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Anais Vionet Jun 2023
Get out your sponges, stippling brushes and pens,
It’s time for makeover-Monday-night to begin.
Think Winky Lux, L’Oréal, Urban Decay,
Maybelline, Armani and Fabergé

It’s a black magic realm where brushes are wands,
where a carnival of colors are carefully crayoned.
We have palettes aplenty, in kaleidoscope hues,
to create fashion looks, both bold and subdued.

In the realm of makeup fashion, where trends never end,
we remodel each other - for fun - when we can.
Tonight, our new friend Jammie has come to watch us play,
and he even brought two bottles of chardonnay.

Lisa has a ‘Miss Rose’ case, like she saw in Bernadette Peters’
dressing room, on a backstage tour of the Shubert Theatre.
Konjac, Kabuki, Doe foots, Spoolie, Lisa’s got legit tools to use.
“When it comes to makeup,” she says, “always avoid dupes.”

That night I was the chosen face, the excited living canvas.
Lisa’s a practiced artist, her process is brisk and never tedious.
She painted my lips a crimson cherry, alluring and brightly sensuous,
my brows were moonlit art, my cheeks a midnight adumbrated edifice.

Lisa created a special look, where rebellious edge met elegance.
We took some snaps, then I washed it off - but Jammie was impressed!
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Adumbrate: “to partially outline and obscure”

Slang: “dupes” are off-brand knock-offs of famous luxury brands
Anais Vionet Apr 2023
I’ve been cutting Peter’s hair for a year. When covid lockdown occurred, I learned to cut my brother’s hair - and yes, he still has two ears. When I first met Peter, he had a great thick tangle of unkempt black and, in certain light, blue hair. It was **** as hell, in a lost puppy way.

Then, one Saturday morning last year, as summer began to settle in, he buzz cut it - out of the blue - you might say. When he showed up that morning for breakfast with Lisa and I (we were at Stillman), Lisa saw him first and turned just in time to see me, see him. She saw my squint as the sign of trouble it was.

Lisa’s yoda. “Guys,” she said simply.
How can I put this: Eeuuwww, creepy. Peter’s tall and lanky, like descriptions I’ve read of a young Abraham Lincoln, although unlike that great man, Peter’s rather handsome - with hair.

If the stubble were red, I could say he looked exactly like a matchstick, but with his black hair against his bone-white head, he looked more like an escaped convict.

When he got to our table he rubbed his hand over the ruin of his lost hair, and grinning, said, “How’d you like it?”
“Wow,” Lisa said, recusing herself noncommittedly.
I looked up from my phone, “We need to get you a HAT,” I said softly.
“Why?” he said, his grin dimming by a good 50%.

“Because,” I said, summoning all of my notable tact, “you aren’t going to hang around ME looking like Forrest Gump.” I’d just looked up hat stores and found one five blocks away, DelMonico Hatter, on Elm street. They even had the hat I was looking for in stock.
“What?” He started defensively.
“Get something to go.” I said, standing up and starting to gather up my things.
Peter, swimming like he usually does, got an egg & sausage biscuit and a cup of coffee to go.
As the three of us were walking, I asked Peter, “You like 'Breaking Bad', ya?”
“Sure,” he said, with a mouth half-full of biscuit.
“We’re getting you a heisenberg” I said, grinning. “or two.”

“No, I don’t know,” he said, slowing his walk. I could tell he was worried about the money. Peter and I had only been seeing each other casually at that point - we’d never even kissed - but I knew he lived on a small stipend, he received monthly, while completing his doctorate.

“Look,” I said, coming to a stop. We all came to a stop. “I’m flush, this is MY treat and I don’t want you to worry about it.” When he still looked hesitant, I said, exaggeratedly, as I started to walk again, “Don’t worry, you won’t owe me any ****** favors.”
“Aww, ****,” he said with a grin.
“She does this,” Lisa whispered to him, too loudly.

Eventually, we found him two Heisenberg hats for around $200. One, for summer day wear, a light beige Bailey Carver Straw Porkpie and the other, for nightwear, a Roche, DelMonico Palma Felt Pork Pie - just like Walter White’s. He looked quite the bengali menace.

Of course, his hair grew back in a few months, but he kept wearing the hats.  And now I cut his hair - to prevent any sudden, k-mart inspirations.
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Recuse: to remove oneself as judge


Slang…
yoda = wise and all knowing.
swimming = a good sport
flush = money’d up, holding a bag
bengali menace = a handsome man
k-mart = cheap looking and unwanted.
Amanda Kay Burke Mar 2023
I'm sure you would want me to be happy
That you'd want me to smile
Joy is elusive
Cannot be caught
Pretending just isn't my style
It's just as hard as I thought it would be
Bella Isaacs Feb 2023
Gaze at me, with you ever-so-slight smudged lipstick
Pop-punk lyrics issuing from your perfect mouth
Dark circles from the khôl and folly
Forgiveness from your youth
Torsion of perfection into a wry smile
Sober, you say, drunk, who'll walk upon my style?
Who'll dare? I dare, in laying bare, ballet hands,
The contents of my *****; You know, friends,
I may be an actress, and pretentious,
But my ability to lie's contentious.
Can I just be my perfect self, please?
Priorities, we each have our own,
We each have a different list, we keep in our mind,
Certain events, around us, can change, one’s way,
Of life, fast, at various times.
It’s happened before, just look at history, of the past.
When the economy, money, is flowing slow, to keep,
What you own, and  spending habits, have to change fast.
Some retailers, and friends, may frown when you slow down,
It’s a must if you want, your lifestyle to last.
It’s harder on the older folks, unlike the younger generation,
They do not have, the time in years, to earn more, and turn,
Their life, back around. Society today, so many living their life,
Un–needed enjoyment spending, they never try to save.
Many will have to, adjust, their life, staying home more often,
Entertaining  themselves more, plan fewer trips each day,  and only,
Buying necessities, when they can get to town. How long,
Will it last, no set date, or time, our politicians,
The players, continue keeping their mindset, leading,
Everyone closer to insane, this life is real, not a game.

The Original: Tom Maxwell © 7/28/22
Carlo C Gomez Dec 2021
~
Holding court at the Zanzibar,
they looked on good nights
like Egyptian Queens, like Ancient Babylonians.

On not so good nights,
they resembled Brassaï's Moma Bijou -
"fugitives from Baudelaire's bad dreams",
and even then they looked magnificent.

Identity wasn't something you nailed
yourself into in late adolescence.
It was a trick of the light,
and if you were to avoid
burning yourself out,
then you simply let the flames
lick over you
and turned the ashes into kohl.

~
This life, we are traveling through,
Our classroom, to learn, respect,
Very important, accept, be thankful,
So much to explore, always try,
Different ideas, at any age
Your best talent, maybe,
On the
Other side of the door,
Even if a garage, is center stage.
Our body and brain, are to be used, they need movement,
They give us signs, aches and pains,
Then negative thoughts, passing through, a board brain,
Do the same, start forgetting, can’t concentrate then insane.
Our fuse is lit, we never know, when we will go,
Forget, the sayings, I can’t, I wonder, what if, …
Take the time, be proud, even if you’re slow.
None of us know, the best day of our life,
Or when we will die, until our last, goodbye.
The Original: Tom Maxwell © 12/16/21AD 5:45 PM
Maria Etre Nov 2021
Putting pen to paper
slowly
                              serenades my nerves
and carefully
                              caresses my insecurities
to make me mindfully
                              and mindlessly
fall
for
every dent
the words put
in my chapter
Agatha Prideaux Sep 2021
You feel like
A ghastly mist, crawling up my toes
Touching frozen ground as you wrap
The soles of my feet in pasty white.

You feel like
Wet hair seeping through every thread
Of a pillowcase where you rest your head
Cold, warm, cold, warm—uncomfortable.

You feel like
Sore eyes from screens too bright
As you type in bold, black thoughts
A manifesto of the conflicts within.

You feel like
A room with no light, air, and sounds
Stagnancy echoing—the streaks, the blowing, the ringing
Were all dampened, washed out, unheard of.

You feel like
The sudden flash of blindness in the sky
Overlapping the deepest violets with such crisp tear
And they, too, tear as well.

You feel like
An intrusive intrusion of an intruder
An interlude to all the things you've done
An intermission to the tango that has just begun.

You feel like
A stale yet warm yet ugly yet comforting embrace
I wrap around you just to seep in every inch
Of what only you could offer.

You feel like
The last beginning of the endgame
The enshrouding entrance of what is to come
The naked piece of the puzzle
I have yet to grasp fully

You feel like
Bitter goodbyes
Unfiltered eyes
And crimson skies.
what a depressive episode feels like.
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