humanism

not heresy

they congregate….together

share molecules….together

no accent

no skin tones

just membranes

of equality, fluidity of form

stability

and

serenity

i see them as they are

they see me with fear

i return

to my ignorant world

quietly

with one eye

looking within

Dignity

“…dignity is something you must hold on to in life if any relationship is going to work at all.”

–  David Denby from The New Yorker

Maintaining dignity is difficult when human emotions are involved.  People can become nasty and revengeful, whether it be in romantic relationships or even relations amongst family members or friends. I tend to become angry and extremely distant when I hit rough patches in relationships.  It’s hard for me to keep calm around people who inherently disagree with my values.  Dignity seems elusive; yet, a little goes a long way!

Professional

I am a professional.

Robot of words, slave of many.

Courier, writer, dissector.

Professional waste.

Secretarial garbage.

I imitate. Never unique.

Dishearten, dehumanize.

Deceit lives in hearts.

It grows with fear.

Educated parrot.

Write, chirp, cut, dictate.

Days become blurred.

No spirit survives

In a professional world.

Transcendental Idealism

Do soul-mates exist?  If they do, one must believe in destiny.  If destiny truly exists, there must be a higher power at work in the universe, giving meaning and purpose to space and time. 

Yet according to Kant’s theory of transcendental idealism, space and time are entirely subjective manifestations of our own intuition.  We only see what we perceive and may not know the actuality of what is out there.  If I do not recognize or perceive a soul-mate, he will not exist in my subjective world (although he may exist in the real world).  Kant’s theory has some truth: I only see what I want to in this complicated universe because reality is too vast for me to comprehend.  My impressions of places, people, and events form the basis of my understanding of the world and guide me to take appropriate actions.  Thus, my life is what I interpret it to be.  However, transcendental idealism imprisons us into our own flawed stone-walled minds and intuitions.  What if I consistently fail to sense the right partner due to the limitations of my mind?  Will I choose the wrong man as my “soul-mate”? It appears transcendental idealism and fate cannot coexist in regards to love…or can they?  For those who believe in destiny, making a soul-mate into an exercise of logic may seem ludicrous.  For me, it is a constant question and source of curiosity. 

On one hand, I do believe in destined paths; for example, my idealistic thoughts on true love are:


I came alive when I met you,

My soul found its match in your truth.

Yet, I also believe in my own twisted perception of reality.  When forming connections, I try to befriend those who appear as “bosom friends” (aka a kindred spirits in the words of Lucy Maud Montgomery).  My sense of judgement is not perfect and on occasion I have misinterpreted a mean-spirited or selfish person as a bosom friend. Similarly in relationships, my subjective impression of men has clouded who they really are and yikes how many cloudy days I’ve experienced! So many cloudy days…


Ultimately, my idea of who my soul-mate is may differ from what fate intends, and this conundrum will never be solved in my mind.  All I can do is reflect on the unanswered questions.  Maybe I should stop caring all together, as destiny and perception will continue onwards regardless of how much I try.  Maybe I should

Let the future be unruly.

A Single Man

A Single Man (Film by Tom Ford)

This film unearths what we’re all feeling on the inside and presents it with simple beauty: loss of love hurts and the pain persists (sometimes indefinitely). The main character allows life to pour into in his day for the first time in a long time. That one day highlights his misery but also shows him that unexpected pleasures are vibrant enough to overcome the pain. He discovers warmth and happiness can be manufactured in a cold warehouse from simple materials: the soft fur of a dog’s head, the haunting green of a woman’s eyes, drunken laughter shared with a friend, and a refreshing dip into the moonlit ocean.

The subtle changes in colors during the film reflect my own mental shifts from pessimism to hope and vice versa. The film’s message is clear: put more effort into the recognition and creation of happiness instead of bathing in self-misery, but the translation to our lives is easier said than done. Colin Firth’s character is more than believable as his pain can be understood by all.

Tom Ford’s direction, design, and message are visually impeccable and crisp, contrasting with the dirty muddied emotions it releases from viewers, the emotions of self-defeat we are too afraid to speak of, that restrain us in a constant grip of fear and prevent us from experiencing moments of peace. Is happiness and the purpose of life just a never-ending circle studded by tiny packets of joy? If so, my whole approach to life is flawed. There is no need for romantic love if I can experience constant happiness from the love of friends, family, and strangers. There is no need for a career or money or fame or a child or anything at all.  “A Single Man” will open your eyes to new definitions of happiness, love, and self-fulfillment…and most importantly to the benefits of living in the present moment.

The extinction of curls

Disulfide bonds dissolve as black curls fade into grey waves

Orphan Annie ringlets replaced by the mess in between

Curl, dammit!

Give me one slinky curl, one steely ringlet!

The spunk is no longer tangible, the bounce utterly flattened

Crazy hair lady

Crazy hair, not crazy lady

Sticky goop lingers as does the frizz

Hair frayed and frazzled by life’s uncertainties

Kinks caught at strained angles, hot naked wires

Rudimentary bonds broken by lies of permanence

Curls are delicate, endangered beings

None of this in-between crap!

Save them forever

or

Seal them into a layer of petrified graves

The Iceberg by Zelda Fitzgerald

 http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/books/2013/12/the-iceberg-a-story-by-zelda-fitzgerald.html?utm_source=tny&utm_campaign=generalsocial&utm_medium=facebook

A short story by the young Zelda Fitzgerald was recently discovered in a long-lost high school literary journal from 1918. As a teenager, her understanding of the world was profound but also idealistic. Fitzgerald understood women needed a sense of purpose to be fulfilled and acknowledged that marriage may not be everyone’s cup of tea. The main character of the story, Cornelia, is a 30-year-old woman who is regarded as an utter failure for being unmarried. (Thank God I didn’t live in that time period!)

“Cornie’s a fine girl and good looking enough, but she’s got no magnetism.”

Ah, the overrated charm and magnetism. The bubbly personality that people are drawn to, not unlike the Apple store or food trucks. I never understood society’s obsession with charm, as it can be transient and covering the ugliness within. Despite her lack of magnetism, Cornelia knows she can succeed at things other than marriage so she follows her personal journey (becoming a stenographer) in striking contrast to the direction of her peers.

“Perhaps, after all, Cornelia was seeking self-expression.”

Unfortunately, the story takes a childish turn towards a Disney fairytale ending when Cornelia meets a widowed millionaire through work. He becomes smitten with her during a frenzied typing session and yada yada yada…they get married.

The story has true feminist potential but the punchline is ruined by saccharine irony. It was still a pleasure to read, if only to visit the mind of an 18-year-old girl in 1918.