#signaling
Vintage Chanel lives rent free in my mind
the colors are deep, subtle and magical.
Over time, the originally soft textures,
become luscious, like a lover's caressing touch.
In college, you dress down,
you want to blend in, not stand out
gods forbid you flag entitlement
and draw envy's barbed compliments.
The simple styles bear the twin burdens
of camouflage and practicality.
In Paris, fashion can be capricious,
but elegance is a silent conversation,
with its own intricate vocabulary in drape,
line, fabric and in painstaking choice.
In places where fashion matters - Paris, Manhattan, the Hamptons,
it can signal position, the way uniforms signal authority everywhere.
A splash of fashion can not only have a fabulous effect
on how its wearer feels, it can tell important stories.
I’m told that, in back rooms, where fortunes are awarded or lost,
fashion can announce arrival, rank, and intent.
It can whisper new wealth, in upstart display
or a threadbare, silent duel with mounting debt
.
.
Songs for this:
The Way It Is by Bruce Hornsby & The Range
Read Between the Lines by The Bingtones
Aug 5, 2024
Aug 5, 2024 at 2:21 PM UTC
as i walk upon this ground—
your ground,
i suddenly miss you,
my native brothers.
the oak trees twist and turn
signaling the return of my soul
and the loss of yours
on behalf of my kind, i truly apologize
we stole your land
and murdered you all
your statement was right—
no one can own the Earth.
we have tried,
and look where it brought us.
now we are burning up
at the expense of prosperity
and sacrificing longevity
native american blood
flows deeper, beyond fossil fuels
underneath the fracking
there’s truth buried somewhere
i can feel it, i definitely can
i wish i could scream to everyone,
“they were right!”
i wish i could scream to everyone
i wish i could bleed myself
to show them what we have lost...
to show them who you have lost.
native american blood
dries and coagulates accordingly
to our war rules
native american blood
flows no longer
stagnant in our marginalized hearts
native american truth
was our last hope
Aug 31, 2019
Aug 31, 2019 at 11:50 PM UTC
Are you my muse?
Well, are You?
Every time we talk
ideas crop up
Sometimes crazy
sometimes not so much
But little flicks of light
appear
like a runway
signalling
along the synapses
of my
frontal lobe
Or a light bulb might
show up
in a bubble
above my head
No matter how
No matter where
They insist on follow through
even though some fizzle
and some just outright die
~~~~~~~~~~
So are you my muse?
I need someone to blame!
Apr 18, 2018
Apr 18, 2018 at 10:03 AM UTC