Girl Meets NYC

DIARY, INVIERNO (WINTER)

2012-02-16T16:00:00.001-05:00

If you like eating platefuls of spaghetti in the bathtub, and reading poetry whilst brushing your teeth, and hunting for strange things like antique glass eyeballs, and I like these things, you see, despite that society protests it’s a sin to be strange, the lie they feed the little ones like school lunches, so they’ll grow up full of untruths and stubborn.

Dreamers live like outlaws, the lost and the wild, at the fringes of society slinging their assault rifles of uniformity. Bullies and beasts will preach, “you’ll be unhappy until you’re like us,” but to be wholly yourself is paradise.

Photos by Le Cam Romain & Aëla Labbé

DIARY, HIVER (WINTER)

2012-02-08T16:00:00.008-05:00

The forest is an empress, temptress, russet velvet and svelte as it dresses in the furs of snow and lures the orbs of my eyes to be seduced by its beauty. Wooly fog entombing the land, I emerge from the beige palette of an upholstered vehicle into its purity, with my Turkish rucksack wrestled from the backseat, and my camera, the noose of my neck, reverend and rhythmic. Gingerly, I dig my soft shoes into the polar swell of land, hiking the perilous slope to its crescendo and the plateau. Look.

It’s as if I existed only in a freeze frame of a film, faded to white, and nothingness is everything. Is this what God looks like? The murmurs of nature in wintry extinction, hibernation, there is no evidence of life, omitting the ebb and flow of my blood lungs, and I wonder, I wonder, how many breaths old am I ...

Photos by the wonderful Aëla Labbé, sweet, as always, to send me these!

DIARY, ZIMOWY (WINTER)

2012-02-06T10:30:00.011-05:00

Dreaming in midnight blues, I am constellations drawn in the sand of desolate seas under the swollen bloom of the sun at morning, the microscope of the moon, in the night. I am its specimen, the cranium in exhibit behind the milky skull, a wunderkammer, swallowed melodies, pastel tints of memory ...

Photo by Michal Beer.

“Love is a believing creature.”

2011-11-20T08:35:00.006-05:00

The awakening. Bear and claw from slumber, under your cocoon of quilts, tawny and yawning, and into the sheep’s wool of fog. Poppy seeds of light sewn to the breast of daybreak, brambly brush bristles of forest combing the bridal veil of aurora, flushed rosy with frost.

Mt. Washington in flames. Puff. Puff. Puff. “You shouldn’t smoke,” I tell the tavern, “Not with timber lungs.” It slumps skinny-kneed, coughs up a confetti of embers black humored, celebrating.

I-83 South, tattooing the whites of my eyes with flecks of tiger gold, the sun gloved in thickly-netted forests, for a breath or seven, Hail Mary. House of prisms, embraced by the sun, lost friend, its warm lips press kisses to the wooly napes of our necks, the folds of our elbows. We peer to telescoping porches, pinned to row homes; bumbling ghosts untie their shoes on the staircases.

The stars hang you by your ankles, as Ólafur plays something on violin, something that sounds akin to a spoonful of nostalgia swallowed warm. Wisdom teeth tied to strings, toted like little forlorn dogs on cotton braids, tugging at their collars. “Oh, well. Four less teeth to floss.” (And I do detest flossing, my friend.)

Autumn is for seamstresses. Wispy clouds cross stitch the heavens, looms of birch trees delicately weave oriental rugs and carpets of saffron and scarlet, to soften the contours of cars soldiering on curbsides beneath. The knitted prairies, browned.

I am seven thousand three hundred and eighty nine sunrises, drunk on stardust, hallucinations swimming in the tow of tidal pools, blood moon, sanguine. We lunch on sunlight, misty daybreaks blue. Bushes gossip softly in a gust of wind, as we trudge up Hickory Avenue, where we orient ourselves by the salmon colored house, abandoned and stuffed with disembodied and lost dreams.

There’s a terrarium of flowers growing from your throat, pluck a few and make a bouquet for the kitchen table, your beside. A sight to behold, amidst the plethora of thumbed-through books, and frothy cups of half-drunken chocolate milk.

Dawn and dusk, the heartbeats, the ebbing breath of earth, comfort for the richest of souls. Pocketbooks are for petty hands. Hold my hand in yours, cathedrals of stories to warm the wicks of fingertips.

P.S. I’ve figuratively penciled in another post for Christmastime, my favorite holiday. Speaking of Christmas, I’ve begun a series of gift idea lists on Pinterest.

All photographs in this entry are by the marvelous Aëla Labbé, who was so wonderful to give me permission to post these and send them to me in the size I fancied. I am in the love with the bohemian beauty of her photographs, and the spirit that illuminates from them. This way to her Flickr photostream or buy some prints from her Etsy shop.

Title Quote: Ovid
Photo Credits: Aëla Labbé

“We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.”

2011-09-28T10:00:00.000-04:00

Into the fluorescent-lit night, my blood elopes with hospital vials, needles nipping in the crooks of my elbows, sucker punches of bruises, putrid-yellow. Pain’s caged animal gnaws at my skull, thumps. I’ve lost the key to let it out. “I’d cut a door for you, if I could!” I cry.

Numbness. Bricked-up land, at which hours crookedly coil and gallop. Something sinister seethes in the trio of clock hands, and swaddled in chasms of a labyrinth, sleep is yanked from your eyelids, alabaster.

I walk from the hospital’s yawning lobby, gulping swallows of autumn, tufts of wafer-thin gauze ghosting at warm flesh once furrowed with IV lines. Summer had departed, a third story suicide in the northern hemisphere’s celestial asylum.

Once home, slow cooked crock-pot feasts; from great aunts, a cocoon of quilts and crocheted afghans, sleeping beneath the autumnal empyrean. Primary colors, orchards, soft-edged squares, pushing at the phantoms of memory.

Roaming misty lands, I wept the tears of the sun, cupping a swan glazed mug of tea, satin for tongues. Wrinkles of rain braiding rivulets on collarbones; in a bathrobe, a book of poems, hemmed in-between my ribcage and elbow.

Behold the tender wolves in the wood thrush, and jaws agape at the apostle’s trust. Nay, not the primrose road, but through the thorny bush.

Oh, blessed, blessed one. It is struggle that spoon-feeds strength. If you are never thrown to the depths, how dull the magnificence of a mountain crest. May the crowns of our heads be anointed with hardships, and with the purest of joys. Our bodies will be poor, but oh, how rich our souls!

Struggle is the sculptor, if you coddle yourself from the bite of its chisels, you will never be sculpted into the magnum opus you could of been, and what true tales of triumph will you tell at the banquet table?

We’ve been breathing by ventilators society intubated in us. Awake from the coma of a carbon clone, of cursory. Breathe, enlightenment.

By the skin of our teeth, we’ll be alright.

P.S. I am founding an invitation only writers' society. The project is only in its chrysalises stage, although you can read a rough summary of its premise here, and I hope for it to be a full fledged being, by Christmas.

P.P.S. Another thing, unrelated to the first: I suspect my entries can be a bit redundant. It’s just that my foundations sometimes suffer earthquakes, and in my humanity, I need to be reminded of these things again and again. And so, I write about them.

Title Quote: Oscar Wilde
Photo & Art Credits: (1, 2, 6) Natalie Kucken, (3, 8) Misma Andrews, (4) Parker Fitzgerald, (5) Nishe, (7) Gabriella Barouch, (9) Matias Santa Maria, (10, 11) Alison Scarpulla.

“For everything you have missed, you have gained something else, and for everything you gain, you lose something else.”

2011-07-28T10:40:00.008-04:00

Beneath the belly rumble of fan blades beating the deviled heat and needling flesh in hot beds of wettish coverlets and linens, feverish lips fitted over crescent crowns of teeth. Behold the solstice trees softly swollen with cicadas, their impregnated odes flooding the tender nucleus of nostalgia, and songs of the bullfrogs and crickets all stuffed into the flask of dusk as the ebony throat of night swallows the sun, sinking flame engulfed by embryos of the land’s catacombs.

Tempest of the moon and moth-eaten souls, my ribcage weeping where a small wood grows in trellises of dew-lipped leaves, delta blues howling from holy speakers. At which crook of the road did I lose my way?

Oh, the anguish of indecision! I could go nowhere. I could do nothing. I could be no one. I could give in, I could give up. Enough! I’ve bled this burden to its scarlet end. I break, I scar, I grit, I gather up.

It’s all a great gamble, in this genocide of dreams. At war with the workforce, at war with sanity, at war with skepticism, at war with greed. Guns spitting, lick your wounds, licks of blood.

The sun breathes out through your lungs, a rapture, hallowed and sanctified and unafraid. Cosmic rebirth, erupt into stardust. Dreamers, rise ...

P.S. I'm thinking of moving to Goa, India, and living in a palm tree grove on the beach, or to Kolkatā, India.

Title Quote: Ralph Waldo Emerson
Photo Credits: (1) Paul Samokhvalov, (2) 4thethrillofit, (3) Robert Moses Joyce, (4) Helen Korpak, (5) Ciorania, (6) W.E. Worden.

“It does not matter how slowly you go so long as you do not stop.”

2011-05-24T10:30:00.003-04:00

The cold passed in months of impalpable paleness, smoking ghosts of cigarettes, fingered phantoms sandwiched in crannied knuckles, nothingness ...

Linchpins in our rose petal lips, bobbins ribboned with memory ... The strawberry fields of childhood, sun slumped upon your shoulders in drunken slumber, bending to pick wicker-handled basketfuls of berries, red rubies fat and fleshly, spitting juices from stained milk teeth. Breakfasts and biscuits with peach preserves and jam spread by the butter knife with the gingham handle, drinking well water from jelly jars, raspberry sherbet drips painting your dimpled chin.

God thrusts the sun through the dining room, my younger brother standing in the den, shooting a flotilla of invisible foes with a finger gun, as I spear the sun’s wings with warmed appendages, he blows his brains out in the bathos of boyhood.

In white winter, I cried out for the caress of a skirt’s hem at my knee, sylph as a morning mist. Now, the tender hands of spring have stripped the sheets of snow beds, gently parted the braided meadows. Legs of light lazily baste the brick-webbed walk, and I shadow the sun, toting the saddest dog around the cul-de-sac.

Land of magnificent liars, suicide bombers! The mirage of a baby’s birth, at infancy, an arranged marriage, slavery, to the gods of greed, money, greed. We’ve been wed in the west, souls in debt to paychecks. Abandon the abusive husband, abandon the barren wasteland! I’ll burn the blood soaked sins and dollar bills. Money never loved anybody.

Sometimes I feel as ancient as the earth, the dust and the dirt, I could be a native tree, cut me down and count my rings. Comfortless as a limp flea fallen on the froth of the sea, come and mend my artery, it weeps, it bleeds!

And I sleep with a beast of a stomach ache resurrected, time bearing on our crimson crossed hearts. For you could amputate the umbilical cord of society; we are the only species enslaved under the thumb of money! Eat your grilled cheese, your tangerines, sip your cherry tea and unbury your liberty.

P.S. I love you, I love you, I miss you. I’m sorry I write so slowly.

Title Quote: "It does not matter how slowly you go so long as you do not stop.” - Confucius
Photo Credits: (1) Helen Korpak, (2) Alison Scarpulla, (3) Ordinary Saturdays, (4) Emma Williams, (5) Nomi Kim, (6) Sam Edgar, (7) Txema Yeste, (8) Anna Verlet

“Imagination is the eye of the soul.”

2010-12-28T11:02:00.006-05:00

Of which possess you, encased in chambers of brain matter and bestowed to us, the cut teeth of keys to unbolt the portals of surrogate orbs, cosmos, oceans of mammoth proportions. We are time travelers, star gazers, raconteurs, and romantics, anointed in an avant-garde baptism of immortal imagination.

Though they crouch to catch you in a killing jar, imprisoned and pinned like insect specimens. These butchers of souls, cleavers and scalpels to dissect and scrutinize in stained aprons, skin the tender nucleus of your peculiar introspectiveness. Then fold it in flaxen parchments, tied up in twine, addressed and dispatched to museums hosting an exhibition of oddities. At which, engraved in gold plates, the names of assumed superficial diseases: “nonconformist”, “imaginative”, “unrealistic”, “eccentric”, “loser”, “reclusive”, “impulsive”, “timid”, tacked to their cylinder cases, and buckled by brass clasps, for an audience of attendees, ignorant.

They seek to snuff out the fire deep-seated in our spirit like flames in a cookhouse blaze, hopping and hotly and thwacking a damp dishrag, or as if a pastry maker pounding the lumps from pudgy, pillowy dough.“Out! Out!”. Oh, our howling souls cobbled in by the cold stones of monotone.

At birth, one is coaxed to discourage and discard the mysterious misunderstood, to coddle cowardice, the cold sweats, the unfortunately swallowed peach pit sitting in your stomach. Tucked up to their chins, and sleeping on pillows of fluffed-up propaganda, damnant quodnon intelligunt*! Forgive them.

Bearing garlic and spaghetti stuffed stomachs, we slumber, hunched in half-unbuttoned cotton pajamas, as the breathing blackish-raspberry shadows sigh and unfurl at the hearth fire, embers roasting the raked beds of pulpous white ash.

Alas, within the simplest pleasures is paradise: brushing your hair behind your ear, waking up well-rested and warm with lucid hallucinations or laying to sleep when you are frail with fatigue; a heart beating. The descent of snow, softest of sounds, and ethereal Christmas hymns, sung from choirs in candlelit cathedrals. To see the garnished fir trees, and luminaries, and fingers glazed in the fragrance of clementines, cloves, cinnamon.

You have strange habits and a strange life. You are yourself, and after all, it is strange to be yourself in the throes of this undying dictatorship for standardization. And if I am outcast into the skirts of snow-fringed wilderness for refusing to succumb to high society and its superficial rigors, imagination will metamorphose into the map to guide me, vanguard.

Thoughts? Observations?

* “Damnant quodnon intelligunt” is a Latin proverb translating to “they condemn what they do not understand”.

P.S. Please excuse my tendencies for flimsy transitions and sporadic, abrupt subject shifting. My thoughts go in dozens of directions and then I can’t reign them in. Furthermore, I write and rewrite and rewrite in fragments, and then attempt to mend them together like a matchmaker.

Sincerest thanks to the spectacular Samuel Pritzker and K, for sending me their photographs in special format for this entry. Please see below for a full list of credits.

Title Quote: Joseph Joubert
Photo & Art Credits: (1, 7) Samuel Pritzker, (2) Lukasz Wierzbowski, (3, 5) K, (4, 8) Penny Davenport, (6) Logan Jack.

"All good things are wild and free."

2010-07-21T08:00:00.028-04:00

I am between worlds, in the rift of lingering memory, in the dog days of childhood, bent trees teeming with fig fruits, villas on stilts, skin crusted with sand, and star spangled skies. Sisters in the backseat, threadbare backpacks with their bellies emptied between us, cats cradle strings, thumbed thrift books, tattered paperbacks, and paper dolls. Then skimming beneath the seats for the one scuffed sandal that slipped out of reach, limbs all asleep, blood rushing back in bursts, like lit firecrackers beneath our skin, as we tumbled akin from the family minivan, into the shrunken sleeve of heat.

At my grandmother’s, my grandfather’s house, homegrown garden squash sliced like a dozen yellowed suns on our dinner plates that parade past platters of roast. Wicker chairs, and cherry wood, and sun porches where we shucked snap-beans into wooden bowls. The backyard bisected by laundry lines, a faded wading pool, sun bleached blues waned white, slouching lopsidedly in long grasses, in the gentle growl of the condenser unit, hoses inhaling through hot coils.

After dinners, in the den darkened besides the blood oranges of eventide bleeding through the vinyl blinds, and elastic shadows slinking and retreating from a lit television set, antenna outstretched to oak panels and a plaque, to which the head of a deer is tacked. And we three, young and yawning, propped on the velour couch, the tempo and pulse of the pendulum clock half-hypnotizing us to sleep, trails of ice cream treats clinging to our fingers.

It is never the same, we change. We grow old, and if one isn’t careful, growing up can be slow death to the soul. You cannot let the years use you up, lick from you the last drop.

Society has become slugs festering in the sun, flesh consuming flesh. I am in a seeker of enlightenment, fulfillment, joyousness; leeched of all lust for money, for meaningless luxury. Comfort is for cowards, come sweat and strife, strike like a viper, and I will milk the poison from my mind.

They cry, “You cannot survive outside the rat race of society!”, and I, “Have any of you tried?” They further, “You won’t have an automobile nor a house!” “See these feet, they can carry me, and while you, in your bed, look into pale planks, I look into a depthless galaxy.”

So, go and throw my bones to the wild beasts, swallow your pills, and grit your teeth. What I am afraid of is apathy, egos, and greed, the eluding of truth, regret, eternity. Cut me from this leash! If I am committed, it is to independence from the chokeholds of conformity, of currencies.

I am six, I am eight, I am ten again, in a baptism of sunbeams and folded limbs, freckled cheek pressed to the pillowcase, smelling of peaches and warm flesh. Somewhere inside, I am still this child, seeing the world with wide-eye wonder, forever free, and wild.

P.S. I'd write in my blog more routinely, except sometimes I suspect that I'm the slowest writer in existence, and it takes an awful lot out of me to cultivate and compose all these words that live within. Thus, again, I've been gone a good stretch, (besides my presence in the pair of filler entries beneath this), tell me, how have you been?

P.P.S. There seems to be many, continuing mix-ups with my RSS feed on sites where you can subscribe. Please excuse any entries that appear twice or as new when they're not, I'm unable to edit these feeds.

Title Quote: Henry David Thoreau
Photo Credits: (1, 3, 5) Sally Mann, (2) Thomas van der Zaag, (4, 6) Roger Sargent, (7), Lukasz Wierzbowski, (8) NASA, (9) birddie.

Interview

2010-06-11T12:54:00.007-04:00

If you like, you can read my interview in NOWISM magazine here, pages 50-52, and there are hardcopies of the issue available in select bookstores in London, let me know if you happen upon any.

In other news, apologies for the month-long silence, new entry is in conception.

"Do not lose hold of your dreams or aspirations. For if you do, you may still exist, but you have ceased to live."

2010-05-05T14:23:00.003-04:00

The way I see it, we're all a little bit insane, somewhat strange. Remember childhood and the psychedelic summers, unscripted, crescendos of heat swollen ecstasy, with warm oranges and citrus fruits rinsing your soft palate with their fragrant juices, sylph bodies bare and browned, unbuttoned sundresses, and sea salt in uncombed tresses. When classrooms couldn't keep you, and you were young, drunk from the sun.

If growing up means you must put to death impulsiveness to bear instead these strangled skins of sensibility, then pray, let us be creatures of youth till eternity! None that is nourishment for the soul is without insanity. Unadulterated, infinite love is not sensible, risks are not sure nor steadfast, forgiveness grits against instinct, freedom begs of you to abandon approval and inhibitions, peace needs your untarnished tolerance.

Some say I'm strange. I like grass stains on my knees and moist mud marbled on my feet. I like laying undraped and naked; I don't often wear make-up. I like waking up where no one knows my name, and wandering on whimsies, wayward as the wind. I do not fancy phones. I grow my mane, the tips hit against my hip. I like being caught in cloudbursts, and devouring my desert before dining on the main course. I do not conceive impartial misery for money to be an honorable, even handed trade. I like the screech and slap of screen doors adjoined to sun porches; the dusk chorus of crickets and cicadas. I believe in the supernatural, in God, the Holy Spirit, I believe in redemption, salvation, in the sanctuary of nature. I made the land my father, the sea my mother, and humanity my family.

"You're insane!", that's what they all say about me, what they chant in cue to all my idiosyncrasies, my impulsive, untamed soul: you're insane, you're insane, you're insane, and then, "you'll be killed!". I should only hope. For must I die, let it be done while I wander, while there is rejuvenating change, and tides that turn, till they lower my bones into the belly of the earth.

The years, they spin cobwebs across our souls, and thus, we must faithfully take our feathered little brushes, our cleaning cloths, and dust them off. Oh, look at what you've left in the little labyrinths lipped with lost memories!

We sat at Saturday supper, the late sun dismounting from its empyrean throne, with the neighbor's baby, warm body bobbing in my lap, as she pinched peeled potatoes from my plate, her velvety flesh pressed into my lissom limbs, limpid and sticky with humidity, her breath a silky swell. She is sweetly strange and spirited, an infantile nymph at two, still snug from the snares of society's soul suppressants, and demons of doubt do not disturb her dreams. The heart is a knowing creature and she knows only the harmony it hums.

And once, when we didn't yet know how to keep the heart quiet, we let it lead us leaping free through the willows and whirlpools of our imaginative impulses. They say, when we grow, we must ripen with reasoning, be wed with sensibility, slaughter all insanity, as if to suggest we should be simple spectators, that there is shame in your dreaming. No!

Let us make love our religion and insanity our hymn, let us be christened with the clarity of our intimate chimeras, and lionhearted living. Be, breathe, like when you've almost woken, your unconscious womb still dewy with dreams, your mind nourishing the morning glories and golden poppies of thought that disintegrate into a haze that hasn't yet had a drift of disdain. Let the fire flourish, let vigor and vivaciousness spill from your lips, reach even your fingertips, and darling, if you wish, be strange, be outlandish.

Many heartfelt thanks to Alison Scarpulla - the photographer behind the marvelous visuals featured in this entry - for giving me permission to showcase her photographs here and for graciously sending them to me, in all their loveliness and in larger formats. I have always admired her impeccable ambiguity and been enchanted by the magic that happens between her vision and lens. You view more of her photographs here or purchase prints at her Etsy Shop.

Title Quote: Henry David Thoreau
Photo Credits: Alison Scarpulla

"Be the change you want to see in the world."

2010-03-14T10:09:00.011-04:00

The sun, old friend, has come around again, cleansing the wintered lands, making me feel younger than I am. The season of spring is like a crank with one end punched through my heart, winding, winding up my wanderlust. The puffs of palpable breath that flowered from my lungs in winter air have disappeared, the pale appearance of snow substituted with sprightly shoots of flora, and I could almost swear that these bones, this flesh, couldn't keep my heart from bursting with this bliss.

And it's the shifting of the seasons that stirs up within me a longing for revolutions and radical alterations. Sometimes we're ravenous for change, sometimes we shy short of it, however, how often we all seem to stand and proclaim that we wish to change the world, while we say to one another, and our beloved, "don't ever change".

We cannot let our souls be as if bottle corks aimlessly bobbing about in the sea, no, we must swim, limbs looping through the tides that transform, or sink with the weight of idleness around our ankles like brimming sandbags. For we are, in a mammoth amount, what makes the world, and thus, to mend the tears in the earth's woven ways, we must also tend to the tapestries of our hearts, and live aligning to our wishes for ourselves, for the world. If we want change, we must show the way.

And I wish not to waste away the days in the name of engraved green slips of printed papers. Currency can only buy what will be lost; possessing and buying merely bears forth an euphoria like an injection of heroin, addictive, enslaving in the way it can saturate your soul with synthetic shots of ecstasy. Love them, these rectangle folds of paper, these fabrics that fit over your frame, these jewels that drip down your collarbone, love them, these luminously lit screens, these luxuries, love them, if you will, yet know that they can never return your love.

And I wish, most of all, to do all that makes me feel alive and joyous deep down inside, the rest - the money, the expectations, the scorn of society - be damned. If settling in amongst the social norms, and climbing cooperate ladders, and clocking-in and clocking-out, if whatever it is you do, isn't what makes your veins ripple in trembling happiness, then cast it far away, into the deep of the galaxies. Don't let change intimate you, summon it up from within you, evolve, become it, for if you can change yourself, you can change the world.

What do you want to change in yourself? What do you want to change in the world?

Title Quote: Mahatma Gandhi

Photo Credits: Marlena Shores, Cerlo, The Darling Child, Cari Wayman, Logan Jackson, and special thanks to the fantastic Matt Caplin for graciously sending me his photograph in a higher resolution, for this entry!

"Our greatest glory is not in never failing, but in rising up every time we fail."

2010-02-06T09:30:00.004-05:00

I am perched, uneasy on crest of a cliff, looking into the abyss of nothingness, and across it to time and promise that can be mine, if with guts and gamble I let go of the known. Let go to teeter on a tightrope, like an tenderfoot circus performer, my fingers fumbling for a hand to hold where there is only a perilous plunge, down, down, down through the tiers of air and atmosphere, towards the unforgiving ground. Oh, how far is there to fall?

It is this question that has the wood beams of my bedroom bowing with the fitful treading of my feet, circling the chair that serves as a nightstand, the cherry wood dresser and desk, over and over, while my mind churns like a small, warm whirlpool, ebbing away all ease. Time is a procession of mountains to climb, of craggy cliffs to cross, summon the spirit to step away from your sanctuary, into the untold and uncharted, once, then find you must draw up the fearlessness from your blood again and again.

A chance has come to me, like a papered parcel on the doorway of my soul, its insides an enigma that if unwrapped could unveil a keyhole of hope or a death trap of despair. It is not the going forward that I'm afraid of, or the who and the what I will then meet, but rather that it could all lead to dead end, or into a rip current that will tug and take my limbs through the black waters of my past, backwards through the chapters I thought to be concluded.

This chance, is the chance to be one of New York City, once more. Though I need the sea and the sun, the unruly stretches of land untouched by time, the trees and the serenity, I need this city too. It's the possibilities and the impossibilities of it, the frenzy and the fire, the tuck and toughness, and how the hemispheres, with all their ways of life, are folded into the foundations, the stacks of studios and stores, rolled into the residencies, and fluorescent lit offices.

I know that my soul will grow stale and stationary if I stay, if I scrap the pieces of this puzzle when they could complete such a wondrous memory. Stillness strikes a flame of fear that licks at the slight of hunger that exists in me for practiced patterns and familiarity, it sears and singes all hesitations, until courage comes forth from the ashes. I must strive towards these possibilities, though this world waits to tear into me with tart teeth.

For there always exists hurdles to surmount, and mistakes to make. Never let the fall keep you from going forth. We will all fall, embrace the fall, don't be afraid to bleed. Stand, with your skinned knees, and flick the dirt free with your fingertips. Pick the pieces up of these mistakes, of this mess; mend your worries, and your weary heart.

You can always open to a new page, a page that is pure color and possibility, a page that has yet to be penned. Banish the thought that it is too late, even when, even though, time has since slipped away. Go on, dear friend. You can always begin again.

Are you ever afraid you'll run out of second chances?

Title Quote: Ralph Waldo Emerson
Photo Credits: Anna Verlet, Pony Tail, David Shama, Nirrimi Joy, Lauren Doughty, and Lee G.

"Dream as if you'll live forever. Live as if you'll die today."

2010-01-09T09:58:00.008-05:00

When I was born, I unsettled the natural balance of things, a stubborn stain, on society, that could not be scrubbed off into nothingness again. Society desires citizens who conform and comply, who abide to the principles of behavior; not I.

Not I, a rebel, a restless runner; a spirited, sensitive, strong willed soul, who shrugs off scholarly institutions, who casts aside cooperate careers, and frowns in face of fundamentals, all in favor, of the unlikely life. Not I, the daughter of a preacher man, daughter who perplexes her mother, not I, most afraid of being controlled, of being caged, and tamed; of being spoon fed society's propaganda, until I swallow, and accept.

Little dreamer, I won't give in, to the wind, and the whip of the skeptics. Little dreamer, I am, going for broke. I took a backpack, and traipsed across the Atlantic, arrived in Europe, frolicked around in Africa, hinged it all on a whim. I'll go again.

I feel so deeply, intensely, that I fret I'll become but bone dust and fragmented flesh, wreckage of these emotions, of ecstasy, and enchantment, of sympathy, and sorrow. I habitually say a prayer, when I hear the screech of sirens announcing ambulances. I believe in dreams, and destiny.

I take the staircase, two steps at a time. I like tipis and tree houses, kaleidoscopes, and the crackle of record players; pressing my nose into books, for the scent of the pages, and licking leftover cake batter from the mixer. I murmur in falsified foreign tongues, playact that I am an espionage agent, and inconspicuously consult my mirrors, when barreling down blacktop, in Gimli, my hand-me-down sedan.

Society shakes a finger, and says, "Grow up!" Though, adults are simply complex children, with wishes still, to have an happy ending, fore death comes to claim us, 'till death do us part. And this world needs dreamers to kindle cold hearts back to feeling, to extinguish limitations, to blaze trails, to see the magic, the miracles, of the everyday; to evolve.

Thus, go and cut your dreams down, from the suffocating noose of doubt. Withdraw from days, ensuing days, of wasting away. Fear is but a venomous viper, that strikes the crux of your dreams, its fangs starving your faith. Don't compromise yourself, for society; forsake the constraints that chain your spirit.

And relentlessly remember, you are the only soul who can keep your dreams from coming true.

Title Quote: James Dean
Photo Credits: Olivia Bee, Paolo Roversi, Sita Maria, John Atherton, Tanya, and Cassie Kammerzell.

"The outer conditions of a person's life will always be found to reflect their inner beliefs."

2009-12-06T08:37:00.009-05:00

In December, the crinkle of antiquarian Christmas music, the bewitching baritone of Nat King Cole, the palliative tenor of Frank Sinatra, tranquilizes the white heat of my temperament. For a fistful of time, maps are no longer luring, with all their inscribed invites to escape; the prominent, primitive recklessness I feel in all other seasons is as quiet as snowfall.

Mainly it's the merry melodies, the impregnating of possibilities. But then there's the shimmer and twinkle of tiny lights, encompassing tinsel and trees, strung like the hopes of humans, brittle bulbs of brightness. The carolers that come in clarity of candlelight; the hallowed hush of the snowdrifts; the flush of the fire; the scent of cinnamon and pine.

The peppermint candlesticks set on windowsills, Christmas films, and Christmas stories, the papered parcels put under the tree, topped with velvet bows. The ethereal echo of the cathedral choir, the Christmas Eve ceremony unfolding under the afghan of winter stars. And from all, comes a contentedness, so tender, that I feel I might cry, might crumble from it all.

I am flecked with flaws, missteps, misgivings, immeasurable idiosyncrasies, irresponsibility; a rebel, and a runner. I have a tongue too hasty; a will that never wafts, even in the whip of the wind. I dream, and I wish, and I hope. I believe.

As intricate, and dissimilar, as we may be, we all need something to believe in. Be it Saint Nicolas, and his sleigh, his fleet of flying reindeer. Be it a king borne in Bethlehem, beneath the heavens, the son of God. Be it good will, good deeds, justice, joy. Be it humanity, or a happily-ever-after. Be it all.

My dear, do not forsake faith, for without it, fear will arise, in its absence, and grow, in its vacant place. When wonder seems to have strayed, search for it beneath the staggering stack of sobriety, brush it off, and tuck it into the enveloping fold of your heart. Believe.

Happy holidays! May your hearts be merry and bright!

P.S. I signed up for a Last.fm account, if you have one too, you can add me here, if you like.

Title Quote: James Allen
Photo Credits: Allison Scarpulla, Thomas Hawk, pony_tail, and Sasha Nikitin.

"Too many people are thinking of security instead of opportunity. They seem to be more afraid of life than death."

2009-11-01T03:36:00.009-05:00

The first of September was spent in an aluminum capsule, fleeting towards the upper atmosphere. The components of the landscape blurred, as the runway vanished, and the rush, the resistance of air, compressed me into the shoulders of my seat, like a stringent shove. In the trembling turbulence, of ascent, my insides churned, sloshed, like pancake batter in a mixing bowl. Hands crossed, eyes closed, I eased myself into a conception of being nestled in a cocoon of egg whites and cream-colored fleece, softening my conscience into a slumberous shape, as we slipped into a film of clouds.

Sixty days since, and I am homeward bound, taking back memories of candlelight, conversation, cafes, cigarettes, and card games. Of aeroplanes, and trains, bunk beds and baked bread, of foreign accents and foreign scents, backpacks and borrowed blankets, the exchanges of culture, and the igniting of consciousness.

In Lisboa, amongst architecture erected in old world grandeur, and glory; embellished with Easter holiday hues, pinks, yellows, baby blues, powder purples, and painted tiles. In Morocco, lying, a slip on the bed sheet, in the ambiance of ancient Arabic prayers, dripped from devoted lips, echoing into the Egyptian blue medina that sits snug, in the lap of the enveloping mountains. In Barcelona, strolling down seemingly immortal sidewalks, shaking strands of hair from my peepers, to study another Antoni Gaudi structure - smile slipping crosswise - the man whose idiosyncratic spirit left the city with such a incessant whimsy. And everywhere, languages, the colors of Catalan, Spanish, Portuguese, Arabic, and French, taking flight from the nest of my throat, in timid whispers, as I try to harmonize, and fit my tongue around the foreign sounds.

On an evening, lapsing into night, over drinks that cost entirely too much, a befriended traveler questioned what impulse had brought me there, thousands of miles, far removed, from all that I knew. Because I am ill-fitted at being responsible, was my reply, and he said, quite quickly, and convinced, that, no, we are the responsible ones. I hesitantly turned this hypothesis over in my head, swallowing the notion, its simmering taste scalding and tearing at all the preconceived impressions I had of responsibility. He was right. We were living, not plainly existing, but living, in a way that makes all the air whistle away from your lungs, and your heart inflate from the ecstasy of the risk, of the days finally fitting into your dreams, of being alive.

We are responsible for ourselves, for our hearts, our happiness; what we leave to others, where, and when we go from here. Who can live for you, instead of you? There isn't a soul, who can. The secret is that we are the keepers of our own reality, to do with it, to make of it, what we wish.

I am drunk on dreams, doubtless, with no sense to sober up. Maps lay wrinkled from the forging of future vagabond ventures. Graph papers lay scattered, bearing inked blueprints for my treehouse, which I'll dwell in. Journals lay stained by sprawling scribbles and notes, for the tentative book, I'm crafting. Then there's the illimitable list of life aspirations: live in a treehouse, a tipi, a nomadic camp in the desert, and perhaps a gypsy caravan; take a cross-country road trip; be well versed in the romance languages; learn how to whistle, wink, and blow bubbles with chewing gum; attend a Kings of Leon concert, maybe a few; go skydiving; adopt many cats, and name them after famous surf locations, like Waimea, Teahupoo, and Bonsai, just because. And on, and on...

Who knows if all will be fulfilled, but that scarcely matters. You see, it is not so much where the road, in life, will take us, but that we set out, down the road.

Title Quote: James F. Bymes

Photo Credits: David Shama at www.davidshama.com.

"Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail."

2009-08-27T07:35:00.009-04:00

Back from the island, to which I paid a visit, in the shift of week, where the ghost of adolescence still lingers, in the blue breeze, and innocence was taken by the tide, the lure, of the sea. Butterfly strokes, surfboards, and strands of my hair marching in the whip of the brine air, like strings of a marionette doll; brown, paper parcel of Carolina peaches, with its craggy cut teeth, crumpled into the cusp of my palm; the celestial sphere seasoned with salt stars, and a whisper of clouds, swimming, pendulous, like a bambino's mobile; pale as breath when winter frost knifes at exposed flesh.

Newly 19, a pale, flaming child, of late summer, fevered with ardor, amour, I formulate a promise of heart, to abandon all that dissatisfies, depresses, and subsume a truer sense of being. The tangles of social order, schedules, and salaries, have crept up, snaking round my soul, strangling spiritualism, and intuition. 'No more, no more!" my spirit howls.

Thus, I purchased one-way passage, inked for September 1st, to be swept into aerial atmosphere, and fly beneath the vault of heaven, the North Atlantic Ocean at my feet, dashing thousands of miles, far remote, a departure from all that I've ever known.

Endowed with but a fistful of funds, bank account shaved bare, all that I have is who I am, heart, and soul.

I've flung off the chains of corporations, freed from their spirit-devouring demands for human submission. I will not be owned, thought of like a gratuitous puppet, raped of self and individuality. I protest to being shaped by societal standards, by wagging fingers of spite. Thereupon, I dismount the carousel of customs that is to the naked eye, satisfying, but that only spins in circles, taking the same tattered track, never giving birth to new trails, never obliterating boundaries.

Society will brand me, as a slacker, papa will preach, and still, I'll remain, a free spirit, living like a gypsy, roaming like a vagabond, filling my cup of wanderlust.

I have paused, pinned, at the lip, of a precipitous cliff, calculating, and cautiously curious about the degree of such a descent, away from assurance. For in capering into the chasm of the unknown, my spirit may be clipped, what I have conceived chiseled.

What existence is mine, though, if I purely peer at the possibilities, and forsake my fervor, my fighting chance for crowned dreams?

We are sculptors of our circumstances. Grip the wheel, and blaze straight into the nucleus of your most madcap dreams. Adopt a reckless abandon, to all that smothers the crux of your passion, for if you do not, you submit your soul as a scapegoat to regret. Nothing is foolish that fulfills you.

Therefore, I'm drafting dreams, wishing on stars, and whispering to the heavenly hosts, vowing not to misspend this offering of life, vowing to saturate myself in shafts of sunlight, and all that nurtures the soul. I’ll travel, I’ll surf, I’ll write, I’ll give, I’ll laugh until I’m seized with breathlessness, and when I die, I’ll say, 'my, how content I am with life'.

Please, tell me what you believe to be your most madcap dream. What do you wish for, but never tried for? Then tell yourself, 'it is possible'. Because it is...

A reminder: Please don't plagiarize! All writing, except for the title (a quote always credited below, in the foot of each entry) is my own. Please don't claim it as yours or edit it in any way. As for the photographs, please don't give me or my blog credit, these belong to others. See the names and links that follow (and at the end of each entry) for a full list of the photographers who have images featured. Use this list to give proper credit to them. If you have any questions, comment or email me. Thank you!

Title Quote: Ralph Waldo Emerson
Photos: Alison Scarpulla, Edouard Plongeon, Laurence, and Erica Shires.

"And in the end, it's not the years in your life that count. It's the life in your years."

2009-05-26T09:40:00.013-04:00

This is the 100th entry of this uninhibited, sprawling chronicle that was commenced a year ago, today. And I feel in the deepest abyss of my soul, that this is the conclusion, the final page in this chapter, of this small memoir, my life, heretofore. The next chapter lies still, in blank ambiguity, unfolded and biding the coming time that is to color its lustrous pages. Perhaps, not to be narrated or noted here, as it has been for the precedent three-hundred and sixty-five days, but elsewhere, wherever it may be that I gallivant on to, in the awaited, unborn days, weeks, months, years.

For all my life, thus far, I've lived in fervent bursts, like open-ended dashes between blunted bullets of Morse code. The days gone by have been seasoned with moments of grits and gallant guts; with pluck, lipped and laced with spunk. Nevertheless, those instants have been nothing more than a lightening storm in August, painted strokes of ambition that have not, thus far, discovered how to illuminate the span of the sky for more than one glorious, glimmering second.

Timidness is but a thorn in my flesh, and I know that I cannot linger much longer in this brier patch of suburbia, with all its opulent offers of superficial satisfaction, and all its neatly stacked homes, hinged on the Eastern seaboard; whose inhabitants dress in suave suits made of virgin wool, crisp currency folded in the ironed pockets; who travel in luxury automobiles with interiors of sable black and leather, wearing simulated smiles, their artificial elation exhibited in picture windows, flaunted with extravagant embellishments and wares; their gestures and sentiments, sterile as plastic.

I would rather succumb to the weary waters of death, than be slave to a schedule, to clocks, and to the condescending yardstick that society insists on measuring one another with. For to have such a mechanical, and empty existence would surely crush my soul like porcelain against stone.

I cannot live like that, all paperwork, and paper smiles. I cannot, and I will not. My heart won't allow it.

I wish to be but a warm slip in the body of the Aegean sea, its fluid tapestry, azure, and freckled with ripples of Persian blue, lipped with ivory and cream capes of sea foam; to sit atop the comma of a camel's back, in an ambling parade of spindly legs, crossing the shifting sands of the Arabian desert; to behold the incandescent pin-pricks of stars, in the sapphire mantle of African sky. And I dream still, of bare shoulders rippling with infectious laughter, of intimate exchanges, and to love and be loved, until my very heart balloons with the bliss, and blessedness of it all.

I'll take poverty, it humbles my heart, heals the crippling scars of materialism. I'll take opposition, it is but oil poured upon the fire, the flames of this blazing passion of mine. I'll take struggles, strife, and tears, they make me stronger; they are the set of keys cut for unclasping the door of triumph.

No longer will I waste away in apprehension of all the teeth, and terrors, this world may bear forth. I am not falsely unafraid, but I have penned a promise upon the flesh of my soul, a promise to press forward into the blaze of ambition, to set upon fulfilling my dreams, bestowing the summation of my life into the magnum opus of love, the crux of justice, and the heart of human equality, of harmony.

Please know, that you have all been delicate wings, lifting my spirits, stirring up advantageous debates in the wake of my thoughts, and setting a thousand-some smiles into the frame of my face. Each entry of this blog has been fragile, unpretending pieces of me, broken off, in hopes of leaving a tiny trail along the floor beams of your soul. And in tenderhearted, fervent hope that you will see the potential of your heart, and of your dreams, and find peace, love, and fulfillment in your time.

Title Quote: Abraham Lincoln
Photo Credit: Edouard Plongeon at http://edouardplongeon.unblog.fr

"Nothing is so strong as gentleness, nothing so gentle as real strength."

2009-04-27T08:38:00.006-04:00

Our home, this universe is blackened beneath the shroud of hatred and loathing, disgraced, distorted with slander, sharpness, and scorn. This world, needs no more hate, needs no more brashness, biting bitterness that leaves teeth marks on the soul, and traces of tears on flesh.

Gentleness is a master of tempers, a treatment for broken hearts, and broken people. A remedy for war, for witless assault, aggression of the human spirit.

Gentleness is my grandmother's fragile footsteps, arriving on the brick porch, lighter than air, the delicate lilt of her voice; soft murmuring and melodies on the radio, crawling through the pint-sized speakers, like sunbeams; the pale moon suspended over an iridescent lake, in the hollow of a forest asleep; sea foam, candle light, a whisper in the night, a mother's lullaby, summer breezes, bliss, a goodnight kiss.

If civilization were to classify gentleness as a gender, it would be female, as it is chiefly regarded by the male as frailty, a fault, a consequential mark in character.

It is past due, though, that the masquerade ends, for a grand finale with gentleness, a theater production, where the ruby red curtains in all their velvet strung glory are parted to unveil that the falsely masked gentleness is in truth a character of refined strength.

Gentleness indeed is not a riddance of strength, but an exercise of strength.

Harsh tones are wind in the wildfire of oppression and brutality. Thereupon, let us embrace a gentle nature, thoughtful with our tones, selective in what we let slip from our tongues. Extend a hand to hold, a smile to bless, an embrace to savor, even for a stranger.

Gentleness is but a wing in the flight of love, and love, faithful love, can redeem this blackened world.

Title Quote: Saint Francis de Sales

Photo Credits: Wendy Bevan for Mary Claire Italy magazine, scanned by Diciassette (17) at www.thefashionspot.com.

Tumblr

2009-04-19T08:18:00.006-04:00

I'm having a go at Tumblr, here. It'll be a sort of supplement to GMNYC.

(Comments disabled for this entry only, please proceed to the entry below for commenting, merci!)

"The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep."

2009-04-11T10:28:00.013-04:00

From the instance in which I was born, I was dying.

Oh, how we consider our lifetime, as a line on paper, an infinite figure of points, lingering like eternity, like the immortal skyline. To not exist, and therefore to not know this is so, is a jolting, untenable notion. Even in assimilating the delicate laces of consideration, forming an ellipse to the enigma that belongs to such a unbounded, far-flung thought, I am incompetent in absorbing, in apprehending the concept of existing no more, not in any fashion or form.

For the beloved, the departed, we scrape away soil, and tear a vacant wound in mother earth, to be a cradle for the milky sheath of bones, where the echo of a heartbeat still endures, whispering memories into the abyss of wind. And all this, a prelude to the dismantling of structure, all this, a practiced ceremony for a barren shell of bones and vessels that no longer envelope the slip of a soul.

We do not boast the sovereignty to select the manner in which we will perish from this universe, but bestowed to us is the prevailing opportunity to live in the way that our heart pines for.

For tomorrows are not to bear the weight we hinge on their impending promise, forevermore, and it is in vain to abide in tomorrows, or to haunt the days departed, when all we have to animate with our spirit, in any given instant, is the present. The materiality of death escapes me, most often, but I petition to die in passionate ardor for a crusade, for my breath to fade for nothing would be to suffer an inexpressible pain.

We are living, and we are dying. As seconds past, circulating with a quiet clap, parroting across the face of clock, measured still by the hushed whistle of breath, the tender humming of our heart, we are drawn nearer to an end, a final destination. This should not be a terrorizing thought, but a thought to encourage the omission of the arresting apprehension of fear, to discard the burdens of grudges and remorse, to offer love in immeasurable amounts, to be affectionate, and compassionate, in every enduring day.

For to do this, is to die without regrets.

Title Quote: Robert Frost
Photo Credits: Sasha Nikitin, Sita Marie, YouKnow505, and Anna Ådén.

Interview

2009-04-03T08:34:00.004-04:00

The lovely Melissa Walker, a young adult author, and writer for magazines, such as, Teen Vogue, and Glamour, recently interviewed me for her new site I Heart Daily. If you like to read the interview, go here.

P.S. Comments disabled for this entry, please proceed to the entry below for commenting, merci!

"The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams."

2009-03-28T08:28:00.005-04:00

When I was a girl, they told me to be practical, and I was a dreamer. There was no misgiving, the flames of crescent dreams always coming higher, licking at the bedroom windows, kindling in my soul, a smoldering fire. And down, down burned the house of doubt, the place of skepticism, realism, lost to the fire.

Faith replaces fear, the way spring replaces winter, and winter, fall. The eye cannot see, what credence promises.

Dreamers dream, and we see, not black and white, but vivacious, living colors. We see potential, promise. We are secret keepers of hope, gingerly settling a forgotten faith in the slip between the heart and the faint of our breastbone.

We are skies without end, wild horses without reins. We are your sister, your brother, your neighbor. We are the bumbling man in the corner store, the forsaken beggar in the street, we are the woman on the mosque steps, her figure formless beneath her hijab. We are in regions of terror, in sprawling forests, in city brownstones, in unbroken fields, where grass stands above summer skinned knees. We are shapeshifters. We are here, and we are there.

We walk through the fire, the arson of unbelievers, scorching skin, but never our souls, and with dreams that are kindred to the wings of a phoenix bird, we rise out of ashes. We propel the human race forward.

And we go on, because the future is ours, and we are not afraid. We go on, because we believe in a better day.

When I was a girl, they told me to be practical...

I chose to be a dreamer.

P.S. Here's to all you dreamers...the crazy ones, the misfits, the rebels, the troublemakers ...

Title Quote: Eleanor Roosevelt
Photo Credits: Yulka Wilam, Oleg Oprisco, Dim Baidachnyi, Elif Sanem Karakoç, Santina, and Giancarlo Rado.

“One’s destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things.”

2009-03-11T08:04:00.005-04:00

I have dreams now, of desolate roads, and lonesome motels, ingrained on elapsed lands that offer shoddy rooms with cobwebs and lingering shadows, and anonymity to a drifting soul.

I think I’ll drive, all the way, to California, blaze the boundaries of my country, east coast to west. To drift through space and reminiscence, in the sleepy bones of my scruffy Volvo, its twin windshields, gritty and encrusted with remnants of northeast winters, framing the shifting terrain further on and following.

I crave the sweet delirium of insanity, of summer when heat crawls on exposed flesh, eating away the mind’s good sense. My need for a definite destination is absent; the stained maps of inked routes of purpose are to be abandoned. I wish only, to go.

The widespread dream of traveling is not unlike a castle in the sky. We gaze upon it, marveling at all its promise suspended in air, but we venture to guess that it is far above reaching: too pricey, too uncertain, not now, we’re busy, perhaps, later…

We consult maps; we consult costs, fishing with the tips our fingers in the lining of our pockets and tousled couch cushions for extra change to pay our way to the locations we daydream of.

Don’t go with a plan. Don’t go to be guided throughout on a tour. Don’t go to reside in a resort. Don’t go for luxury. Take a battered suitcase. Take any vehicle that runs. And take to the road.

Traveling is at perspective, merely a state of mind. We go for the prize of poignant liberty. We go when deadlines begin to chew away at our sanity, when our minds clatter into a dead end, when the days all look the same. We go to be aware of ourselves. We go for second sight, for vigor to flourish in our essence, for the emergence of character, for igniting light within.

Then there is the lack of limitations, the stretch and scribble of well worn roads. The curtains of undone hair, delicate like bicycle streamers in the wind, weaving through widemouthed windows, then snapping in the rapid shift of regions. The melodious breath of youth-forgotten freedom, fluently filling our lungs once again...a revival of our spirit, and of our soul.

How often do you travel? Do you wish to travel more, or to travel at all? Where do you dream of going? Why? If you travel, has traveling taught you anything, about the world, about yourself? Other thoughts?

Note: This entry's photographs are by Brooklyn photographer Bradford Gregory, who graciously allowed me to feature a selection of his captivating work, and kindly provided me with copies in larger formats. Please do visit his site, blog, or Flickr for a more extensive collection of his images.

Title Quote: Henry Miller
Photo Credits: Bradford Gregory at www.bradfordgregory.com & www.bradfordgregory.blogspot.com.

"What the world really needs is more love and less paperwork."

2009-02-10T10:32:00.009-05:00

We are not so different, you and I. Nestled beneath the faint arc of our rib cage is an instrument that we have christened the "heart", its intricate, intimate humming, stringing the seconds, from moment to minute, giving us life.

God must have been sage, when he positioned such a corral, a cage across the vessel of the heart. Perhaps he knew, what we did not know then, that the heart is the eminent weapon there is.

If only we'd hang up our guns, sling aside our anger, cast way our pursuit for power, and arm ourselves with a redeeming heart, with radiating love. If only we'd set aside paperwork, pause amidst deadlines and board meetings. Then we could savor an embrace, delight in a kiss, smile at a stranger.

We could lay strewn across the grass, laden with the fragrance of dew and soil, and watch the majesty of the sun shimmer on the horizon. We could withhold from hurried meals, and store bought favors. We could meditate, and contemplate, before speaking, before forming half-witted judgments. We could see again, see the souls of our offenders, see the power of the weak.

This world does not need regulations and restrictions, any more than we need currency and contracts, any more than we need presidents and princes, any more than we need to believe the world must unquestionably be intricate and involved.

All we need is the softening, strengthening, purity of love. The mending of fractures in relationships, the banding of hearts together.

We're not so different, you and I. We wander daily to forks in the road, where we must elect either the path of love or the path of despite. Love may hurt a little, and love may not come easy, but it will come, if you call it, love can change yourself, and it can change the world...

Title Quote: Pearl Bailey
Photo Credits: Jonathan Leder at www.jonathanleder.com.

"Create a vision and never let the environment, other people's beliefs, or the limits of what has been done in the past shape your decisions."

2009-02-02T08:20:00.013-05:00

At six-thirty A.M. - daybreak still premature and the husk of night being stripped like a bed sheet to reveal a slit of flaming sun, a tear in the plum-like hue of sky - the incisives of my slumber disgruntled into a ripened nightmare. The clarity of my conscious absent in a vicious hallucination, a tempest of violence, and flickers down the throat of a gun, heightening, until the vision collapsed and I was awakened.

Fingering my crumbled sheets, my hands quivered like the needles of a polygraph device, responding to my drumming pulse and the jagged rhythm of my breath. I scoured my surroundings for assurance that it was after all just a disillusion, a scab of my subconscious. Coaxed by my weariness, I slumped back into the cradle of my pillow, my mind running like fragmented roll of film, replaying the home invasion I had witnessed in sleeping.

Ironically, society avidly pursues prevention for home invasion, and theft of material possessions and wealth, and still, we give little thought of defense in regards to the frequent invasions of our minds.

Rumors, portrayals, notions, philosophies, dialect, opinions, images, beliefs, suggestions, information, and so forth, invade our thinking and psychological state on a daily basis.

Perhaps, we believe what feeds into our mentality, quietly stays there, and is insignificant in terms of our own principles and actions. However, sometimes even unbeknown to ourselves, much of our thinking has been dictated by outside influence. Certainly, complete ignorance of the thoughts and perceptions of others, would be a terrible loss, however, if we train our mind to filter influence like sand through a sieve, we are able to catch the stones that only obstruct our mental healthiness.

Conservation of the mind, is not so much a matter of constructing barricades, but rather of independent observation and reflection. Question what is vital in your life. How much reliance do you entrust in others to come to your own conclusions? Do you quickly adopt the same thinking of your friends and family, with few questions asked?

In most grade schools, subjects have an unspoken rank of magnitude. Creative topics have long been swept away as an afterthought in educational institutions. This is one, vastly illustrated example, and a way of thinking that has eroded countless minds, including my own, at a time.

I am told, even now, that art is a straight path to poverty, but in a turn of the tables, I believe art can be a solution to poverty. Straying from the drawn lines of practicality has taught me that innovative thinking is an enlightening force that most often leads to momentous advancements and impact.

There is a frequent phrase that hinges on the warning lips of family and peers: "...the reality is..." Should someone tells you that reality rejects the possibility of your ideas, the probability of your dreams, remember the French proverb that “to believe a thing impossible is to make it so." Tear out the word "impossible" from your dictionary, and instead embrace the notion of the "possible". Simply believing is fundamentally crucial in achieving.

Therefore, determine your own ambition, the thoughts closest to your soul, and ignore any unjustified objection to it. Outside opinions and improbability can only stop you, if you let them...

Wherever you are in life, are you there because you want to be, or because that's where others want you to be? How much reliance do you entrust in others to come to your own conclusions? Do you quickly adopt the same thinking of your friends and family, with few questions asked? Other thoughts?

P.S. If you missed the previous snippet, there is now a Girl Meet's NYC Facebook Blog Network. Please join, if you like, and a heartfelt thanks to all who have already.

Title Quote: Anthony Robbins
Photo Credits: Jordi Gual @ http://jordigualphotography.blogspot.com & Siggeir Hafsteinsson @ www.digital.sys.is.

2009-01-29T22:26:00.007-05:00

Join the new Girl Meet's NYC Facebook Blog Network.

(Comments have been disabled for this entry only, please continue to next entry to leave a comment).

Photo Credits: Lina Scheynius

"Freedom is what you do with what's been done to you."

2009-01-25T20:21:00.048-05:00

"Let freedom ring" exists as a magnum opus of fourteen letters, a pièce de résistance constitutionally voiced in momentous speeches, and still, breathed into barren hope by mortal souls in bondage. "Let freedom ring!" remains the blazing outcry bellowing from the unrelenting lungs of freedom fighters.

Gallant men and women, grandmothers and grandfathers, mothers and fathers, and sons and daughters, have long pursued freedom, to abolish the binds of slavery, segregation and injustice.

In the present, most of us reside in countries that have been declared free to themselves, and still, there surely has been unrest, and an unsettling notion that often we do not feel free at all.

Perhaps, it is not so much that we, as human beings, desire to be free, but to feel free.

We have combed through plans of positions, trailing the ghost-like lines of others who look to be free. At times, we even shadow the behavior of those who seem to us to be most free.

Freedom though, is perhaps not to be found as much in physical places, but in internal discretion. We are, and always have been, free to practice love, if not always externally; free to be compassionate, kindhearted, and intimate in feeling; we are free to forgive, to resist hatred and grudges; we are free to be alone and autonomous in our minds, to think independently; free to hope.

Dwight D. Eisenhower knowingly said, "We seek peace, knowing that peace is the climate of freedom." To be at peace with ourselves, is to be free. Peace breathes life into freedom, as freedom gives way to peace.

To be at peace, does not require the unabridged communion, and entire peace of a community, of all that surrounds, but that we embrace harmony with our given circumstances, in satisfaction and in struggle.

Three sunrises ago, I found myself gingerly navigating my battered, stormy '93 Volvo, through a ribbon of back road, absently listening to the scraggly sound of my radio through the awning of organic green. I don't know why I was on the road, still gently propelling the accelerator around half-moon curves, threading my vehicle through the wilderness. I didn't have a destination, just the impression that I didn't want to stop from going somewhere, anywhere.

I cranked my window down, the icy air knifing at my cheek, the wind splintering my hair into partitions that ascended on the winter air like silk kites. Ahead a bridge imperiously rose out of trees feathered with frost, and there on that unchristened bridge, with water beneath my tires, endlessly cascading, twinkling in sun beams, like dreams, I found the conscience of freedom, imminent in my soul.

We may never see the day of omnipotent physical freedom, but I hope that all may ascertain the internal freedom that can set one free, and deliver a most fragrant, lasting peace. Then perhaps, in a symbolic bridge across rugged land, luminous seas, through stretching skies; regardless of color, of culture, of age, history and future, we can borrow the momentous words that Martin Luther King Jr. closed his celebrated speech, "I Have A Dream", with: "Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"

Are you free? Do you feel free? Where do you believe freedom is found? Do you think freedom is available to all; are we born with it, or must we find it? If there is a physical place you feel exceptionally free in, what about that place makes you feel free? Other thoughts?

Special thanks: The photos featured in this entry are courtesy of photographer Mirjan van der Meer whose photographic work I've found to be a most intimate portrait of human spirit, free of detachment, emotive, and stirring, her still frames unedited sentiments, and admirably sincere. Visit the links listed below (following "photo credits") to view more of Mirjan's body of work.

Title Quote: Jean-Paul Sartre
Photo Credits: Photographer Mirjan van der Meer, www.rooze.deviantart.com & www.flickr.com/photos/rooze.

“Just remember, when you should grab something, grab it; when you should let go, let go.”

2009-01-07T16:58:00.013-05:00

This morning, at thirty six minutes after ten o’clock, I changed my life with a firecracker-like initiation of reckless ambition. I did what my parents unwaveringly warned me against, what, I even doubted, I’d ever have the nerve to do. I staked my life in a risk; I just quit my job, without even a solitary prospect of another position of employment, and I'm going after my dreams.

Just like that, I gambled any security of my well-being, granting my former company two weeks’ notice, and leaving myself fourteen brief days, less than three hundred and thirty six hours, to arrange a move to New York City.

Today, I breathe in and out, in the same way as I did as a kid riding my bike without handlebars, the biting teeth of gravel and stone gliding beneath me, waiting for me to plunge, to fall, and still, the delicate consciousness of the wind lacing through my hair, the blood pulsing past my ears, my heart hammering with adrenaline, tender against my ribcage.

I arrived here, to this moment now, through a burning longing for a life more gratifying than this; with a captivating book, “A Night Train To Lisbon”, whose key character does precisely what I’m about to; an audacious new year’s resolution, and on the grounds that I have written to you before, and again, about taking risk. I would be but a fraud to advise a life of risk, if I was not courageous enough to lay it all on the line myself.

I feel out of my mind, I have always suspected that I am insane, perhaps, and I suppose I am only following in the pattern of irresponsibility, irrationality, my parents have always held against me. If only they understood my recklessness is dependently born from inherent passion and ambition, that I want to give all that I have, with all of my heart, to raise every soul up, to provide hope for humanity, that I’m not afraid to lose my life out on a limb.

The moment is surreal, I feel as if I drift, in a suspension of sleep, on the verge of awakening, to see with tired eyes that life has the same familiar rhythm, as it did before. My eyes are open though, and I'm about to leave behind all I've ever kept, all I've ever known, thus far.

I can't believe I am the one who just quit her job, spur of the moment, and who in two weeks, proposes to take the night train to New York. To travel away, settled between the pace of the train, the vastness of liberty, and velvet sky.

Goodbye sanctuary, goodbye humdrum days. Hello, escapade.

I know now, that I must let go, to grab something else, and I'm taking my first piece of this immense, ruthless, beautiful world. I'm grabbing life by the horns, danger and all, no matter what becomes of it...

If you could do anything, have anything in your life, right now, what would that be? Whenever you are right now, both figuratively and literally, is it where you want to be? Other thoughts?

P.S. Not to beg, but know of any specific job opportunities in NYC, or have any ideas? I'm looking, since I may need something standard until I can launch my dreams...Any assistance, advice would be greatly appreciated.

Title Quote: Unknown
Picture Credits: Photographer Erika Svensson: http://erikasvensson.com, and photographers from http://ungeheuer.deviantart.com, http://haikman.deviantart.com, and http://mumbojumbo89.deviantart.com.

"A journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step."

2008-12-31T15:42:00.009-05:00

The New Year arrives as a parcel of luminous anticipation. Delicately, we hold all its promising potential, as we would hold our breath. The New Year appears like the fragility of a dream, awaiting fulfillment, an elusive bud before it blossoms.

We pencil our resolutions, for the New Year, staining papers with inscriptions of both ambition and doubt. Those who fear failing, make no resolutions at all.

On the eve of two-thousand and nine, I compose a singular resolution: to live passionately, and thoughtfully. If we live with all we have, with intent to make each hour our finest, what can we regret?

It is not that we should try for flawlessness, but that we try. Always forgive, because the human spirit is easily splintered by grudges. Speak tenderly, lovingly. Allow the fluency of routine be interrupted, at times, by impulsiveness. And pray, never clip the wings of hope, for with them, you can rise above despair.

Life is far less in memory, and spirit, though, if we do not stop and savor in all that is tender and warmhearted: The intimacy of a kiss, of breathless desire. The winded laughter of friends, echoing into long emptied coffee mugs and lamp lit rooms. The vivacious feeling, of an affectionate embrace. The stretching smile of unadulterated delight, from someone dear, someone cherished.

We live, and this world we live in is satiated in splendor, in daily miracles of magnificence, only waiting for one to lift the blinders of materialism and observe: The silken yawn of dawn and dusk. Sun beams fragmented, like a kaleidoscope, by leafy tree tops. The scent of the earth after a summer rain. The sea, with all its elegance and vigor. Misty mornings, blades of grass crowned with dew. Fireflies winking in the melodious twilight of summer. The serenity of earth laden with the pale powder of snow. The tiny pin-pricks of stars in the ebony mantle of sky.

And then there is, the sacred rhythms of your heartbeat, the delicate whistle of your own breath. The intricate, mystifying ways in which the human body survives. That we are here, that we are alive...

What are your New Year's resolutions, if any? What are your greatest hopes for the upcoming year? How well do you usually keep the resolutions you make? Other thoughts?

Title Quote: Lao-Tzu
Photo Credits: Photographer Kim at www.flickr.com/photos/depressiverealism

"Don't compromise yourself. You are all you've got."

2008-12-21T09:35:00.015-05:00

On Friday, the fanciful Kit, otherwise known as Ms. Unreliable, gave me the challenge of the "7 Things" tag, requiring me to mentally root around in my cluttered mind of thoughts and memory and collect seven things about myself to share. I am not very fond of talking strictly about myself, however I am who I am, and I have learned I am the one most hurt if I ever compromise myself.

I. Ever since I was a little girl I’ve shared my bed with a pile of books, numerous novels I immerse myself in before sleeping and upon waking, kindred souls paged and laid open, to mark my place. What I’ll do should I ever get married and my husband wants somewhere to sleep, heaven knows. After all, I don’t know what I love more, the company of a good book, or the company of a good man.

II. I do believe in ghosts, though I have no desire to associate or attempt to converse with them.

III. Whenever the day comes and I have an apartment or home I of my own, I am set on hosting classy dinner parties, with a select company to inspire and communicate in ways that have been lost to the era of often impersonal technology and vague text messages.

IV. If I ever think about dying, of death, the one thing I am sure of is that I don’t want to go quietly, or peacefully in my sleep, I want to go out with a bang!

V. The traits I admire most in a person are compassion, a sense of humor, honesty, ambition and enthusiasm.

VI. I believe there is nothing a woman can wear that is more alluring than fine perfume.

VII. There is only one factor that is nearly always responsible for making me late to appointments, and events: getting dressed. I find putting together a look quite arresting, and when I'm done, I often want to take everything off, and do it again.

Have you ever been in a situation in which you've compromised yourself to try and please someone else? Did you regret doing so? Now that I've told you seven things about me, please do tell me seven things about you! Also since it's the holidays, and because this entry didn't have much of a topic anyway, what do you look forward to most this holiday season? Are you traveling anywhere for the holidays?

Title Quote: Janis Joplin
Photo Credits: Photographer Glynis Selina Arban: www.glynisselinaarban.com.

"What we see depends mainly on what we look for."

2008-12-15T09:42:00.008-05:00

They say a glass seen as half full represents an optimistic view, while a glass viewed as half empty is a reflection pessimistic perspective. Yesterday, my momentarily distracted mind caused a car crash, and I wrecked my car, leaving me in a sullen mood and a glass that I was certain was half empty.

Yesterday is only a past-tense representation of my life though, and today the glass is half full. Most my hard-earned savings will be spent on fixing my car, leaving me nearly broke, but I won't let my spirit be broken too. My enlightened perspective now is that I have nothing to loose, and everything gain.

Perspective is fuel for originality. We look at the same world, and see something else, our own worlds blossoming into life as a result of what we see, and what we are looking for.

Recently I've been flattered by blog comments from readers requesting my opinion of their blogs and similar. Lola asked me how to make her blog more like mine, to which I would advise, "in order to make your blog more like mine, make it less like mine." What I mean to say, is I depend on my personal perspective to blog, and I would be sorry to see anyone offer their readers anything other than their own unique perspective.

Sometimes though, perspectives are shared. An individuals perspective may inspire another, and that person's perspective will adapt and reform. In fact, I do believe we would be missing valuable links and benefits if we weren't open to hearing and seeing others' perspectives.

The manner in which we filter our perspective, what we look for, and then see, can provide us with a bounty of inspiration. In illustration, I have recently changed my perspective in fashion, and gathered inspiration from sources that I had previously left untapped: cathedrals, the night sky, a song: Ave Maria, candle-light, religion, eerie silence, and masked heroes. This territory I'm venturing into now, while it may only be fashion, is nonetheless a refreshing advancement of the evolution of my personal style.

Embrace your distinctive perspective, but never narrow your mind so that it is only possible to view your own perspective. Be open, and tolerant of the world's diverse perspectives. Conversion to another's perspective is never required, but if one is receptive, the discoveries we may make are virtually endless.

Said more profoundly by Ralph Waldo Emerson, "Life is a train of moods like a string of beads; and as we pass through them they prove to be many colored lenses, which paint the world their own hue, and each shows us only what lies in its own focus."

Has changing your perspective ever changed your life? Do you change your perspective often, and/or are you easily open to and influenced by others' perspectives? Who in your life, if anyone, has influenced your perspective the most? Since many of you are fashion fans, what is your perspective of fashion right now? Other thoughts?

Title Quote: John Lubbock
Photo Credits: By photographer Camilla Åkrans, and via Arvida @ http://arvidabystrom.blogspot.com.

"Yesterday I dared to struggle. Today I dare to win."

2008-12-10T10:57:00.004-05:00

I am so stirred by this entry's title quote by Bernadette Devlin that I am considering printing it across the back windshield of my car. Devlin does not glamorize risk, but instead acknowledges the gritty truth that we must first be willing to struggle, before we may dare to achieve and accomplish. Risk, after all, is not for the faint of heart.

Perhaps one of the truest forms of life, is a life of risks. If we are too timid to allow ourselves to become vulnerable, too unsure to be willing to put everything on the line, we will never really experience the abundance of opportunity life can offer.

What losses may we suffer, should we take a risk? What is so critically important to us, that we cannot seem to let it go of, in order to venture into the unknown? Our reputation? Our money, and material goods? Our dignity or our pride?

Chances are you've asked yourself, before a risk-requiring situation, "What's the worse that could happen?"

Considering my immensely vivid imagination, I can usually answer that same question with numerous possible results that would all be hard to swallow.

Recently though, I've come to the conclusion though, that perhaps we should not ask, "What's the worse that could happen?" in regards to the actual risk, but that same question in regards to what could happen if we do not try.

In doing this, I've noticed that the worse that could happen if I do not try at all, is most likely burden me more that if the worse happened from taking a risk. I know now that if I do not take the chances I have to make life happen, then life, as I desire it, may never happen at all.

I believe most of us would coincide that a life full of risk, and even mistakes, is more honorable than a life of never trying at all. Therefore, we should, with a granted extent of caution, embrace the opportunities that rest in the risks given to us.

Since spending this summer living in New York City (the event in which this blog's title was originally given for), I have been desperate to return and make NYC my home. Many great obstacles stand in my way, and while my parents are strongly advising me to wait until everything is perfectly aligned for me to move to NYC, I've made a monumental decision of my own.

When the new year arrives, no matter what the situation, no matter how much struggle may lie ahead, I am packing my most precious belongings, leaving all else behind, moving to NYC, perhaps with no job ahead, weak funding in the bank, complete uncertainty, and taking the greatest risk of my life, risking my life itself, to accomplish all that I passionately desire to do. As Ella Williams smartly said: "Bite off more than you can chew, then chew it."

Do you consider yourself a risk-taker? Are there any risks you'd like to take but are still unsure about? What is the greatest risk you've taken? Are there any risks you did not take, but now regret not taking? Other thoughts?

Title Quote: Bernadette Devlin
Photo Credits: Matt Sundin, www.emsfilm.com.

"All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."

2008-11-27T11:04:00.003-05:00

When I first discovered the title quote for this entry, its brutal truth felt like a punch to the gut. We often believe that as long as we, ourselves, don't act wrongly, we are exemplary citizens. There is a misconception among some that in order to avoid acting immorally, we must remove ourselves from all wrongdoing and crime. Perhaps though, the key is not that we should distance ourselves from the cruel injustice experienced in the world, but that we should intercept it.

When we do not act against injustice, when we do not stand up against crime, when we do not offer aide to the helpless, we allow evil to continue to prevail. This is not to say we must or should feel the guilt of every crime in existence, no human can be expected to prevent all evil, however we can all exercise what capabilities we have to seek justice for others.

Martin Luther King Jr. wisely said, "True peace is not merely the absence of tension: it is the presence of justice." Complete world peace is unlikely, and God is the only who can truly serve justice to all, but justice and peace in a family, a community, peace between two countries, and additional accomplishments of justice, are not impossible to achieve.

Recently I was handed a folded pamphlet, the front flap reading, "Speak justice, the language that can change the world." Justice is indeed like learning a language, practice is necessary in order to achieve fluency. One would expect frustrations and challenges upon learning a new language, and justice is no different. You must first dare to struggle, before you can dare to win...

Are there any inciendents of injustice that you have experienced first hand? Do you witness much injustice in your community? When, if ever, have you worked to prevent injustice? Other thoughs on justice?

Title Quote: Edmond Burke
Photo Credits: www.glynisselinaarban.com

"We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give."

2008-11-23T14:58:00.005-05:00

As the holidays near, there's nothing like the warm gestures we give and receive that make us feel as if we were bathed in sunlight despite the bitter winter air. What we give doesn't always have to be something that can be packaged and tied up with string, but rather we can give gifts like love, cheer, hope, and laughter.

Perhaps the greatest gift we can give is love, however love requires something else we often consider precious: time. Saying, "I love you", never says as much as showing you love someone. Nothing speaks louder than your actions.

If anything, we become far more busy, in the holiday season, than throughout the rest of the year, but instead of creating a traffic jam on your calender by attending every possible party, and dashing around department stores for gifts, consider giving those you love more of your time this season.

Give the gift of a listening ear to someone you love, or go the extra mile, and take time to listen to those who are rarely given a voice, such as the homeless, the disabled, the elderly, and so forth. Give the gift of family: invite someone who is unable to be with their family this holiday season, to join your family for the holidays. Give the gift of song and cheer: go caroling around your neighborhood. Mirroring the topic of the previous entry: give the gift of forgiveness, and of acceptance.

Feed a hungry baby for a week, teach a child to read and write, rescue a child from bondage and abuse, transform the life of a disabled child, help fight epidemic diseases, provide clothing for those in need, or give something as simple as milk to boys and girls, who live in poverty, to help them overcome malnutrition. Trusted and established organizations like Samaritan's Purse allow you to give these and many other charitable gifts this holiday season.

While we must realize and remember the greatest gifts don't come with dollar value, most of us still wrap some gifts to place under the tree, and even material gifts can be given having thought and time put behind them. Don't settle for an obvious, easy buy, narrow down what your family and friends might really like to receive this year. Below are some (affordable, because I don't know about you, but I'm not made out of money) gift ideas, that I have found over time to be little gems, and for those who seek visual appeal, like myself, well-made and well-designed too.

1. Books To Check Out: A Journal (best suited for those who like reading, organization, and journaling); 2. Magnetic Poetry (best suited for those who like poetry, songwriting, writing, and words); 3. Blank Coffee Table Sketchbook (best suited for those who like sketching, doodling, and who frequently host friends and parties); 4. Wanderlust Travel Journal (best suited for those who like traveling, journaling, photography, and design - also see other Wanderlust products); 5. Paperchase Mag Bags (for U.S. citizens these are sold only in-store at Borders; best for those who like magazines, reading, bags, and fashion).

6. Flea Market Style by Emily Chalmers (best for those who like reading, flea markets, interior design, and vintage/second-hand); 7. Fingerprint (best for those who like reading, graphic design, hand-made design/elements, print work, and packaging design); 8. Cinematic Storytelling by Jennifer Van Sijill (best for those who like films, reading, cinematography, film method and technique); 9. Much Love Jewelry (best for those who like jewelry, hand-made craftsmanship, costume-like jewelry).

Feel like I've come close to hitting the mark of what your friends or family might like, but haven't quite found what you're looking for? Check out these sites for similar and related products to the ones I've listed above: Chronicle Books, Wanderlust, Michael Wiese Books, Paperchase, Etsy, and HOW Books. And stay tuned, as I'm considering doing a part two to include more products and gifts I adore...

What is the best (or one of the best) holiday gifts you can remember receiving, whether an actual product, or something non-material? What is the best (or one of the best) holiday gifts you've given? Do you get your holiday shopping done early, or at the last minute? Other thoughts? Feel free to share and exchange your own gift ideas when you comment.

P.S. While I've provided links to locations where all the products listed can be ordered, please note that other resources may be available in which you may buy some of the products, as well as, many of these products can be bought in-stores instead of online, or at more affordable prices. Feel free to do some Google-searching to find the best location and price to buy any of these products at. I also own nearly all of these products, and/or know who makes/owns them, so you're welcome to ask me any questions you might have about them.

Title Quote: Winston Churchill
Photo Credits: http://kes-ke.livejournal.com & http://styliste.livejournal.com & www.flickr.com/people/10330100@N06 & Christopher at www.thefashionspot.com.

“To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you.”

2008-11-19T20:40:00.004-05:00

We've all been angry at someone, or some group of people. Perhaps you're angry at someone now. You might believe your anger is fair, and well directed, but there is a difference between momentary anger, and clutching tight to grudges and refusing to forgive.

We often have the misconception that when we put up a wall of anger, our behavior reflects on our strength, our toughness. However, a grudge only mirrors bitterness, and weakness, as it requires strength, and dedication of your heart to heal and forgive.

You want to reduce hate, and crimes against society? Then practice forgiveness. Wrongdoing occurs, there is no hiding the harsh reality, but we solve nothing when we participate in revenge. When we act in an hateful, avenging manner, we not only wrongfully hurt others, but we hurt ourselves, as well.

Grudges that we store in our hearts, steals room from where we should instead keep love and forgiveness. We become burdened by thoughts of revenge, instead of freeing our captive soul through forgiveness.

This is not to say all anger is negative, we should hate what is wrong but we should never hate the individual, even if they committed wrongdoing. You want to be angry? Be angry about injustice, be angry about racism, be angry about poverty, be angry about the evil of the world, but only if that anger leads you to positive action to prevent (not avenge) the crimes you witness.

If someone provokes your anger, and you hold tight to your anger and keep a grudge against them, they have already defeated you. Forgiveness is a process, a road less traveled, but one that is worth whatever internal struggle required to remove the burden of a grudge. No matter what one does against you, no grudge is impossible to let go of, never underestimate the power of a forgiving spirit, in a relationship, in a family, in a friendship, in a community... in the world.

Do you anger easily? Are you angry at anyone now? Do you often hold grudges? Do you frequently seek revenge against those who have hurt you? Have you ever forgiven someone who has wronged you? Other thoughts?

Title Quote: Lewis B. Smedes
Photo Credits: www.flickr.com/photos/jgual & www.flickr.com/photos/amaliachimera & www.monoscope.com.

"Life all comes down to a few moments."

2008-11-16T11:40:00.007-05:00

There are a wealth of things that make me happy. Some are monumental, some come and go quietly. Perhaps some of the greatest moments, though, are the moments which we often refer to as "the little moments". These are the moments in which, if only for a moment, everything feels just right. Moments in which we are overwhelmed with the sensation of peace and of believing that everything truly is going to be alright.

These are not moments that at a distant seem critically important in any way, but as Thornton Wilder stated, "We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures." I believe that same concept, the idea of being aware of all we have to be thankful for, is what brings forth the occurrence of these moments in which everything feels perfect. Many grateful thanks to Jane for the "happy" tag, which asks bloggers to list 6 unimportant things that make them happy, and from my view point 6 things that create "little moments".

1) A fire in the fire place on a wintry evening, especially when such an occasion also invites books, hot chocolate, board games, and warm company.

2) Swimming deep under the sea, in a cocoon of tranquil blue calm.

3) The sound of my kitty purring, and the touch of her downy-like fur against my bare skin.

4) When a song I love comes on the radio, and spins any sour mood I may have been in around to elated blissfulness.

5) Flying, whether by airplane or other method. The feeling of air rising up underneath me and rushing past me, of adrenaline pumping through my veins in reply to being airborne.

6) Dusk and dawn, the warm blanket of sunlight filtering through darkness to reach you.

`

Now to recent blog awards, a hearty thanks to you all for being generous and honoring my blog with such awards, you make me blush so very much, and such sweet gestures, such as these blog awards, are like treasures to me.

First award I'll do is the "You Rock" award, thanks to impeccably stylish and sweet Marta for giving me this award, and I would like to pass it on to: The Stylish Wanderer, Daisy Chain Dreams, Much Love, Kaleidoscope Dreams and The Valentine Journals.

The second recent award given to me, was the "E for Excellence" award, which was graciously given to me by the charming miss Anna and her equally endearing blog Much Love. I'd like to pass on this honor to: Rice & Peace, Spider, Spin Me A Story, City Of Petra, Sugar & Blush and A Beautiful Life.

The third and fourth recent awards I've recieved are the "Premio Dardos" and the "Kreativ Blogger"award, a dozen enthusiastic thanks to my dear Betsey and Saorise for honoring me with these awards. However I am sad to say I am nearly out of time, and have yet to ponder who to pass these awards on to yet, but for now I wanted to include my sincerce thanks for them.

What are six (or any number) of "unimportant" things that make you happy? Do you remember any "little moments" when everything felt peaceful and perfect? Other thoughts?

P.S. Just realized, I never tagged any blogging friends for the "happy" tag! No time to change it now, so in this case, I will say, anyone who would like to do the tag, by all means, please do!

Title Quote: Charlie Sheen
Photo Credits: www.ellenkooi.nl & www.linascheynius.com & www.flickr.com/people/depressiverealism & www.flickr.com/photos/futurowoman & www.flickr.com/photos/ptobin & www.flickr.com/photos/22658121@N00 & www.flickr.com/photos/rosewater & www.flickr.com/photos/synesthetikdesign.

“Life isn't about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself.”

2008-11-13T08:56:00.006-05:00

Most of us take an active part in the various areas of our life, but perhaps few of us take active part in creating ourselves. We often let forces like our peers, our family, and our circumstances, condition us, instead of taking advantage of the control we have over who we are, and shaping ourselves into the kind of person we want to be.

There is nothing specifically wrong with being a reflection of our friends, or our family, unless they are not who we want to be, and unless we have lost our individualism to their influence over us.

Many say they are still finding themselves, though no one knows how exactly this process of finding one's self operates, and it seems to result most often in great frustrations and despair. Not to mention that the idea of finding something is generally unappealing, knowing that what we find may not be what it is we want to find at all.

Perhaps we should not let life happen to us, as much as we should make life happen for us. Acknowledging that there is much beyond our control, we still have more control over who we are, and who we will become, than we often believe.

Why wait an unforeseen amount of time, in attempt and hope of discovering ourselves, when instead we could begin the process of character development at any given time?

It is all good and well to know others, but take the time to reflect, to know yourself, as well. Are you who you want to be?

Most of us like to create, and I find there is something so promising, so stirring, about the prospect of creating ourselves. This is not to say the process will be easy, there will surely be difficulties in molding ourselves, but imagine the possibilities of active participation in building your character versus simply letting your surroundings sculpt you.

Leo Tolstoy said, "Everyone thinks of changing the world, no one thinks of changing himself." Perhaps it is true that we often fuss over the flaws of the world, what we believe the world should be like, instead of first knowing our own shortcomings, and following that, most importantly improving our own character. And while we need not obsessively worry about what we do, or who we are, a healthy dose of self reflection can be quite beneficial.

There is tremendous power in knowing yourself, and even more power in daring to chisel away faults to unearth your own potential. May it seem an overwhelming task, it should not and does not happen in a day. Do not be afraid to start simple, after all, every accomplishment, and every journey, first begins with a single step.

Do you more so look to find yourself, or create yourself? Are you already who you want to be? If not, do you know what kind of person you want to be? How often, if ever, do you simply reflect on your life, and who you are, who you want to be? Other thoughts?

Title Quote: George Bernard Shaw
Photo Credits: Editorial "Niagara" from Elle Magazine Italia, photographed by Stefania Paparelli, and scanned by allicantaste @ www.livejournal.com.

Web Fashion Award

2008-11-12T18:55:00.005-05:00

I'm not a fan of filler posts, but oh, here we go again. That's two in one week, however, a new entry will be arriving in this space tomorrow. I'm writing now though because I found this sweet and generous bit written about Girl Meets NYC, at the Web Fashion Awards. I don't know what the Web Fashion Awards are all about, per se, because the site's "About" page seems to be currently nonexistent, however I thought I would also direct you all to this link, because many of you, my fellow fashion bloggers, are featured there as well, and just as I was visiting tonight, more were being added.

(Comments have been disabled for this post only, continue to the posts below for commenting, though in this case, you can leave a comment in regards to this topic where the topic is at here as well as rate my blog if you feel so inclined, no registering, or anything of the sort, required.).

Photo Credits: Sandra Freij via www.lundlund.com.

“Hope never abandons you; you abandon it.”

2008-11-10T09:16:00.002-05:00

I have long had a fascination with abandoned houses, especially those houses in which nothing has been taken, everything inside sitting still as if the owners are expected to return any moment now. More so, abandoned houses, especially if they are still burdened with belongings, beg a story. What powerful force caused a person to just up and abandon their house and all inside it?

While I have never abandoned as much as a house and all that I own, I have found that in particular situations, I am prone to abandon something else much more precious: my heart.

Some might experience it more often than others, depending on the society in which you live, but we have all witnessed people in desperate need, and I think I might be correct in saying that we have all at some point, looked away.

We look away to avoid being a witness, to cut the emotional cord, keep ourselves from being moved, and perhaps, feeling something deeply. We quickly scramble to shift our thoughts elsewhere. We don't want to feel the guilt or the burden of any responsibility to be a "Good Samaritan" and aide whomever we have seen in need.

What are we so afraid of? Are we afraid that should we not look away, that our hearts might be moved, and that we just might interrupt our schedule, our pattern of life, and help?

Then there are excuses of, "I don't have time", "I don't have any money to spare", and so on. Perhaps we even wonder if the person we see in need is in such a position because of accident or because of choice. If we help them, whether our help will be appreciated, or our donated change used appropriately.

If we say we don't have time, could we not make a little time? While we cannot control the rate at which time runs, we can control how we spend our spare time. If we say we don't have money, could we not give our time instead?

There is a story I have been fond of ever since I was a child. About a time of offering, in which a rich man gave a great sum of money to the needy, though the amount he gave was only a mere fraction of his wealth. Then came forward a woman who had next to nothing, and yet, out of faith, she gave all she had. Though she had far less, the act of the woman is an act far more commendable than that of the wealthy man.

In my life, I have often have been guilty of looking away, abandoning my heart when I do not want to feel sympathy or guilt. And yet, who am I to stand in the face of need and not give? I know now that I will never be satisfied or proud of a life spent protecting what things I have, and helping only myself.

We all can aide those in need, in different ways, in whatever ways we are able of. No amount of time, no amount of money is too small to give. Do not abandon the emotion, the power of your heart, and always know that even small acts can cause great effects. Give a smile, give a hug, give a listening ear, give faith, give a warm meal, give peace, give love, and give hope for the good of humanity.

When you see others in need, such as homeless on the streets, do you tend to look away? Have you ever stopped and reached out to someone in need? If not, what do you think stops you from helping? In what ways do you give to others? Would you like to give more, or do you think whatever you may do or give already is enough? Other thoughts?

Title Quote: George Weinberg
Photo Credits: www.flickr.com/photos/kbauman & www.flickr.com/photos/13899979@N00 & www.flickr.com/photos/10330100@N06.

Flickr & Updates

2008-11-09T10:51:00.011-05:00

Two things: 1). I got Flickr, even though I'm not photographically gifted and my photos unabashedly scream "amateur!", I'm am nonetheless testing the waters of photography. Feel free to add me as a contact if you use Flickr too: www.flickr.com/photos/susannacole. 2). Sorry for the dragged out time between updates, today I plan to work on entries in advance, therefore hoping that for a while after this I can provide you all with more frequent, regular updates.

(Comments have been disabled for this entry only, scroll on to entries below for commenting. This post is simply for imformative purposes, but if you would really like to say something in response to this, feel free to comment on the post below, and don't worry about being off topic).

Photo Credits: My own. See more at www.flickr.com/photos/susannacole.

The Art of Style

2008-11-07T09:02:00.003-05:00

In my blog, fashion images are routinely coupled with philosophical words, but to give you breather in-between discussions on the human behavior and world issues, I thought today we could talk about fashion itself. As well as, The Search for Chic requested previously, in comment, for me to talk about personal style, and while I am no master of style itself, here is what I know, what I have been taught, and what I have learned.

Do not worry about getting fashion wrong, there is no wrong in fashion, only opinions. Focus instead on experimentation and the mastery of your own personal style. If you make attempts to imitate another’s style you will only limit yourself and silence your unique point of view which is your power to create a style that is all your own.

This is not to say you can’t take inspiration from others, but know that if you follow a trendsetter, because you wish to be like them, you will never be and cannot until you stop following the trends they set and create your own. Then, and only then, will you be a trendsetter just as they are.

If people think you’re doing fashion all wrong, not only is that merely an unjustified opinion, but you should know you’re doing something right. If people always understand and commemorate another’s clothes, there is very little that is fascinating about being commonly predictable and pleasant. Instead dare to fearlessly mystify, surprise, excite, and baffle society with what you wear.

Most importantly though, who you are as a person most often reflects in your dress, so do not only concern yourself with the matters of fashion, but rather always take time to nurture your internal style, as doing so will enhance and personalize your exterior style.

What are your thoughts about fashion, and personal style? If you're being completely honest, do you care what others think of your style and/or outfit esembles? How would you describe your personal style or do you feel you haven't found your own personal style yet? Do you have any style icons or people who you look to for ideas in fashion? Other thoughts?

Photo Credits: Photographer Sandra Freij via www.lundlund.com.

"Defeat is not the worst of failures. Not to have tried is the true failure."

2008-11-05T09:17:00.005-05:00

I am often awed by the perseverance of the human spirit, witnessing the capability we as humans have to overcome relentless struggles and pain, and to be pyrrhic, victorious despite heavy losses.

Despite this knowing this, we are still, only human, and have tendencies to shy away from challenges and from risk. We fear failure, and what we believe might render us unable of recovery. We think, "What if we can't?" instead of, "What if we can?".

We also may pick at our flaws and weaknesses, insisting to ourselves that we will be unable to overcome our inabilities, in order to exercise our abilities.

Or we may play victim of circumstance. Blaming our childhood, our parents, our surroundings, and resources, and else of rendering us incompetent.

And yet you are not your circumstances, you are not who you were as a child, you are not your parents, you are who you choose to be. If you truly believe you are weak and a coward, you will be. If you truly believe you are strong and courageous, you will muster up the strength it takes to move past obstacles even in fear.

Do not think of things as impossible, as many things have been deemed impossible until they were tried and accomplished. How can you know what is impossible, what you are capable of, until you try?

It may be the catch phrase of an automobile company, however I have always been fond of the saying, "grab life by the horns". This is not to say, those horns may not hurt, that in life you will not experience suffering, but that you are willing to take risk in order to live your life for all it's worth.

What doesn't kill you, will make you stronger, so take obstacles and pain as opportunity to become stronger, to be victorious over suffering. Just as spring always comes triumphantly, blooming with life, despite the frozen losses and hardships of winter before it.

I must confess, I will now have to walk my own talk, so to say, as I am currently banged up with an injured my hip, my back, my leg, and in a great deal of pain, feeling quite incapable and discouraged. Writing this entry, has been a reminder to my own self, that with God I can overcome anything, but first I must be willing try, and perhaps then, try, and try again...

What is/are one/some struggles or pain you have overcome? Have you ever tried something you thought impossible and been surprised when you succeeded against odds and your own expectations? Is there something, even many things, you want to do or try in your life that you are withholding from because you believe it is impossible or that you will fail? Other thoughts?

Title Quote: George E. Woodberry
Photo Credits: Editorial "The Silent Spring" from the February 2007 Vogue Nippon issue, scanned by Gold_Star at www.thefashionspot.com

"Excuses are the nails used to build a house of failure."

2008-11-02T11:01:00.005-05:00

We are creatures of habit, and perhaps one of our most prominent habits is to make excuses for ourselves.

Excuses are a cheap exchange for honesty. Instead of being honest with ourselves, and others, we make quick excuses, or worse we waste moments fabricating elaborate excuses for why we didn't, why we can't.

We lie mostly to ourselves. We satisfy our guilt and regret with, why we could not or cannot, when the blatant truth is, we could of, and we can.

The deception of excuses worms itself further, as the next generation watches us and mirroring our actions, adopts our habit of excuses. How should a child know that making an excuse for something such is unfinished homework is not a good practice, when their own mother may make excuses for why she couldn't help them study.

Laura Schlessinger wisely states that, "People with integrity do what they say they are going to do. Others have excuses." This is not to say those of integrity never fall short, and make excuses, however if we are of integrity, we must be active in changing ourselves, and removing habits such as excuse-making.

Excuses only take you were you do not want to go, to the depths of guilt, regret, and failure. Maybe you have an outlandish dream, you tell yourself you can't, and then pursue something more sensible even if it makes you miserable. In the last of your life, you look back in regret of what you could of been, but what you threw away and made excuses for instead. I cannot say it better than Doug Hall, “Don't make excuses. Make things happen. Make changes. Then make history.”

Do you often find yourself making excuses? What for, or where do you most often make excuses? For school/at school? For work/at work? Do you believe your own excuses? Do you more so make excuses for minor things (such as why you didn't do a task), or for major things (such as your life direction or for pursuing a particular career, etc)?

Title Quote: Don Wilder
Photo Credits: Photographer Jordi Gual, www.flickr.com/people/jgual.

Letter Play

2008-10-31T09:57:00.001-04:00

When I first glimpsed the ABC tag Mila created, I was simply delighted. Letters arranged make words, and words have always been an immense source of amusement to me. Therefore, I was twice more delighted when Ashley passed the ABC tag on to me.

I received the letters, "n", "o", and "p", which proved to me quite more challenging than I first imagined. After all, I'm used to the freedom of all twenty-six letters of the English alphabet, and there were dozens of words that beckoned me outside my letter limits. I resisted though, settling on these three...

n is for nontraditional -

I am always awed by the capacity we as humans have to advance in thinking, design, technology, and on. There is a phrase, "the sky's the limit", and somewhere amongst the development of our society, we seemed to have captured that phrase, storing it in hearts, and bringing it into existence with our minds.

Modern design rapidly captures my attention. Even if I do not find myself fond of the actual design, I am entranced by the innovative and striking construction, shapes, and lines.

Modern architectural design, specifically, hooks my line of eye-sight, and traps me in a trance of awed wonder. There is an energy in modern architecture, that fills me with anticipation for how we may advance in the future.

o is for oldfashioned -

When I'm not awed by modern wonders, my heart is heavy with reminiscence and longing of old-fashioned charm.

I have always reveled in the crackling audio of sultry voices, the crisp black and white vision, and the poised vocabulary and speech, that exist only in vintage films and television shows.

The photos you are viewing here, are from TV programs that aired in 1957. Without the power of technology available now, these pictures were taken of the actual TV set with the program turned on, and later developed in a photo lab, to create what we now call screencaps or screencaptures.

p is for peculiar -

Regardless of whether it is nontraditional design, or old-fashioned photos, the greatest element of my amusement is whatever is peculiar.

Having always been the black sheep (or oddball) amongst those I know, I am always enamored with oddities, quirks, and that that strikes me silly, surprised, or baffled.

Not all that exists should make sense, and certainly does not. Peculiar things are most often puzzling, as we can't make complete sense of them, and yet, perhaps, that is their novelty.

Are you drawn more to what is modern, or what is old-fashioned? Do peculiarities delight you?

Also, do you have any favorite letters or words? Are there any words or phrases you frequently use or repeat? Other thoughts?

Before I close this entry, I want to post a link to this most surprising and flattering entry written about me, here, by a lovely woman named Anne, who I may not know, but who has certainly won me over with her immensely kind words. (Just don't let me get a big ego, okay?)

Oh, and I pass this tag on to Betsey (I will comment you with details, my dear).

Photo Credits: www.holtermand.dk & www.squareamerica.com & www.franckjuery.com.

Perspective

2008-10-27T11:55:00.001-04:00

Perspective (noun): a. the interrelation in which a subject or its parts are mentally viewed; b. the capacity to view things in their true relations or relative importance.

Our modern world has a perspective that is alarmingly askew. The angle in which we view the importance of this world's components is, dare I say, a mile off.

Many have developed ideas that if they were only wealthy, better looking, famous, and so forth, that then, and only then, life would be satisfying. Having known wealthy, beautiful, and famous people, I can confirm that people having obtained such things have often confessed that if anything, upon gaining these things, their problems heightened and they were more unsatisfied than before.

Upon obtaining wealth, one will often want to be wealthier. Upon possessing beauty, one will want to be flawless. Upon becoming famous in a country, one will want all of the world to know their name. Good, is most often, never good enough.

As well as, though an enormous number of our population believes differently, none of these achievements we strive for guarantee happiness. A tragic and recent witness to this truth, in the fashion industry, is Ruslana Korshunova, a model, who plunged to her death from her apartment's balcony, a supposed suicide.

As terribly shaking and horrific as Ruslana's story is, I believe it was a wake-up call for many who viewed models with the idea that being as beautiful would make them happy and everything in life alright. Many noted after Ruslana's death that she was proof that being viewed as a beautiful being does not, in any way, equal contentment, and that we will always have human struggles no matter our given circumstance.

Recently I had a life-altering transformation of my perspective on life. Interestingly enough, when what I wanted most as a person, changed to something focused on others and the greater-good, my desires for materialistic and superficial things had no choice but to fall beneath in importance to this.

Suddenly I could think of my appearance and beauty, and shrug my shoulders in indifference. No longer will my appearance aide my goals or my happiness, therefore it no longer steals my concern or attention.

Our perspectives need not, and should not, be the same. However I highly recommend you consider at times where your perspectives is at, and whether, overall, it is focused on what you truly want, and that it hasn't been mindlessly adjusted just to mirror the perspective of our superficial world.

In anything, we are often benefited from taking ownership of our unique perspective. This even applies to us as a blogging community, as blogs are perhaps most delightful when they are a reflection of ourselves and our individual perspective.

Do you know where your perspective of life is at? What is your perspective of what's important in life? Success? Family? Wealth? Fame? Other? Do you wish to change your perspective to focus on something different? Are you open in sharing your unique perspective, or do you often just go along with what others say and believe? Other thoughts?

Photo Credits: http://ffffound.com & www.franckjuery.com & www.flickr.com/photos/amaliachimera & www.flickr.com/photos/daffie.

Royalty

2008-10-25T14:28:00.005-04:00

I may not be clothed in a luxurious or exquisite gown, but right now, I feel like royalty. There is a reoccurring change within, a metamorphosis that transforms me, when I slip on an elegant garment. My shoulders straighten, my chin lifts a little higher, my frame is poised, and my feet seem float gracefully inches off the ground.

I do not need to wear exceptional finery though, to feel such a way. Lately many of you, my friends and fellow bloggers, have clothed me with a robe of kindness and honor, and even though my words drip slightly with sappiness, I truly do not know thank you.

The beautiful charm of blog awards though, is that I am given the opportunity to pass them to others, which is yes, terribly difficult, when you are all so generous and kind, but worth it, if there is a chance to bestow someone with that warm glow I always feel whenever someone recognizes me in a special way.

First award I will do, is the "I Love Your Blog" award which was given to me again by the inspiring and alluring Mila and also by the ravishing and delightful Betsey. Thank you my dear girls!

Now I want to give this award to: The Clothes Horse & Dry As Toast & My Idea Of Fashion & It's Her Factory & Yes Please Mademoiselle & Mode Parisienne.

Next, I was given the Kreativ Blogger award by the endearing and sweet Dorkys R., whose blog, Dry As Toast, is anything but dry as toast!

And I want to give this award to: A Beautiful Life & Aphex Nation & I'm Not Anti-Social, Just Short-Sighted & Loveology & The Snowshoe Rabbit & Friends & Lovers.

The last award is called the Premio Dardos award, and is given for recognition of cultural, ethical, literary, and personal values transmitted in the form of creative and original writing. A million heartfelt thanks to the intriguing and beautiful Saray for selecting me to be given such a unique honor.

I'd like to give this award to the following: Leese Looks & Style Discovery & The Millenniall Life & Fashion Ability & Hippie Couture & Little Star.

Also, this is not an award, but I have been meaning to mention for some time, that Free People (a clothing line that makes up the third branch of an sensational and related trio that also includes Urban Outfitters and Anthropologie) featured my blog on their blog. I was surprised and thrilled! You can read the entry, written by the lovely Katie (also know as, fpgirl) here.

P.S. I have one more award to give, it's a little unofficial, but definitely honest and sincere, and that would be an award that I am going to call the "I ♥ My Readers" award, and that my dears, goes out to all of you! :)

P.P.S. In your life, and not only including the blogosphere, what is something you received that made you feel like royalty? It can be anything, not specific to awards, but as simple as someone making something for you or someone just giving you their time and attention, and making you feel, well, special.

Photo Credits: http://nearerthemoon.livejournal.com & http://www.herfamedgoodlooks.com via miu_miu @ www.thefashionspot.com .

“Among individuals as among nations, the respect to other people's rights is peace.”

2008-10-23T10:19:00.001-04:00

If we were to step back, an overall evaluation of our behavior during political elections may deliver the idea that, during this time, we become more childish, growing backwards, not forwards.

Petty name calling, quick judgments, slander, insults, arguments, divisions, and hate, are all flaws that seem to flourish into what might be compared to an unwanted weed that chokes the surrounding, beneficial life. Why would we want to foster a weed, when we could instead tend to that that produces a positive harvest? Plant seeds, of what you what to see prosper, in the minds and hearts of minds, and don’t feed into what only destructs.

Plant imagery aside, we should speak passionately, but always with respect, even for those whom you may truly feel are wrong, or even who may have been disrespectful to you.

I am gladdened to see so many have been passionate about the upcoming election, this is our future, and our country, and we should be passionate, as well as thoughtful, about it. However, I wish our passion was better channeled, more often. I become disheartened by all the inarticulate and juvenile insults and name calling that is so often dealt out to the opposing candidate that a person does not support.

This is not to say you must support the opposing candidate, however, attacking the candidate you dislike is not going to win over anyone. Often what you give out, you receive back, and while condemnation may gain the approval of those who dislike that candidate as much as you do, anyone opposing will only hate and lose any respect for you, as well as, become even more stubborn in their prior beliefs.

I have taken a political angle in this entry, but I now must say the same ideas, in reality, should apply to any situation, political or otherwise. If you do not impart respect yourself, you may lose the power you have to speak and be listened to, and to inspire. And regardless of how others may act towards you, if you wish to receive the respect of others, you must act respectfully towards others. Even if the respect is not mutual, you have at least preserved your dignity.

Do you find respect easy or difficult to give? Have you found most to respect you, or do you often find yourself dealing with disrespect? During political elections, do you find yourself often involved in acts of disrespect and insults, such as a curse-world filled rant about one of the candidates? Other thoughts?

Title Quote: Benito Juarez
Photo Credits: Photographer James Mahon @ www.jamesmahon.com

Facebook

2008-10-22T12:16:00.007-04:00

Until today I've used Facebook mainly to keep up with close and personal friends and/or school friends, and MySpace for everyone else. MySpace though hardly functions for me anymore, and I felt bad continually ignoring Facebook friend requests, so I am making Facebook my main social networking account. If you'd like to be Facebook friends, click here.

However please know that I still value my personal safety and privacy, and do exercise the right to deny friend requests, though this usually only occurs in the situations that say, some 50 year old man tries to add me. (Come on, I'm not stupid).

(Note: This is just an informative entry, therefore comments, for this post only, have been disabled, continue to the next posts for commenting).

Photo Credit: Photographer Paolo Roversi's editorial "Class of 2006" from Vogue UK, and via verymoniss @ The Fashion Box (orginial source: www.thefashionspot.com).

Blogology

2008-10-21T10:06:00.003-04:00

Sleep has been on my mind, as I just got a new job that will require me to work, on a regular basis, until midnight. There goes my beloved 10 o’clock bedtime, which has mainly been instated as a result of my abnormal inability to sleep-in late, and my absolute desire for a good night’s rest. Now I’m struggling to form a habit of: bed at 1 AM, and rise no earlier than 9AM.

Speaking of sleep, this entry is going to stray from philosophical musing and cover blog tags, and open up the form for some input from you. I call this "blogology" (the study of blogs), and I'm going to put my best effort into not sending you into a sudden sleep atop your keyboard, but I make no promises...

Tag thanks the charming Kaitlin of Urple:

Six Random Things About Me:
1. I type on average, 100 words per minute, (1,000 words every 10 minutes), with a 98% accuracy.
2. I have a cat that has a shoe fetish. (I kid you not, she really does).
3. I was voted “Best Dressed” and “Most Creative” in high school.
4. I've broken my arm, my wrist, badly injured my elbow, had a concussion, fractured my foot, and had my toes badly crushed. Needless to say they're familiar with me over at the E.R.
5. I like nearly all fruits, and no vegetables whatsoever, except for corn.
6. I must have either music or people’s voices to listen to, at almost all times, or I'll most likely loose my marbles.

Six Random Things I Like:
1. Accents
2. Culture
3. Candlelight
4. Journals
5. The smell of rain
6. Afros

Six Random Things I Don't Like:
1. People who misspell and use bad grammar on purpose.
2. Phones/cell phones.
3. Long lines I have to wait in
4. Cursing, when it is uncalled for and unnecessary.
5. Missing the subway, by a diminutive fraction of time.
6. When people say “sorry” and don’t mean it.

Now, I’d like to allow you all some input and ask if there is anything you like to see, at some point, on my blog? Is there any topic you might like me to do an entry about? Would doing a Q&A (question and answer) interest you, allowing you to ask virtually any questions and I’ll answer? If so, would you prefer me to do a video Q&A or a written Q&A?

I was brainstorming a little bit, and once I make an official move to NYC, (hopefully this January or February), I could perhaps do a video tour of my favorite places in Manhattan? I already know many of the places I would want to film, since I already obtained a great deal of favorites spots, from living there this last summer.

Any other ideas? I can’t guarantee I’ll use or do any said suggestions, however I am open to ideas, and if something sparks my inspiration, I will certainly wholeheartedly consider it. My favorite element of blogging is, after all, communicating with readers and my fellow bloggers! Honestly, I'd be put to sleep by my own blogging babble if I never had the opportunity to use this blog to correspond with all of you.

For those who blog (I believe that would be nearly all of you), what is your favorite part of blogging or even of the blogging world in general? Do you blog for yourself, for your readers or an audience, or perhaps, a little bit of both?

Photo Credits: Editorial from Vogue Girl Korea via http://community.livejournal.com/foto_decadent (I have been unable to relocate what LiveJournal member posted these, my apologies, if any knows, please notify me so I can give specific credit to whomever posted these).

New Life

2008-10-19T12:25:00.005-04:00

It has taken me 18 years and 49 days to apprehend that I live a selfish life. My days, my dreams are scarcely more than self-serving aspirations, and I don't want to live this way anymore.

Though it may feel as if I were cutting off my very limbs, I must sacrifice all the things I carried, both in my heart and in my hands, that were narcissistic and proud. Because, one day will be my last, and I do not want to face God knowing that I only lived my life to serve myself.

Art has changed my life, and I believe in the power art can have. However, we live in a world that mainly takes art for no more than mere entertainment. In impoverished, war-torn, and corrupted communities, there live stories that must to be told. I want to provide these people the resources to tell their stories through art and creative forms, the opportunity for them to impart their emotions into their art in hopes that those emotions can initiate a movement in the hearts of those who can bring hope, relief, and aide to those who desperately need it.

I saw, and was immensely inspired by an excellent documentary, Born Into Brothels, in which photographer Zana Briski traveled to the red-light district of Calcutta, gave a group of kids’ cameras, and taught them the trade of photography. Briski has since then sold prints* of their photographs and used all of the proceeds to support the children's' education and well being.

In some areas, a child’s only hope may be industrial and academic skills. I’m afraid that those who show skills creatively are rarely given the same opportunity, respect, and support. Artistic talent is a gift, and even a tool of power, not a curse. I want the world to realize that.

A revelation has hit, and a flame has been sparked... I now dream of opening a non-profit organization that uses volunteer artists to go and teach their craft, share their passion, and provide a platform for the oppressed to vividly tell their stories through art, in hope that their creative talents may provide opportunity and support for themselves and for their community. I say art for hope; art for healing; art for change; art for empowerment; art for peace; art for opportunity.

What and/or who do you live for? Why? Are you satisfied with the way you live your life, or do you desire change? Other thoughts always welcome...

P.S. Been meaning to post this code for weeks so I can claim my blog on BlogLovin'...and if it would be convenient to you then: Follow my blog with bloglovin´

Photo Credits: www.flickr.com/photos/jgual & www.flickr.com/photos/43267506@N00 & www.flickr.com/photos/equivoque/ & www.flickr.com/photos/mitsubako & www.flickr.com/photos/seantubridy.
*Some of the children's photographs are avaiable for purchace here: http://www.kids-with-cameras.org

Confidence vs. Humility

2008-10-17T12:06:00.000-04:00

Humility and modesty, two traits once held in high importance and admiration, are now often thought to be signs of poor self-esteem.

With image based industries, such as entertainment, fashion, modeling, and cosmetics, in a position of immense power, the desire for perfection climbs in interest among many individuals. As a result, self-esteem has slowly become a forefront issue in today's society. Schools have developed programs, books have been written on the subject, songs have been sung, videos created, and so on, all in the name of raising self-esteem.

The idea is that poor self-esteem is as problematic as disease, and though disorders - that do require medical attention - can derive from issues of self-esteem, there should not be serious concern if a person is not laced with confidence, and the belief that they are at least a satisfactory if not an extraordinary human being.

A pastor I know once said, it is not that we should think less of ourselves, but that we should think of ourselves less. The higher one's self esteem rises, the more difficult it becomes to stay grounded, and therfore, there is a fine line between confidence and arrogance.

Someone confident morphing into overly-confident, is a shift that is most likely to happen when that self-esteem has been built on the wrong foundation. I have met many who have, what I refer to as, people-given confidence, meaning their confidence was born as a result of the flattery and approval of others. This becomes especially perilous when, by some fluke, those ego-boosting compliments are suddenly removed. Most likely, such self-esteem will crash and crumble, as what was supporting it previously, now ceases to exist.

Being only human, I will confess I have struggled, at times, with keeping my ego in check. When I am overwhelmed by compliments, it becomes excessively difficult to not think that perhaps I really am something special. Nowadays, I have been taking care to try and avoid directly placing myself in positions in which flattery may be given in heavy doses.

Confidence and humility, in some cases, can go hand in hand. However, I find, more often that not, that those I know who are confident, though perhaps not, at least, outwardly arrogant, lack humility, and those who are humble, are never but so confident. And while confidence is, by the world's standards, considered a more valuable trait than humility, I believe a humble spirit offers more than all the confidence and pride there is.

What do you value more, confidence or humility? If you could posses only one of these traits (either confidence or humility) for the rest of your life, which one would you choose? Do you find yourself admiring those who are confident or humble more? Other thoughts on confidence and/or humility?

Photo Credits: Carl Bengtsson via http://community.livejournal.com/foto_decadent

“Follow your dreams, for as you dream you shall become.”

2008-10-15T11:25:00.010-04:00

I am not a realist. I never have been, and never will be. Those around me, often attempt to beckon me back to reality, but I hush them because I always plan my reality to be a product of my dreams.

Carl Sandburg wisely said, "Nothing happens unless first we dream." We begin with a dream, developing and advancing in our dream, in hopes of a metamorphosis, in which, our dream blooms into reality.

If you dream, do not dream what is considered possible, but what is considered impossible. Do not let reality invade the heart of your dream, there is no one who has the right to steal your dreams from you.

Though do not be selfish either, only dreaming of what will save you, but also dream to save the souls of others.

There is magic in dreams, that they are limitless. Therefore, never limit your dreams, for doing so, you will only limit yourself. Disconnect all boundaries, and allow your dreams be a portal to greatness.

Dreams, at their least, are blissful pleasure, and escape. Dreams, at their finest, are dreams fulfilled.

Dreams are often like beings in themselves, capable of living in the hearts of many. Impart your dreams to others, even when they may be subject to scrutiny, for true dreams will last regardless, and because a dream shared, is power increased, an inspiring light burning brighter.

We all have dreams... what are some, or at least one, of your dreams? What things do you dream of doing or having? Do you consider yourself a dreamer? Do you dream more so of what is considered possible, or what is considered impossible? All dreamy thoughts welcome...

"Do not lose hold of your dreams or aspirations. For if you do, you may still exist but you have ceased to live." - Henry David Thoreau

Title Quote: Unkown
Photo Credits: www.flickr.com/photos/equivoque & www.flickr.com/photos/amaliachimera

School Daze

2008-10-13T10:24:00.002-04:00

Public schools here in the U.S. need a makeover, and I'm not talking about their exterior, but the inner workings of schools, especially high schools. As of the moment, many of the nation's schools seem to be at their worst, now is the time to perhaps throw out nearly everything we know about how schools should work, and rebuild in a entirely new way that schools could work.

From kindergarten to twelfth-grade, students are required to learn the same exact things, only with the occasionally different courses in high school. Students though, are not all the same people, so why should they be forced to all learn the same things?

At the high school level, students are often required to learn at such high levels of material, that unless they go into a career field requiring such material, they will never need what they learn. In fact, if they don't find a use for say, algebra II mathematical equations, in their every day life, they will most likely loose what they know, ultimately meaning algebra II was just a waste of time. At such high levels, students also may find certain subjects beyond their personal ability and comprehension. Must we force such students to struggle through a subject of excessive difficulty, and demoralize their self-esteem, regardless of the fact that they may never grasp the material?

I do believe there should be some structure of learning, the basics and a taste of each subject should all be given to elementary and even middle school students, however upon the high schools years, I believe students should be given the opportunity to pursue specific courses and subjects to their interests.

This would not only assist students in making decisions for college, such as what their major may be, but also aid students in becoming independent thinkers, with a stronger sense of self and direction. If more students were given the opportunity to discover a passion of study in high school, perhaps there would be a higher turn over of high school students to college.

Why must schools be rigid and structured? They are in such a way now, and yet I have only seen more rebellion and poor performance from students, as of lately. Attitudes in and about school are at an unsurpassed low, and this includes students, as well as, teachers. I believe school should be about such things as inspiration, individual pursuit of knowledge, personal achievement and development, not a score on a test or a grade on a paper.

Whether you're still in school now, or have finished school, what would you like to see change in schools? Wherever you live, do you believe the structure of schools there are effective and beneficial to students, or do you believe there needs to be change? What did you like most about school? What did you like least about school? Other thoughts?

Photo Credits: Photographer Marcio Simnch via http://nearerthemoon.livejournal.com

Leaving, Loving

2008-10-11T11:15:00.003-04:00

Most of us have lost someone we have loved. I don't mean a loss only to death, though that is sometimes so, but often equally painful is when someone we love abandons us, leaving us out of their life which we may have once been a great part of.

When someone leaves us, our instinct may be to wish we'd never known them at all. Perhaps they do not even leave us, as in physically abandoning us by distance, but rather they might betray us, or turn their back on us.

We do not own one another though, we are all individuals, people, and not objects available for ownership by other human beings. We most often choose to befriend, be near, and love another.

In life people will always come and go. This does not mean we should cease to love and care for any one else, even though they may leave us still. If you have someone who loves you, or many at that, you are blessed. Treasure the time you have with those you love and who are in your life now, for they may not always be there.

For any one who has ever left me, they given me invaluable gifts: memories, inspiration, knowledge, laughter, and love. They have left me with a piece of them, and I hope, I have left them with a part of me, as well, so that we are connected still, touching from a distance.

Has anyone every left you? Have you ever had a close friend betray you or turn their back on? If you've ever been betrayed, were/are you bitter, did/do you seek revenge for the way they hurt you? Have you ever been the one to leave someone else? How do you justify leaving someone else, do you think in certain situations, it's OK? Other thoughts?

Photo Credits: http://nearerthemoon.livejournal.com & http://marciosimnch.com & http://community.livejournal.com/foto_decadent

Skin Deep

2008-10-09T09:14:00.008-04:00

Racism (Rac·ism): 1. a belief or doctrine that inherent differences among the various human races determine cultural or individual achievement, usually involving the idea that one's own race is superior and has the right to rule others. 2. hatred or intolerance of another race or other races.

Racism is a grudge we keep against one another for precedent misdemeanors done to us on the basis of our color.

Racism should have died with those who bred such unjust cruelty, such as the slavery acts seen in the U.S. in the 1800s. They should have taken their prejudices to their graves, but in instead their racism found life in their children and those to come.

Racism is a contagious disease. Don’t infect your children; don’t pass the racist torch we burn one another with to the next generation.

Racism is haughty, it believes in superiority of color.

Racism is like tangled branches and limbs of a tree. Perhaps it does not matter anymore, how or why those branches become intertwined, cutting off oxygen, killing, but rather that we cut those branches from the tree so that the tree, our lives, so we can thrive and be healthy again.

Racism’s scars will surely leave their marks on our souls, but while we can hate the prejudice crimes that have happened, we must forgive those who did them. If we can sincerely sacrifice any pride and grudges we keep, perhaps there is hope yet for a future without discrimination of color.

Race, as I define it, is beauty diversified . We should not become blind to our diversity, but rather we should celebrate the unique colors we have in this world, and never using our racial differences as an instrument to build a barrier to divide us.

And I have often dreamed of a day in which we may greet each other warmly, using titles like “brother” and “sister”, regardless of our color, or background. I imagine us all related by the sheer fact that we are all human beings, in one world. Why are we not already united for this very reason?

Have you experienced others discriminating against you because of your race? If so, how did you react; what did you do about it? Is racism a regular occurrence where you live? Do you think racism happens today unprovoked, or does racism happens today still motivated by the same revolting acts of racism from the past? Since many of you are involved and/or interested in fashion, do you think racism happens in fashion, considering the number of Caucasian models greatly trumps the number of models of color or of other races? Other thoughts on racism?

Photo Credits: www.jamesmahon.com

Born To Run

2008-10-08T11:02:00.012-04:00

Whenever one of my fellow bloggers tags me, I am whisked away by memories of playing games of tag as young girl. The smell of the sun, of humidity; the film of sweat slithering down our skin; the gentle beats of feet running on grass; the laughter that got lost in the wind, the air in between; the movement of my heart fluttering against my ribcage, a cause of energy exhausted; the fields around, unrolling into eternity.

Even in the present, whenever I see a field, open grounds that stretch and blanket the land, I am still captivated by the urge to throw all aside, and run into them, across them, and through them. Sometimes, when walking along somewhere, I will suddenly tear into a run at breakneck speed. With my blood pumping through veins, my legs pushing ground behind me, my hair whipping in the wind I create, there is the echos of my childhood nipping at my heels as run. ... Did you play tag growing up? What was your favorite game to play as a kid?

Onto another kind of tag, blogging tags, which are as sweet as ice cream from a little ice cream parlour, really, I only hesitate to participate at times, because many tags require me to answer questions about myself, and well, blab about myself, which I can't imagine being remotely interesting. Nonetheless, here we go... (just look at the pretty pictures, if you like). Oh, and one more thing: for the first two tags, I tag anyone who would like to do them.

Tag # 01: Given by the lovely Diyanah Lo ...

Where do you go to school, and what do you study?
Oh please, I’m too cool for school. Kidding! Really, though, I’m not in school, just not because I’m too cool for it.

Where do you shop most?
H&M (for clothes), and Barnes & Noble (for reading). Not that it was asked of me, but I feel inclined to tell you that I like to shop most at odd hours, when everyone else is elsewhere.

What band or singer do you listen to the most, and why?
I have almost as many artists, as I do tracks, on my MP3 player, because really I go on a song basis. If I like the song, I’ll listen, and I often only like one to a few songs by each artist. I think the artist who has the most tracks on my MP3 player is Rihanna. Why? Well, I like all kinds of music, but I usually like music I can dance to best, and Rihanna has put out a wealth of dance beats.

What do you often do in your free time?
Make art, think (sometimes over-exercising my brain), read (everything), write (anything), dream (elaborately), graphic design, watch films, make films (independent films that is), play pretend (I don’t imagine I’ll grow out of it), blog (duh), disturb and amuse random folks (for being eccentric), listen to music (all genres), dance (like no one’s watching), speak my mind (I have an opinion on just about everything), start revolutions. Oh, and play with my beloved kitty.

Tag # 2: Given by my dearest Lisa ...

1. Clothes shop: Anthropologie.
2. Furniture shop: I prefer flea markets for furniture.
3. Sweet: Pure sugar.
4. City: New York.
5. Drink: Water.
6. Music: Whatever suits my current mood.
7. TV-Series: The Amazing Race & Whose Line Is It Anyway?
8. Film: As if I could pick only one.
9. Workout: Kayaking. Running around.
10. Pastries: Any.
11. Coffee: Never.

Tag # 3: Given by J'Adore Fashion & Songy

I seem to always receive the "I Love Your Blog" tag in twos (do you think that means I can tag twice as many people?), but no matter how many times I receive it, I believe it's a tag worthy of continuous giving, so I will pass it on once again. Thank you so much J'Adore (is it sad that I don't know your real name? Will have to check with you on that...) and Songy for being so gracious and honoring me with this tag. Truly I am flattered, and grateful, you two are too lovely!

Without further ado, I give this tag to...

♥ Style Discovery
♥ J'Adore Fashion
♥ Aphex Nation
♥ With Love
♥ Pick A Flower
♥ Fashion Chalet

Thank you all for being beautiful readers and friends, and for the tags, and to anyone who read this in it's entirety: bravo! Hope I didn't send anyone into a snooze on their keyboard.

Photo Credits: www.flickr.com/photos/minkoff & www.flickr.com/photos/jimagery & www.flickr.com/photos/reggio & www.flickr.com/photos/phanieisfunny & www.flickr.com/photos/sx70lover & www.flickr.com/photos/72dpi & www.flickr.com/photos/leslie418

What kind of world do you want?

2008-10-06T10:50:00.005-04:00

It's always been easy for us, to complain about, and shake fingers at, things we see happening in our world that we don't agree with. I certainly, have always been capable of talking the talk, but lately I realize perhaps I do not always walk the walk. Sometimes, talk is cheap, but action can be daunting, frightening even. How do we get to a point of action?

Start simple. Figure out what you believe in, what you stand for. In essence, what kind of world do you want? Even when we know what we want, so often, we fall victim to the belief that we have no power. That only those in politics, those who make up our government, our presidents and leaders, have power and influence over the masses. We forget about the power of the people, we are the people, and we do have power.

Think of someone like Martin Luther King Jr., an undeniably influential person. For many, Martin Luther, is more memorable, more inspirational, than past presidents. This is only a solitary example, of many, that demonstrates that you do not have to be president, or in politics, to inspire society, to make changes, to start a revolution, even to bring a nation to their feet.

Maybe you’re still unsure you even believe in yourself, but I believe in you, and were you here next to me, now would be the moment in which I would probably turn to you, shake you by the shoulders a little, and say most sincerely, “Never underestimate yourself.” I mean that. Whether it’s a vote at the polls, or holding a sign at a protest, don’t think the world will take charge of itself; we must take charge of the world. This is our world, not solely our elected president's world, not just our instated government's world...our world. What kind of world do you want our world to be?

OK, since the echoing question here, what kind of world do you want, is slightly broad, perhaps you could tell me simply what is one thing you would like to see change in this world? What is a world issue(s) you stand for or against? Are you registered to vote? What do you think of the leaders of your country? If you don't like your current leaders, is there anyone you know (whether personally or not) that you would like to see as president/leader?

Photo Credits: Editorial from Jalouse magazine; photographer by Hilary Walsh; scans from www.flickr.com/photos/juliptulip

"Kind words can be short and easy to speak, but their echoes are truly endless."

2008-10-04T10:16:00.007-04:00

I’ve always thought the saying, “Sticks and stones can break my bones, but words will never hurt me”, to be quite fallacious. I believe we have all been hurt by words, some time, if not many times, and honestly, I think we might agree that words often hurt more than physical wounds; and I say this even having suffered some gruesome physical injuries over the years.

In my family, brutal honesty, and quickness to speak harsh words without first thinking, has been a trait that has survived generations to continue haphazardly down our family line.

Under these conditions, I have only been bred to be a fighter. Not to physically fight, but when it comes words, I have been given a gun, locked and loaded. I know how to fire my words, where to aim to hit my target the hardest. In my family, we are fragile beings, my limbs are lanky and thin, I could not withstand a physical fight, so I have been taught to defend myself with words.

I’m trying to reverse the pattern though, break the vicious cycle. Someone in my family should have done so a long time ago.

I still thank my family though, for they are the ones who have made me aware of the power of words. I am most aware of the power words have to hurt, so I know they must also hold an equal power to heal.

And to you, my readers, I am very selective and careful of the words I say to you. Most suprirsed that you read what I say, at all, but knowing that you do, I do not want to waste your time. Mostly, I hope to inspire. When inspiration is given to me, it is a gift, and I would selfish to only keep it to myself. I only have so much time in life, I want to make my words worth something, to make them good, or at least try to, even if I sometimes fail.

Now, I am wondering... What do you do when someone says something that hurts you? Do you get easily hurt by others' words, or do you tend to brush mean words away? What are some of the most inspiring or kind words you have been told in your life, that you can remember? Would most like to hear your thoughts on words, kind and cruel.

P.S. Thank you for all your kind words you have given me. For all the comments and thoughts you have shared with me, I am inspired once again, and always, very thankful.

Photo Credits: www.flickr.com/photos/juliptulip & www.flickr.com/photos/highwaygirl67
Title Quote: Mother Theresa.

A Simple Lifestyle

2008-10-02T17:38:00.006-04:00

A simple life sounds like a idea so simple, we imagine we could easily lead a simple life, if we wanted to. In modern times, though, a simple life may be near impossible to obtain, because one has to let go of so much before they can gain any benefits of a more organic life.

What we cling to most, is sometimes what hurts us the most. Our busy schedules, our extracurriculars, the job that pays well but cost you all your time and effort, or that job that pays poorly driving us to pour all our time into it receive promotions and paycheck that goes a little farther.

None of these are negative things, until we let them take over our lives and actually become our lives. Much of society seems to have re-ordered what's most important in life to: money, success, fame, then perhaps friends and family and happiness.

On the other hand, those without opportunities to achieve worldly things such as fortune, success or otherwise, by default, will often have their priorities in the right order. They live the simple life, where they hold on to, care for, and love their family, their friends, because that is all they have, and because they have so little, they truly value what they do have.

When you see citizens of a third world country, your instinct may be to feel sympathy for the way they must live. They are poor, we think, they have little, and yet upon meeting, you will find most of them have an deep, thriving happiness that lives within them.

I have friends on almost every continent, some of them who have traveled or lived in desolate seeming, and extremely poor areas, in Africa, India, and elsewhere. Countless of them, will later say, surprise lacing their voice, how happy the people they have met are, despite their hardships.

We may wonder how they found happiness when they have, in our eyes, nothing. I have come to realize since, though, that, no, they have everything. They have so much of what they need to be happy, and so little of what often leads to the fall and corruption of those of us in western societies. This is not to say, none of us, can have or do have what they have, but I believe we have to let go of what we are bred to believe matters and will make us happy, when what we need for happiness is simple. No fortune, worldly success, and fame needed.

Being honest, what do you imagine or believe will bring you happiness in life? Do you think a simple life is possible even in a very materialistic society or city? Do you ever dream of living like a hippie or a gypsy, your own little bandwagon of friends and family just living, and being?
I dream this, but so much more. In evaluation of my own self, and I will admit my priorities are most likely, a little out of order. Sometimes I think I do value, not necessarily wealth, but certainly success in my craft, more than I value my relationships and caring for others. I want to change this though... there's always room and time for positive change, always.

Photo Credits: "On The Road" from the November 2007 issue of Flair Magazine, scanned by http://1moment.livejournal.com

The Calm Before The Storm

2008-10-01T15:02:00.010-04:00

The first time I was electrocuted I was 10 and holding the metal piece of the vacuum plug, with damp fingers.

I was never one wired with an attraction for the plain and common, so perhaps, it should have been clearly foreseen that I wouldn't have a lick of logical or common sense in me either. And I suppose I can't be bothered remember that water and electrical equipment are a dangerous duo, when I am lost and away in mythical worlds and imagination.

Electrocution feels like a first kiss: tingly, magnetic energy coursing, from the point of impact, to your toes, until every hair on your limbs is standing at attention.

I've always thought electrocution can be felt before the lightening strikes. When you're standing underneath the black clouds, their bellies brimming with imminent rain. When that eerie calm encases you in a veil of kinetic air. I have felt what they call "the calm before the storm". I am never calm, but rather, most electric in anticipation of the storm about to roar.

I am an adrenaline junkie, a thrill seeker, a daredevil and whatever other names there are for people like me, who chase after storms and danger, inside of running and taking cover, as most beings have the instinct to do. Besides the thrill of a storm, I most like the power. Oddly enough, there's something comforting about seeing and feeling something of much greater intensity than any human being could bring. Knowing that there must be a God, a force beyond our own who can start and stop a raging storm.

I like to see lightening knife a black sky, and feel the resounding thunder as it rattles the china in the cabinet. I sit inside, and watch, though only my mother can keep me so. I would most like to be standing amongst the storm's ferocity, to feel the eletrcity and engrgy as it happens. I think someday I will, as well, as chase a tornado before I die, however, for now I suppose I will keep my life in check and stay inside.

I hate that storms destruct so much, harm, and even kill. However outside of their destruction, I do find them elating. Are you one to wish away or wish for a storm? Do you like them at all? Witnessed any powerful acts of nature? Please do, tell me your thoughts about electricity and storms and anything related (or even not related... I welcome tangents).

Oh, and one more thing...

I adore the way they streaked the model's hair with blue in the above editorial, as well as, the streaks done in the picture above. I've been thinking for a while now, that I'd like to temporarily do somewhat subtle (not too bright, something more pastel like, as seen above) streaks, of a color, in parts of my air. Do you think I should try it? I've never dyed or hightlighted my hair in any way before.. Have any words of advice, experience...?

Photo Credits: This editorial (excluding the last picture) is from Numero Magazine, titled "Baignade Interdite" (meaning "Bathing Forbiddon"), and photographed by Camille Vivier, reminded me somehow of the calm before a storm, and of electricity. All photos are scans are from www.flickr.com/photos/juliptulip

My Funny Valentine

2008-09-30T12:24:00.002-04:00

Quirks are like endearing little friends that, as with any friend, you have an occasional spat with. Such thinking may be quirky in itself, though I do believe, quirks put the color in character. They are comforting, charming, amusing (though sometimes terribly annoying), and even beautiful as art is (think "My Funny Valentine" by Chet Baker). Oh where would we be, who would we be, without our own personal set of quirks?

In fact, I am quite bothered by people who pretend they are perfectly normal. I know they must have quirks and a weird-side, like any other. They’re just hiding it, and I don’t appreciate it. If they perhaps truly have come to believe that they don’t have any quirks, and are not in the least bit odd, then I suppose not very well interested in knowing them.

Anyway, this commentary on quirks, was inspired when I was tagged, by the lovely Raspberry, with what I refer to as the "Quirks" tag, (though it is really unknown facts, as well). I am a little hesitant to participate in tags when they require me to talk directly about myself (I imagine I'll bore my dear readers), versus speaking of ideas, thoughts, and dicussing various other topics. Nonetheless, I've made an exception. Here are 6 quirks/little known facts about me:

1. I dream most of unicorns and wild horses.

2. If I could be any fairytale character, I would want to be Rapunzel, just to have her hair.

3. I have multiple identities. I'm prone to reinvent myself, and can very well loose myself in self-created persona's.

4. I have to sit on the end of a row of chairs. I am terribly bothered when sitting (though not standing or moving) completely surrounded and in the middle of people. Heaven forbid, the middle chair of the middle row. In school I always sat at the end of a row, as well as, at the desk closest to the door.

5. I talk to myself, often in a British or New Zealand accent.

6. I am slightly insane, and I don’t mind that I’ve lost my mind.

Now here are the rules for this tag, and those who I have tagged:

Rules: 1. Link who tagged you; 2. Post the rules; 3. List six quirky or little known facts about yourself; 4. Tag six fellow bloggers.

1. Daisy Chain Dreams

2. Fashion Chalet

3. Leese Looks

4. Loveology

5. I'm Not Anti-Social, Just Short-Sighted

6. Stompface

7. Anyone, and everyone else, please do comment and share with me 6 quirks or unknown facts about yourself. And/or simply rant about quirks, such as quirks of other's that you find either endearing or terribly bothersome!

Photo Credits: http://mixologies.livejournal.com/ & Louis Park (www.imlouis.com), the photographer.

Power, Peace & Politics

2008-09-29T19:54:00.002-04:00

People often say, fight for what you believe in, fight for what you love, and for love. However, there seems to be a slightly contradicting message in these words. After all, fighting and war, and peace and love, are opposites in meaning.

Is war always bad? Is love always good? Is it wrong to fight for what we believe in, if it means we hurt others in the process? And of the same branch, is it wrong to fight for love, or something we love, if it means generating wars?

A example of a battle that currently is in effect is the American-Iraqi war. Am I a shameful American for admitting I have deep sympathy for those in the middle east? Hearing from some of the innocents there makes me feel such strong empathy. Their lives are in turmoil, bombings and gunfire are daily routines, and death numbers are appalling. We may be the other side of this war, but for the most part, we know little of what the war has brought upon them. While I do think there is much corruption in the middle east, who is to say, that we are not corrupted ourselves.

I have heard many people talk of president Bush as if he is the devil himself, simply because he initiated this war. A position of power, such as president though, will only ever be filled by a human being. A mere mortal. As humans, we all make mistakes, and when facing a critical decision, we do not, perhaps, always decide correctly. The difference is when those who are in power make errors in decision, the ramifications are far greater.

Power is like a double-edged sword, it can be abused, as well as, a fundamental aide in working for the greater good and for peace. Why is it though, that it seems people of power start more wars, than create peace?

Could it be that those who crave power, may often also crave fame and control, often also traits of a someone who is self-centered. After all, fame and power go hand in hand, and anyone who has no desires for fame, will most likely avoid placing themselves in position of power. And I don't imagine you can be a person who strongly hates controversy and nonetheless, run for president or another position of power. After all, politics are anything but harmonious. But it is those who are by nature and desire, peaceful, who would perhaps be most passionate and effective in obtaining peace on a larger scale.

Why though, would someone who truly seeks or lives in peace want to fight for a powerful position? Not only is fighting contradictory to the peaceful nature, but a political career or position of power will certainly disrupt their personal peace and place them in an environment of controversy and crisis.

Through all this talk of power though, I'm confess I am undecided on whether anyone should have control over another being's life? Are we not all human, who are any of us to play God and decide what another should do, or even whether one should live or die?

I have so many questions, and I feel, so few answers. I will admit that this topic is reaching beyond my capability in understanding, and perhaps I only sound flibbertigibbety speaking and sharing thoughts on it. However, I know that the best way to make sense of anything I don't understand is to think and talk about it. Perhaps you can enlighten me some with your own ideas, opinions and thoughts...

Additional questions that I would love to hear your opinions on: Do you believe under the right rule, with the right leaders instated, that world peace, or at least peace in country, is possible? Is any one of us truly worthy and deserving of immense power or control over a mass number of other people? Do you believe that at times that our government, and those who are in control, harm more than they help?

Photo Credits: All photographs shot by Wendy Bevan, and from Sharon (http://nearerthemoon.livejournal.com) & kissmesweet at www.thefashionspot.com

The Power Of A Woman

2008-09-28T13:28:00.003-04:00

In many cultures, particularly outside of the U.S. and like countries, women are still very oppressed and suppressed, and regarded as the weaker sex. Many women are forced to comply with extensive and erroneous rules, which are instated by men. These men consider themselves strong because of their power, and yet it takes more strength to follow rules than to make them. For men it is not particularly taxing to patrol and punish women who step outside the boundaries given to them. Many men easily accomplish regulation in numbers and with weapons. There's nothing strong or admirable about unjust abuse of power.

More so, it takes deep-rooted strength and audacity, for women to object and fight for the rights of women as equal human beings. Men will perhaps never know the strength and courage that is required of woman to rise against a capital of sexist men.

Even in countries such as the U.S., women still face resistance and difficulties to get where they want and be considered of equal ability as men. It has been said: what doesn't kill you, makes you stronger. And as women confronting and overcoming oppression from men has only increasingly made us stronger, and a force to be reckoned with. The more trials dealt to us, the more opportunities we are given to triumph.

Furthermore, I've heard men say repeatedly, that there's nothing they find more beautiful than a woman. In history, it has often been a women who has been the only being capable of bringing even the most powerful of men to their knees. After all, even powerful men are not immune to going weak in the knees at the sight of a beautiful woman.

As for the most delusional men who believe a woman is of no use other than, perhaps, as a sex object, they should consider the fact that it was a woman who gave birth to them and brought them into this world. Nothing they have obtained in life would have been possible without first a woman giving them the opportunity to live.

The argument for women rights and equal consideration is in a sense, endless, as there are countless reasons, besides the few I briefly touched on above, as to why women are anything but weak and lacking. Of course, there may always be men who will try to contradict any argument that does not support men being superior beings. Nonetheless, as women, we should always celebrate our uniqueness and be aware of our strength, and call on our strength, even, to fight for the rights of women who are still under much oppression.

So ladies, tell me what are some things you like about being female? Please do dish on any "girl power" stories whether they're from your own life, or just one you heard. And what are your views and thoughts on the debate of supposed men superiority and women's rights? (And just so you're not unsure, gentlemen, you're welcome to share your views on this topic as well).

Photo Credits: surrealseven @ http://www.thefashionspot.com/ & www.flickr.com/photos/10330100@N06 & www.flickr.com/photos/120days & www.pamelahanson.com & www.flickr.com/photos/piercefashion

Jump! ... My 50th Post.

2008-09-26T18:11:00.008-04:00

This is my 50th blog entry... makes me want to jump, jump, jump!

Today I typed "jump" into the Flickr search box, resulting in 825,644 photos. It was like watching the whole world jump at once. My lips parted into a smile I just couldn't shake, while "Live Your Life" by T.I. featuring Rihanna sung through my headphones, sending tingles of joy through my veins.

There is something so freeing, so joyful, so brave, so resilient about people leaping, jumping, defying gravity, or perhaps defying life. Life is tough, so they say, but through it all thousands of people still find it in themselves to celebrate what life has given them. To forget self-consciousness and fear, to fling themselves into the air.

Jumping can be brave. A jump off a waterfall, an adreilene rush. Jumping can be joyful. A jumping shot snapped at a wedding, and enternal glimpse of celebration of love. Jumping simply because something so good happened, something that drives you to loose all inhibitions and bounce off the ground, airborne.

One detail I noticed throughout almost all the Flickr captures of jumps, were enormous grins. Perhaps jumping is just an extension of a smile. From your mouth, to your feet. An infectious joy you just can't stop.

Go ahead. Jump on your bed. On a trampoline. Leap into the pool. Off the couch. Ignore the stares of strangers, and skip, leap, and jump in the street. Bungee jump. Sky dive. Just jump!

But...assuming you're not a natural jumping bean, what do you do to express joy? And/or can you remember any events or things that have happened in your life that just literally made you jump up into the air?

Photo Credits: www.flickr.com/photos/jgual & www.flickr.com/photos/thed80project & www.flickr.com/photos/eric_phillips & www.flickr.com/photos/melancon

Let's Face The Music & Dance

2008-09-25T14:24:00.004-04:00

The eras of the 30's, 40's, 50's and even the early 60's have a certain undeniable class and smoothness, a relaxed vibe of, "No matter how bad it gets, every thing's going to be alright." One of my most beloved artists, who represents that polished relaxation, is Nat King Cole. More specifically, I cherish the attitude his songs like, "Let's Face The Music And Dance", embody. Even if your gut tells you the world is crashing down around, just face the music and dance, or if not dancing, something else that is positive and good medicine for the spirit.

I look at the eras gone by and I can't help but feeling they dealt with stress and problems in a more healthy and positive manner than we do today. Adolescences of today, especially have tendencies to turn to destructive behavior when under pressure and stress. They often drink or do drugs, hook up, and whatever other reckless deeds they can get away with, that they believe will overcome or mask their problems and anger.

This is not to say drinking, drugs, smoking and so forth were never a part of yesterday's society, however from what I can understand, they often seemed to have different motives and reasons for doing such things, perhaps even, more pure reasons. Not that that necessarily trumps the dangers of alcohol and drug abuse, and even smoking, but I wonder how and why folks from these previous eras, could smoke and drink with such elegance and sophistication.

I look around at our youth today, and those who are knee deep in drugs and nasty addictions are anything but glassy and glamorous. Still... even if these bad habits have always existed to a certain extent, I do admire the way past societies seemed to always keep a time for music, and dancing, and what is now considered "old school" good fun. Activities that will take a load off your back without taking all your senses and good judgement too.

Stress also appears to have been handled better in past times. Nowadays, stress is used as a leveler to measure success. The more busy you are, the more overachieving you do, the more money you gain, only leads to the overwhelming stress that seems more of a trophy than something harmful to mind and spirit. And if someone devotes more time to kicking back their heels and simply having a good time, their peers will often write them off as bums.

Even if stress equals success, I know my spirit will never survive excessive stress and work. I will always find time to whirl around a ballroom to the soothing sounds of Nat King Cole and the likes, simply elated at how good life can feel.

So, tell me... how do you deal with stress? Are you forever feeling tired and worn down? Do you make sure you still have a good time even amidst stressful deadlines and problems, or do you put off fun for a time when you're not busy? And what are your favorite ways to relax and forget your worries?

Photo Credits: "The Women" (photographed by Sebastian Faena) from V Magazine (www.vmagazine.com) & www.flickr.com/photos/don3rdse

Miss Independent

2008-09-24T12:25:00.006-04:00

All my life I've been a do-it-yourself kind of girl; always excessively independent. Many times, growing up, I parented myself, learning the ropes myself. I suppose I was a bit selfish, for I have certainly deprived my parents of the "remember when I taught you how..." kinds of memories. I wanted to read, so I taught myself to read; I wanted to ride a two-wheeler bike like my older sister, so I taught myself how to ride a bike, skinned knees proof as a battle fought and won. My memories are heavily peppered with self-taught accomplishments...

However, I wish I would have allowed more people to guide me and teach me, and be involved in more of my accomplishments. After all, I believe victories and accomplishments are best shared. Sometimes I forget how having, even just, the warm presence of someone beloved around, can be so comforting.

Many people have admired my independent spirit, however I admire those who take heart in keeping alive their relationships with those they love, and being a frequent presence to their friends. I would like to be a person who places her friends at a higher level of importance, and who will clear a busy schedule in a heartbeat to spend some quality time, or even just have a wild and hilarity-ensuing girls night out.

Then there's boy-girl relationships, the kind that do not lie within the fair boundaries of friendship. And as much as I'm a bit embarrassed to know any song by the cheaply dressed (backed often by shallow and dirty lyrics) Pussycat Dolls, I must say, I've always been the one to say something similar to their song, "I Don't Need A Man". Because, it's true, I don't need a guy in my life to make me feel complete (well, except maybe Jesus), I do just fine on my own.

But perhaps...I should be a little more open to relationships with boys that go beyond friendships, because I might just find love and realize it's one of the best things I've ever known.

How do you think your relationships are? Do you invest more in your friends or more in your career/school/other? Do you often lean on your friends, or are you more of the independent kind?

Picture Credits: http://community.livejournal.com/fakingfashion ("Heavenly Creatures") & www.lundlund.com (Sandra Freij) & www.lulamag.com (Issue 3) & www.flickr.com/photos/reactor_carouse