Bonjour, hello to this French revolution, where people fought against the corrupted monarchy and created a new constitution. Hunger, no rights and no respect, they could not seem to solve it peacefully, so they cut off Louis the XVI neck. Marie Antoinette was a heartless greedy *****, she stole the people's food, so now she deserves some punishment, this is a historical moment for these people which they would soon cement. They started the Reign of Terror, which some may say was a costly and unnecessary error. Millions of people were killed and most were wrongly accused, their used to be equality, liberty, and fraternity, but all people saw was death, which is something not to be amused. The French Revolution where the third class fought the monarchy, so everyone could have true equality, liberty, and fraternity. Then came a guy named Napoléon who changed their wicked ways, he founded new ideas which created the future you see today. I know he wasn't exactly the best, he crowned himself the emperor, which no one had a say on, he pretended to respect the church and have meritocracy but really he was just a con, deceiving people as if they were just a couple of pawns. Napoléon is a wimp, he cost millions of lives, he also abandoned his armies multiple times, he may be one of the, greatest strategist's in the world, but really he's just a waste of time. Napoléon should have figured out not to attack Russia at winter time, it never worked out before so why would it work this time. He may be a symbol of France and the greatest self proclaimed emperor, but he died because of his pride just like Maximillian Robespierre. That was the end of the French Revolution, they slowly lost their power but they still hold onto their republican constitution. So aurevoir for now, bon voyage to you grande revolution, till your next controversial decisions and solutions.

Paris has traditionally been the city where inter­national designers – from Australia and England to Beirut and Japan – opt to unveil their collections. However, Karen Ruimy, who is behind the Kalmar label, chose the runways of Milan Fashion Week for her debut showcase in September.

The Morocco-born, London- based designer hosted an intimate al fresco event in a private palazzo to launch her holiday line of fine cotton and silk jumpsuits, breezy kaftans, long skirts, playsuits and off-the-shoulder tops in tropical prints.

Ruimy had a career in finance before moving into the arts – she owns a museum of photography in Marrakech – and has become increasingly involved in fashion and beauty, thanks to her personal interest in holistic therapies.

These are clothes, she explains, that marry luxury and wellness, and are the things she would wear when she wants quality time by herself. The fact that they are made in Italy, convinced her that Milan was the right place for her debut – where she showed alongside the likes of Gucci, Prada, Verscae and Marni.

On fashion calendars, Milan has conventionally been the place where the runways confirm the trends and themes hinted at ­earlier, in New York and London. However, this season, the Italian designers did not speak with one voice, making Milan Fashion Week all the more refreshing for it.

Often, there might be an era or style of design that dominates the runways during a particular season, but for spring/summer 2017 in Milan, there was a standout showing of techno sportswear and techno fabrics employed in updated classics such as coats and box-pleat skirts, or with references to north African and Native American themes.

The Italian designers sent looks that would appeal to everyone, from the haute bohemian and athletic woman, to the cool sophisticate and the art crowd, as well as – as in the case of Moschino – to the iPhone generation.

Only three seasons ago, Gucci’s creative director Alessandro Michele was lauded for his complicated maximalist styling. Yet in Milan, Gucci channelled a dreamlike vibe with Victoriana, denim, athletic apparel and oversized accessories, thrown together in delightful chaos, making it difficult to predict the direction Michele is taking Gucci in.

Currently he seems to be in a holding pattern, hovering at once over 1940s Hollywood glamour, 1970s flared pantsuits, and ruffled party dresses from the 1980s, in a cacophony of ­colours and fabrics.

The feeling of joyous madness continued at Dolce & Gabbana, where street dancers emerged from the audience to start the party in the designers’ tropical-themed show. The clothes used some of their familiar tropes, such as military jackets, corseted black-lace dresses miniskirts. New, however, were the baggy tapering trousers redolent of jodhpurs, and the lavish and detailed embellishment the designers used to sell their story.

Wanderlust dominated the moodboards at Roberto Cavalli – rich patterns, embroidery and patchworks inspired by Native Americans – and Etro with its ­tribal themes on kaftans, duster coats and Berber-style capes.

Giorgio Armani, Agnona Tod’s, Bottega Veneta and Salvatore Ferragamo – with its stylish twisted leather dresses and crisp athletic sportswear designed by newcomer Fulvio Rigoni – all answered the call of women who want stylish but undemanding clothes.

Marni would appeal to the art world for its graceful, pioneering ideas. The label’s finely pleated dresses displayed a life of their own, and its micro-printed dresses were gathered, folded and distorted to walk the line between stylish and quirky.

In contrast, the sportswear at MaxMara and Donatella Versace targeted the dynamic generation of athletic women, with sleek leggings, belted jackets, power suits and anoraks. Versace has made it clear that she thinks this is the only way forward. She may be right, but there’s always room for the myriad styles displayed at Milan Fashion Week in all our wardrobes.

It was feathers with everything at Prada. Silk pyjamas, boldly coloured and mixed checks, cardigans and wrap skirts with Velcro fasteners show Miuccia Prada reinventing the classics. Most glamorous was the series of evening dresses and pyjamas with jewelled embroidery and feathers, worn with kitten heels that married sporty straps with heaps of crystals. Prada’s must-have bag of the season is a bold clutch with a long strap fastener, that comes in a multitude of geometric and daisy patterns.

Versace

Over the past three seasons, Donatella Versace has been carving out a new image for her brand – a shift from the luxe glam of red carpets and superyachts, although the inhabitants of that world will be sure to buy into the new Versace vibe. Donatella’s girls are both glamorous and empowered. The sporty look is tough, urban and energetic, judging by the billowing ultra-thin high-tech nylon parkas and blousons, stirrup trousers and dresses (the shapes of which are manipulated by drawstrings). Dresses, skirts and tops are spliced at angles and studded together. Swishy pleated dresses and silky slit skirts gave energy when in movement, and were as soft as the look got.

Bottega Veneta

Model Gigi Hadid and veteran actress Lauren Hutton walked arm in arm down the Bottega Veneta runway, illustrating the breadth of the Italian maison in Tomas Maier’s hands. This was a double celebration of the Bottega’s 50th ­anniversary and Maier’s 15th as its creative director. Menswear and womenswear were combined, and the focus was on easy, elegant clothes in luxurious materials, such as ostrich, crocodile and lamb skin for coats; easy knits and cotton dresses worn with antique-style silver jewellery; and wedge heels. Fifteen handbag styles debuted along with 15 from the archive.

Fendi

Silvia Venturini’s new Kan handbag was a star turn at Milan. The stud-lock bag dotted with candy-coloured studs, rosette embroidery and floral ribbons couldn’t help but charm every woman in the audience. It was the perfect joyful accessory for Karl Lagerfeld’s feminine vintage romp through the wardrobe of Marie Antoinette, with sugary colours, bows, big apron skirts and crisp white embroidery juxtaposed with sporty footballer-stripe tops – effectively updating a historical look.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses

Antonia, it’s time to rise today
Your breakfast is ready, your tutor waits
“Time is running", mama says
There’s much to learn as a princess

Antonia, follow whatever we please
Stand tall and straight, hide your scarred knees
You’re no longer a little girl
You’re bound to be a queen of the world

Antonia, quickly, put on your shoes
Lace your corset so it’s anything but loose
If you’re short of breath, you’ll have to wait
A true royal must never be late

Antonia, there’s no more time to play
With your chin up, follow what we say
You must learn to be a trophy of France
To walk with grace, to speak, to dance

Antonia, stop laughing like a witch
Don’t be a disgrace, you’re not a *****
You’ll change your name and all in between
Marie Antoinette is who you are as queen

Marie Antoinette, with beauty from the gods,
You’ll marry a man you’ve never loved
You’re off to France, now say goodbye,
You are to leave everything behind

Marie Antoinette, you lover of life,
With your luxury and power, your kingdom’s in strife
As you live your own Versailles delusion
Your kingdom is brewing a violent revolution

Marie Antoinette, do you remember the sweet days of sixteen?
Here it all ends, with a cruel guillotine.
Antonia, free spirit, never meant to be
A girl chained by royalty, a reigning queen.

Every person in this world has a name. Of course, the first thing in life that makes us all different is our name. Or names, perhaps. I know someone who has four names, Marie France Antoinette Anne. I’m friends with someone who has 3 names, Eivram Jan Heaven. Even though 3-4 names are probably hard to have, it’s kind of amazing because it adds a lot to your singularity. And the best example of them all are two names, my best friend’s name is Khelsy Gayle, my eldest sister’s: Christina Andrea, my other sister’s name is Francesca Julia and my name is Kelly Denise. And we all here, don’t even bother to deny it, has a nickname. My best friend’s name is Chellsie and everybody calls her Che. Both of my classmates are both Joshua, and they only have one name, so my teacher, in order for us to not be confused, decided to call the one who has a surname that starts with C, JC and the surname that starts with D, JD and until now we still call them by those names. And in some cases, we pick nicknames by different choices. My eldest sister’s nickname is Zoe and my other sister’s nickname is Franny because my mom loved JD Salinger so much that she named my sisters from her favourite fictional siblings. Maybe my mother wasn’t expecting me, so she didn’t name me from an iconic literary character, or a famous philosopher. Instead, she called me with a nickname that I will be known till the day that I die, it’s called ‘Keidy’. And, to be honest, I hate that nickname. But hey, I have no choice. Or we can all be known for the things that we did. Daenerys Targaryen has a lot of names, Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Chains, Protector of the realm and so on and so forth. Or you can be Arya Stark, who is  No One. An example of a name that people force to be known as but they will never achieve because she will always be Arya Stark of Winterfell.

You see, names are wonderful. It's a proof that everyone in this world, is different. And what a magical thing it is, living in the same world with different people who have different views. And to mention, same views. We all here share same views, and maybe, some of us here even share the same name.

But in every woman’s life, we share the same names. People call us with names that we don’t even have. Each of us have been called or will be called these names.


You will call us, doll. You told us we have so much cuteness in us and we are as beautiful as dolls, and we don’t have any problem with that. Little did we know that some of you don’t really admire our beauty but instead think of us as toys. Toys that you can control, toys that you think would do everything that you want. You will teach us what that we should do, you will teach us what to say and how we should act, you will teach us everything like you own us. And after we do everything that you told us to you will call us good girls.  Good girl,  continue following me.  Good girl,  get ready for more, like we are toys. But of course, you will not call us toys because girls and toys are the same for you, right?

We were taught to be clean, we were raised to be pure. That chastity is the most important thing that every woman should have. And for sure, you all want our purity, but when we disagree like we were taught to you will call us prudes. ***** for choosing who I open up to. ***** for not letting you inside my temple when I am the landlord making choices.  ***** for saying no, because your ego is far more important than my consent. And when we say yes, you will call us *****. Choosing what to do to your own body is a not a thing you should do. Expressing your sexuality is a sin to this world when you’re the one who does it. A woman’s pleasure, is not a real thing. Because we’re not allowed to have one, because we are known for giving one. We are known as ******, as women who are not clean and pure. Who spend their lives offering their bodies like they're the only thing that we can offer. You will shame us for being filthy and disgusting when you’re the reason why we are here in the first place. We are here to pleasure you, to give you what you want. But when we are the ones who would like to experience it, the world suddenly goes mad. We should not experience any pleasure but they can all the time. And when we finally speak for what’s right, our names will suddenly become *******. A ***** for speaking up, a ***** for doing the thing that I should have done ages ago, a ***** for fighting back. A ***** for being strong to be able to remove the tight grip of your hands to my mouth that has been keeping it shut, a ***** for removing the word ’silence’ in my vocabulary, a ***** for being brave to destroy the power that have kept me powerless for a long time.

Woman, I agree that we should be called names. We should be known as fire, a fire so powerful that can lit up the entire world, and burn you for playing with us the entire time. We are warriors fighting for the right thing, warriors that are strong enough to combat all the wrong doings. We are magic,we can do things that everyone never expected we could. Our mind, is the most beautiful place anyone will ever come across.
We are women, and that one word, is more than enough to make people know our value. Woman, the next time they will call you names you do not approve of, tell them. Woman, the next time they lecture you with the things you should do knowing you have your own decisions in life, **** them with your independence. Woman, make them tremble when they realise you are one. Woman, prove them all wrong. Woman, the next time they belittle you; do not let them.

Moving amidst my Ramona chapter books,
I make out your movement, M, the moody turns
Of your mounts and valleys, the moniker of

Family names, you marked me like a maternal
Emblem of the generation’s matriarch,
You mingled amid reminiscences of former matrons  

Maria Helena from the Midwest,
Who crossed the mountains in a wagon,
Madeleine, a migrant from Marseilles,

Who baked warm loaves in San Francisco,
And her own daughter, my Mimi,
Who muttered merde while she drank martinis.

In my own time, you materialized in
Marjorie, my nana, and Maria, my mom,
The women in which I knew you growing up,

Then Molly, who made dreams out of
Magic and Movies and Marie Antoinette,
You embellished my most favorite things.

In my monogram, you aimed my impulses
in your masts’ diametric directions
Towards competence, towards imagination.

In your middle ‘s mysterious compartment I make snug
With magazines and novels and mugs of hot milk.
You nuzzled me in moments of melancholy, then motivated me

To meander among your fundamental family,
The sumptuous L of melt and mélange,
The meticulous N of man or monk or money.

Even W, which matches your mien in mirror
It warped wicked witch while you
Milled maidens and damsels, so I imagined

The mutilation of those two majuscules formed
My image of womanhood. M, Molly Smithson materialized
From a meek mademoiselle into the mistress of mischief.

You aren't going to **** yourself tonight because, in one of the

spun sugar fragile sequences of the events in your life, it works

out. There is a place, somewhere amidst star stuff and cosmic

collisions, where you are not the problem daughter or the

biggest disappointment or the most regretted kiss. There is a

place where you sink into a desk in your eight a.m. class and

a boy with bags under his eyes and a hole-y sweater pulled

over his knuckles says, "hi." There is a place where your father

comes back from the war with sand grit in his eyes, blood

under his fingernails and lets you save him.  There is a place

where you live in India, where you aren't afraid to love, where

everything hurts less, where you stopped punishing yourself for

the faults of your parents. You are a girl. Not a dart board or a guilty

verdict or the final, desperate ****** of a sword through

someone's chest. You are made of the same stuff as Marie

Antoinette and Catherine the Great and Elizabeth, and you

can command the winds too. You aren't going to **** yourself

tonight because no one ever asked you about the scars on your

thighs but that doesn't make them nonexistent or unimportant.

You aren't going to **** yourself tonight because you've grown:

stronger in some ways and weaker in others, but you are still

a result of rhapsodies in violet and trees bowed to the sea

and soldiers with wind burn on their cheeks. Tonight, you are

going to wrap your own arms around your own chest and

breathe, swaying silently to no music. You are going to

memorize the sound of silence, and you are going to listen hard

for the even, jagged, pitter patter of your heart. You are going

to thank your body for waging war against itself, you are going

to apologize to your head for bruising your heart. You are going

to feel the roughness of the floor and the vastness of the entire

world and all of the eventualities spread before you. You are

going to remember that this is only one, that atoms and

molecules are flighty, whimsical, prone to selfishness and

longing for the promise of stability. You are going to press your

lips to your own wrists and know, as surely as Anne Boleyn

knew when she walked to the guillotine, that no one can save

you but yourself. You aren't going to **** yourself tonight

because you are not an accident of the multiverse. You are

purposeful and beautiful and young and reckless with your

feelings, but you are not a mistake. Listen to the trembling

of your heartbeat and breathe. You aren't going to **** yourself

tonight.

Expectation hangs round my neck
It pushes me further towards the brink.
I could turn out like Marie Antoinette
If I don't take a moment to stop and think.

I feel my life looming ahead of me
Without any thoughts or plans.
People say there are endless possibilities
So where on earth do I stand?

Mercilessly wandering through it
Nothing everywhere
Material world
"Accidents Happen Live! at 8p.m. ET"
And then I get it..

The moment I log-in
To a vapid, cheap place
Where something like
Humanity is shown
Like a shot of humanity
Morpho helena.
Honeysuckle.
Sevruga.
Followed by
A restless sigh
You-can-be-anyone Barbie:
"But what do I do with my own hair?"
I grew up in a lie.

Like a shot of *****
The realization makes me shiver from inside out.
Horsepills & champagne at midnight
My real-fake bedtime story takes flight.
But really
If you don't tell me
I'm pretty this instant,
I'm sticking my head right in the oven.

A Parody

Brigitte my love
Our Country suffers of many debts
The people are restless
Whatever shall we do love?

Ah Macron, we must think past the cookies
The solutions are complex, answers evasive
Let me speak with Marie Antoinette, she shall know!
Queen of Navarre, By god we shall be saved!

Marie, Marie Antoinette our people are restless
Our republic is in debt. these are crazy times!
Whatever shall we do?
I am fed up, allons-y

Ah fear not, if they have not bread!
Let them eat Nutella!
Lower the prices
Nutella for the masses!!!

Marie, are you sure? very very sure of such things?
Oui oui, on with it, my father was emperor of Rome
Nutella will calm the masses
Come here Nemo. taste, see even Nemo is tres happy now!

And so France lowered the prices of Nutella
Thus began the nouveau French Revolution
Riots in the streets, brawling in the magasins
The uprising has began, we want our Nutella for free

The masses rose
Nutella for all, Nutella for sans prix
We are all somewhat fou for Nutella you see!
And so the masses fought each other for Nutella's liberty

Nutella one and Nut Ella all!
I swear to your Brigette
We should have given them Macarons!!!
People remain civilized with cafe and cookies! n'est pas?

Emmanuel my love, fret not
The revolution shall be quelled
Qh I have the perfect person for this
He shall restore order to our dear republic

Prey tell Brigette? Who could do such a thing now
Riots everywhere, the masses fight each other daily?
The streets are not safe
There is a shortages of Nutella now, we are doomed cheri

Non non mon amour, I shall call Alizee
She shall sing us out of the terrible mess
She is the mistress of Doug McMillion
This man can save us all!!

Brigitte, who is this man you call Doug?
Why Emmanuel he is the president of Walmart
He has squashed many Black Fridays rebellions
He shall save us all!!!!!!

From these unruly unsavory Nutella shoppers!!!!!



Vive la France!
Vive Alizee
Mange ton macaroon mon cheri
C'est ton droit et ta liberté

is holy; Because bad gas prostitutes,
& Guy's wife, who is the Father;
a kid in pieces, the star at the door
Of skin, & Lucius & industry,          & shall not find a well-known;
Also, in the mouth, & give him a drink, & a wild animal is an animal;
Barbie has a happy hour cold handed paint
the servants of the right to eat from the tree in the rock,
Currently stone is the best book in Russian
The high-infected mothers, is running in six years
I am writing you a window with brown water
Under When turned upside down, & there where the very essence
you have heard the choirs of the Gaul,
an intimate friend of the mouth, not to take up arms,
However, since most are in good walk blind;
It was his dream
My ****** modem, which is the brain, the yellow society
The smoking to speak with the care & gold,
                                              enough yellow;
In the beginning you need the power to blow the game seeks privacy
Members of the guys in the area of the dog;
It is to be led to the passage from the history to meet:
in her drawers for execution;
the harlot in this place is holy,                   that which was the evil cat
the wife of *****, the father of the people feel
the star of the opening in the side of a kid in pieces,
having turned the skin so that the work song,
you will find Ivan in the mouth of drink,
evil wild beast to paint the gay of the cold
of the lady as set Barbie a small amount
of the rock, the servants of the matter,
to eat the state of stone is an excellent thing by the Russian;
the book wet with the mothers of the deep,
is running six years ago,                       leaving us an I am
writing to the window of the water, brown,
the feet of the nature of being turned,             but the lips
of the arms of a friend with dances:   French, we heard it
was a walk to most of all is blind, being filled
with the revolution dreamed a dream, modem my ******,
the brain is yellow, the society of smoking to speak
with the care of the gold,          enough for a school
of yellow eating the origin of the secret of the ability
of an injury to the area of ​​the club, he asked the *****
the guys they did not want to listen to the words
of Loren's history & brought him to itching *******
where judged as having been met by a harlot in this place of the Holy Spirit, which is the evil cat to his wife, but Guy
who is 'the father of the people' will feel the images,
the star in by the door on the side of even
a young goat          being torn into pieces,
they returned, and in the skin, & the work songs,
you will find Lucius, the mouth of drink,
evil, were a wild beast, to paint the gay in the cold,
& the the queen, and he put a Barbie small
w/ respect to the rock,          & his servants,
when out of the timber        & eat the food
of the state of stone,         be the best in its
Russian; the book of wet with mothers of the bottomless pit,
he is running for six years,  but for you,
leaving things write I unto the window,           the water,
the brown, down at the feet of the nature
when he turned around, & are a precious vessel of lips;
of the arms of a friend, with dances: for French,
we heard it was a walk to, however, the most important of all things,
is blind,     when they were full of revolution, too,
as we have seen a dream, modern to me, a ******,
which the brain, is yellow, into the society in smoking
for me to speak with the care of, & the gold,
it is enough power to blow the game's blonde source
   of secret demands functional area would not listen,
***** like to meet the guy Loren's history led to it being judged drawers;
the harlot in this place, the holy, which is the evil of the cat;
 to the wife of Guy, who had to think who is the father,
the people of even a young goat being torn into pieces
by means of a door in the side of the star,
Lucius, in the skin,             & the work they returned,
and will find the song of the the mouth of drink,    evil,
were a wild beast, to paint the gay
 in the cold and the lady put a small amount of Barbie
to the rock, to his servants, & to eat things out of the timber;
 Currently stone is best to book in Russian
from infected mothers with deep, is running
for six years I write to you, to the window, leaving the water,
brown, at his feet, is of the essence when he turned around,
and are a precious vessel but the lips of the choirs
of the arms of a friend of the French, not only have we obeyed the [          ];
But most of all it was a walk of all things,
is blind, as we have seen, too, when they
were filled with the dream of revolution
My ****** modem, which the brain is yellow
in society. In smoking to speak with the care and gold,
enough yellow.           The origin of the power to blow
the game demands privacy.
So the guys ***** for members of area;
The words led to it as history meets in her
drawers for its execution;
comes, holy; Because bad, gas prostitutes
Guy's wife, who is about to be Father;
a kid in pieces, the star at the door
L. skin and labor, and did not find a note;
Also, the mouth, and shall give to drink, and the wild beast the beast;
to paint the gay Barbie is a short time in the cold,        he is betrayed!
the servants of the right to eat of the tree of the rock;
Currently stone is best to book in Russian
The high-infected mothers, is running in six years
I am writing you a window with brown water
Under When turned upside down, & it is the essence of a precious
the dancing, the Gaul, an intimate friend of the mouth ye have not hearkened to take up arms;
However, since most are in good walk blind;   He had a dream
My ****** modem, which is the brain,
the yellow society; the smoking to speak with the care & gold,
enough yellow; in the beginning you need the power to blow the game to seek privacy needs;
      Members of the guys
                                 on the floor w/ the slutty *****;
Is led to the passage,          from the history to meet
in her drawers for her execution

Here lies wealthy aunt Dot
Let us pray for her, people
Let us pray for Dorothy Keeper
For here comes the grim reaper.

They called her Marie-Antoinette
Breaking fast on cake and tea
While gorging whole on tamarinds
And tittering her high-squealed laughs.

She wore her sky-scraper heels
With such care, they'd always look new
With no scuff marks, but in the end,
She hurt her back and broke her ankle!

She lived in such a mansion
You'd need an elevator to get to ***
Her gardener had his own butler
While her dogs had weekly pedicures.

Yet when they found her, on her last
She was bedecked in every wealth imaginable
Burdened tables, with rarest delicacies
But not a crumb of mercy on her plate.

You see, the ones she thought valued her
Were simply riding high on tails
They were cloven deep through the ranks
While rank decay sat fat in every corner.

Always one to expect return
She did little to relieve that scorned idea
When nephews begged for bursaries
She'd shoo them gone; let pets sap cream.

Now, upon her mortal hour, her eyes did sink
So deep in sharp despair.
Her ragged breath her kin did hear
And mere perfunctory embrace she felt.

Her sickness begged a touch of care
A little sweetness, a glance of kindness
But pitied eyes swept aghast around
At the splendid array in her mausoleum.

Nephews now grown men stand and look
They shoo not the flies around her mouth
For minds locked ******* heartless past
Fail to discover any worthy pattern.

No one could give what she desired
So they turned all from patient, one by one
To their cosy, quiet homes
Save the little boy, silent by the door.

They knew not that their paltry lesson in humanity
Screamed for mercy; to alter, make good flow
The little boy turned, to change the tide
*** for tat pays not; we should all know that!

Peace and mercy, she but sought now
And in his utter silence, he gave her that
Her eyes pled such deep appeal
His heart bled at their steep reveal.

Most unfortunate turn of events unseen
When the boy now held beneath his eyes
Heavy, darkened rings of suffering
Intense subject of compassion.

Years later, no one would know that
Upon her deathbed, she bequeathed him silent gift:
That, until kin break spited cycle
He would bear the brunt forthwith.

And now, Aunt Dot has died
All return to home and hearth
Yet no redemption till the day is due
And the soul awaits .......ever patient.

Star Toucher, 22 February 2013

A Tale of Two Cities, Marie Antoinette, Les Misérables,
Populaire and Jacqueline Boyer—
Van Gogh and Monet and all things the Louvre—
Louise Labé and Louis Aragon,
Camus, Voltaire, Baudelaire…
I’ve been breathing in pieces of France,
Eating baguettes,
Dreaming of their kisses,
Committing the curl of their words to memory,
To maybe find out just why they say the French love better.
Maybe if I’ve established the impartiality to the Eiffel tower and the familiarity of romantic cheek-and-cheek-kiss greets,
I will grin under the Parisian Moon, whispering with some curls of my own:
Je suis heureux.

I want a letter written to me,
Starting with Dear and ending with my utmost affection,
I wanna be brought up during those days where guys tried,
Like not afraid to get denied,
Lets pretend the internet isn't alive,
I wanna dance ballroom style, and let a man take the lead,
I want him to pretty much just protect me,
I'm trashing all this feministic ****,
Lets go back to those days when girls were respected and taken care of,
Rewind and replay the parts of Pride and Prejudice,
Or I wanna be Scarlett O'hara battling it out with Rhett,
I want a man who won't be so afraid,
Sure my face is pretty and whatnot, but why don't you say it to me?
Like grow a pair,
Grab me,
Make a move,
Don't be so **** afraid to hug me,
Please,
All I'm asking,
And I want to be dressed to the nines with ball gowns that go down to my ankles, and my hair all curled like Maria Antoinette,
Ok so maybe I've lost my mine,
But I sure wanna ride a carriage at twilight,
And have candles light the night,
Silly of me I suppose,
But still I cannot help but want those ancient times,
When men had to act right

Testimony of the Love of Life

Ludwig ...: “Today ..., tomorrow and the day after, will be the today that walking has taught me through the experience of running through the months together with the years, and I have not feared the divine or the unknown. Today I have seen the greatest reflection of light, which enlivens, guides me, and will show me a space of trust, perhaps one of those who come here in summer, and singles are linked together. And possibly the other is the one who does not speak to me, nor does he expose himself like those in the summer, they only appear radiant or multi-stimulating, giving opportunities. Like other times, his inspirational work is repeated with something poetic ...: "And where you are blind, that the light bathes my eyelids with a deep glow ... Just keep quiet and speak with your eyes ...just look at, for the strange and watery feel …and so be the ear who perpetuates the sound. And so it is that in the static, it is impossible to accept ...how ironic that laughter opens to wards arousal ...When you turn on the light, and see the fearful darkness I perceive the new knowledge ... "

Ludwig ...: How many more times will I have to endure changes, such as those that come against my will ...?

But I know well what I represent and what I have to join, and thus alleviate my life and do not disapprove of what I feel in poetry, or perhaps the meaning I see in it seems rudimentary. Above all, the doubtful, the interested, the most enviable thing that a person has, that is multifaceted does not manifest itself specifically, but goes straight ahead to hide the verisimilitude, and only entrusts to others or another the worst armed evil of today ... "The tiredness of the targets, that if they remain close they move away, distrusting the worst cruelty ..." Well, now, get away from me cursed and cruel. Let me let you sleep in the sweet comfort of sleep and finally fight for me. Until I get angry with others, but everything is bearable. I don't want to think too much, I'm afraid to forget, or maybe I don't want to fear anything, I just know that I will ruin the attempts since there will be nothing to cheer for since I was born not to live and build absolutely nothing (End). Almost leaving the same thought, brief in content, but great in prosecution, he feels the voice of a flute and its faithful sound.

Fernando ...: Friend ..., as soon as I knew that you came I was very happy, especially now that, who knows if we will see each other again? The truth is that in a week I'm going back to Germany, I've already confirmed the flight. But make me sad alone, no I want to enjoy this moment of this place with so much bustle, so many hours under the sun and good friends.

Ludwig ...: Life is so short, everything happens so fast and we continue to yearn tirelessly, we continue to tirelessly squeeze memories. Sometimes, I feel that time does not pass later and I would like to grow old later, or if some accident or illness has to come, let it come. Or sometimes, I am interested in childhood, but I am more interested in Today.

Fernando ...: Play the flute today with something from yesterday that is so beautiful .--- Take the flute and play without stopping as if it were falling into the water.

Ludwig ...: I'm leaving Fernando, I hope we say goodbye before you go .--- Fernando tells him logically I'll go to your house to say goodbye. They both go back to their homes, and in them, some desire for company animated. It was the gentle company of the sea breeze. But in Ludwig Antoinette boiled like her attractive spiritual force, which is extensive to explain.

Ludwig ...: It was very nice to see you, and I wish you good luck.
Fernando ...: Thank you, also for you.

They hug and say goodbye. Each one moves away, Fernando goes happily where his parents, while Ludwig has no one, except Antonieta, who would see later and this time in the beautiful landscape at night. He walks and walks, until the crosses of the night of the great lighted city, indicating that he was close when he passed near the Park. As he passed by he longed to see Antoinette at the fountain, but he went on and crossed the underpass and approached his beloved home. Upon reaching the front yard, he saw Antonieta sitting.

Ludwig ...: Antoinette ...! But how can you be out here? We agreed to meet at seven and I know it's seven-thirty, sorry for the delay.

Antonieta ...: Don't worry, it has helped me to know your environment, and how wooded it looks.

Ludwig ...: You're right, I call this the Flower Forest of my Green City.

Antonieta ...: If I understand now, this is very different from everything.

Ludwig ...: Although now I am fixing some parts that remain of my parent's old house. So I am going to repair the most essential.
Antonieta ...: It will be very nice in this beautiful, beautiful and picturesque place.

Ludwig ...: Well, what do you want to do? , go somewhere or stay here.

She replies that she wants to stay and Ludwig tells her that as she wishes, so he takes advantage of inviting her to a celebration of the anniversary of a Film Institute. She tells him that she would confirm him these days, but that she does invite him to a trip to Calypso Lake. Ludwig agreed and then invited her to roast a fish and some salads.
Antonieta helped him and then they ate the exquisite menu, they sat by the edge of the fire to talk.

Ludwig ...: One day I was coming from Sara's house, and on the way, I found a run-over dog, I took it and brought it here, where I assumed the food chain would be. In effect, that way I felt as if it were a clean place, open as a field of ecological habitat, the current city that I have. As you can see here, it is wide, its extension reaches one hundred and fifteen thousand hectares.

Antonieta ...: Your Ecologist city is very big and it also has a lot of beauty. It is an ideal place.

Ludwig ...: Do you know if I die I will donate it to people who wish to cultivate this fertile space.

Antonieta ...: I hope you don't die Ludwig so later, I would like you to always keep your property.

Ludwig ...: How nice to hear that!

Ludwig takes her by the head and hugs her for a long time. He tells her that if he was okay and she tells him that he made her feel that way. He intimately thought ...: “How much I miss running through the hills, sliding down the slopes until I reached the top and raising my hand to cool my phalanxes in the mountain air. But still, my phalanxes are warm hugging her, who shares the peace with me. When he finished thinking, he began to look at the small flames of the stove and suddenly the smoke on his exhale. Ludwig followed the fumarole that lost him, that astonished him. Antoinette was asleep, so he left her stretched out in the fire and followed the walking cemetery smoke. He left behind the pool, the orange groves, the oaks, and the eucalyptus, always following her as if she were an oil stain on the water. But he did not understand the bronze glow, but he did like to get away from the world and he did that in his redoubt. He says ...: "I want him to speak to me, to name this spot, but he makes me follow it everywhere." The fumarole was deposited on a large stone, and it reached here, then it disintegrated. Ludwig reached out and touched her, feeling that she was warm. And he says that what was there was very valuable and that something would come out of it ... After coming back the same way, he felt a certain suspicion on his back, it was how lonely and quiet the forest was, not even the owls cawed, only the cold of the night circulated. Upon reaching the pool, he skirts it to the other end, where he ducks it, seeing that some were there.

When suddenly in the mirror of the water, the aureoles of gray rain appear irrigating the lagoon. He says What a sensational ... what a pure rain ...!Then he goes to the path to his house, where Antonieta was sleeping. Now she was coming back to life, to the jungle, the drops produced the formidable sound of her falling, of the largest waterfall that exists. When he reached the extinguished stove, he saw that Antonieta had taken refuge under the willow tree.

Antonieta ...: How could you let others take over something so yours, right ...?

Ludwig ...: This is beautiful, it has also healed me of many ailments, actually I love it like everything that exists here.

Antonieta ...: What do you want from me ...?

Ludwig tells her that he liked her just the way she was and that she was something similar to what she was extracted from the wooded place.  She says how beautiful it to hear that, and asks him to share as much time as they could .--- Ludwig tells him that she thought like an exemplary mother, he says ...: Don't you know how I like to hear that it be so? Uh ... I think it's time to leave you. You are right, I have to go to work tomorrow, she answers him. They call a taxi, and Antoinette leaves Ludwig at midnight. When she got home it was still raining and the cold was freezing more than ever, Ludwig warns her about the invitation on Saturday. Antonieta receives him like this, but she wanted to say something to him before, Ludwig is left in suspense waiting ..., and she gives him a big kiss, with the same desire to give it to him. When he returned home, the rain was a great spectacle, it was a bit of a joyful feeling and a bit of sadness at the same time. Because that's right, it could be temporary or drizzle, this time it was with the body of a Cyclops with its neck twisted.

Ludwig ...: How I love her! just like that time in that poem after the rain everything seemed beautifully damp, very still, very decisive of harmonious peacefulness. Yes, after it rained, everything is more beautiful ...! He gets out of the taxi, after walking down the sidewalk and feeling the water on his shoulders, he enters a restaurant. In these days of light legs and impetuous silence, he saw how he treasured his gifts on his behalf. The rainy night was majestic and close to a resurrection. Millions and millions of icy drops and Ludwig drank the hot coffee, with thousands of thoughts all alluding to the wonderful watery element. He wanted everything, that is, what surrounded him made him want more, although the distrustful mania, did not let it open Totally, like those sleepless nights, of not being able to reconcile posture and sleep. This night that blackened like ink, made him think about that rock and what would come out of it, maybe everything would be solved with a hammer or a chisel, or that a lightning bolt would transform it. He also prowled Antonieta, Fernando, Debra, Sara smiling, Roberto with his rag, and Víctor with his shyness. He imagined his parents in youth who left them the gift of today to transmit what they lived while alive. He also thought that he was normalizing himself and that he had Antonieta very close to supporting him. In the thought of long analysis of him, he could see how the world has taught him to love and respect, and those things with beating hearts caused the greatest breakdown, the greatest erosion, that which has been abandoned and inactive. So the earthquakes, so the wars, so brotherly hatred, and self-consciousness and let us return to our primitive existence, retreating to humility. Whether it is out of love or envy, destruction marks us, whether it is because of the lust for power, isolation, and whatever remains to happen. He takes the second coffee and goes out to wander without knowing where ...? Walk and walk, pass near the Aula Magna, keep walking until you reach the end of the road, where there is no cement, only the accompanying earth that was coughing from a cold, which assimilated the minerals where death could wait for him and cut his throat, or he would simply walk away. long steps through the countryside. As he traveled the surroundings, along rural roads, when he passed some houses with canopy lights, he saw how they inhabited their houses seeing the smoke in the chimneys. After a long walk, he approaches the escarpment, when he sees that someone was coming to meet him, it was a fisherman who came with his fishing device at a slow pace. And so it happened, the man of the sea only pierced like a dark bolide.

Ludwig comments how strange he was, he seemed an enigmatic being and not a fisherman. Maybe he's a caretaker or an Augur. It was incredible how he was wet, it was necessary to get indoors. With no other alternative, he descends the gorge until he reaches the beach, which now seemed all sea all water, beyond the limit. Now this space seemed alien to him. But what may seem uncomfortable, it was a vital necessity, that he wanted to be alone in his house. Ludwig wanted more than ever to feel the experience. He needed his body to rest, and he wanted to relax, forever he wanted a surprise, and he just appeared done star then another and another, until it clears and the rain stops. Ludwig is amazed at having come so far, looks for some dry branches, and sets fire. He puts the coat to dry and sleeps like an angel, before falling asleep he begins to remember ...: The stone ...?, He crossed himself with his numb hand and wrapped himself in his arms. The wind blew softly, carrying and bringing various aromas, until the sleeping voices with their gnats say good night ...: “Me Ludwig, I will not speak very close to your ear, but I tell you that where you have arrived in our proscenium, is the high observing of the emotions felt and lived. And today you have done it allowing the push of your vague spirit, which pulls you, taking you wherever your spirit wishes, you only accept his opinion. Today dear Ludwig, the immortal issue is valid, and what you have reached is infinite ... "

The sleeping light is gone, along with the others that supported it. Ludwig closed his eyes and said goodbye to the sleeping voices, while his body floated in the warm air and his voices manifested gratefully from his friends. Around her, the wind carried and carried, carried and carried. In the morning she had a fever and looked like a real frosted corpse. It could be helpful if you took off your coat overnight and dried it. Still, the first beams of lights were enough to revive him and begin to wake him up. When he was warming up more, he got up and went back to the city, but this time he did not do it through the rural road, but rather went along the coastal beach, to the sea huts. He sometimes looked back to see where he was. In the sand he saw more than his footprints, he saw a penguin and a beached whale, he saw innumerable algae next to the white of the waves, he saw how the gulls carried minnows in their beaks and the sea lions dove. Beyond some dolphins danced in rounds, one another lined up as if they were children with playful youthful souls. Some with their pigtails beat the foam that would cut like globules of insipid foam. This time the wind brought from all sides, the ceiling was populated with little clouds, with cirrus clouds resembling the angry Oblong milk, and above all this air simulated being freshly made, it was breathable and stimulating. Those species thrown out of their own environment, would not return from their home, they would only be after the last effort to revive, but everything had remained that way. Everything was reduced to footprints and those of the whale was furrowed as if asking to have feet and get rid of the executioner. Over and over again he turned his head to see what distressed his feeling, but he couldn't do anything, even he knew that he was like them dying ... ”When above his face rotted without healing from leprosy, below his legs became thin. This is how death attacks, if not from the center, it destroys us on the other hand ... " And his continuous odyssey, at the top of the crown, he saw the summer cabins, indicating that his redoubt was close by. His house was approaching by leaps and bounds, he no longer wanted to look, or eat, only to gather his little strength to sleep.

When he arrived he did nothing but go to the humus to sleep. The road continued with himself and a long way traveled, without a doubt this path was the one he undertook without asking anyone. All that made him seek more in him, is the agitation of himself, nothing more than losing what has hurt him so much, society, sinister men, slave factories, and the cohabiting environment in general. His emigration is indefatigable, he goes where the misunderstanding has left him, but this time he is very refined without belligerence, only what he has collected from him, which as no one can pay the right to put aside all resentment and accept that we will always be subject to be squeezed like another object in between and people. Maybe, Ludwig, is the one who will each of us go to the link with humanitarian sentiments. How many times will you continue looking for something different, what gives an answer to the intrigue of being normal or wondering ... If we are part of normality ...? Our restlessness takes us very high, sometimes it is difficult for us to descend from the highest, of course, everything goes gradually because everything happens like this, but who takes care of the changes caused by ourselves ...? It was late when another of the sleeping voices made him soak her cornea, still with a sea breeze. Despite the autumn rain, it hadn't dampened the ground and the air temperature seemed to be springtime. In the afternoon he went for a walk nearby, until he reached the Abbey, the one he saw succumb in his dream, the one threatened by the deadly light.

When he entered he saw how the warm and thermal suns lodged in its walls. He saw how they remade the image of Christ and saw how everything in the neat incense, he sanctified. He contemplated how the face of the most sinful person was going to ask for mercy, being able to see that the venous Christian hand was forgiving. Here everything remains the same as Nazareth or Jerusalem because it accompanies very attached to the heart, not only the pious but the well-affectionate. I know that he will not disappoint me, I know that I cannot assure the believer of his Faith, that because of the silence that dwells here, what this sacred place claims to contain will continue to be unfathomable forever. To Christ himself, to the superiority that we all need to have.

Ludwig ...: Does everything seem so still ..., so static ...?, But at the same time you can see dynamism, like pilgrim logs in their pilgrimages, or in that common sob to all, to the need to regret the yearned for. When his smallness magnified him, making him more deified, but as a human that he was, nothing in the world. The pain in the face of suffering is the indecision of our Faith that irrevocably resembles the face of Jesus, which we need to represent the mortal pain common to all humans, called "Sons of the Lord".Of the consequences of the facts is the answer to the others, who wander uncertainly on the worldly path ambitioning the favorite and magical Sermon on the Mount. The feasibility of being relegated by a human being is nothing more than a trifle, it is nothing more than being disoriented. Therefore, everything that comes from another it is nothing more than an abandoned wind. His attitude towards others always dies, when he could not cling to another creed or has been dependent on religious neutrality.

darling delilah
what a pretty little thing you are
tell me,
when the philistines promised you the world for samson’s heart
did you know this was strength?

anne anne anne boleyn
what a cunning little thing you are
tell me,
when you sliced through rome with the kiss of a king
did you know this was destiny?

cleopatra my love
what a lovely little thing you are,
tell me,
when you drew caesar to your bed for the nile and for yourself
did you know this was power?

holy holy joan of arc
what a mighty little thing you are
tell me,
when you were burned at the stake for hearing god’s voice at fourteen
did you wish it was the devil instead?

golden girl marie antoinette
what a sweet little thing you are
tell me,
when your shiny blonde head rolled down the steps of a revolution
did you finally feel like a girl?

eve mother of eden eve
what a wicked little thing you are
tell me,
when you sunk your teeth into the secrets of the universe
did you feel like a god too?

protesting *****;
down w/ this &
that; neo-Nazis
marching waving
weird geek flags
worshiping white
people from space;
Pride Marches
celebrating golden
underwear &
too much lipstick;
macho *****
******* yelling it
out; Slutwalking
through downtown
challenging **** &
mysogyny dressed
as ugly Barbies;
gender color trans
light a joint & sit
on the grass smoking
lovely, got my kpop,
got my g/bf; Toni,
Tony, Antoinette,
Anthony; neo-Nazis
rushing headlong
back into the dustbin
of history; prostitutes
pretend to be fembots;
acting like brainless
machines unless smart
as Jeopardy contestants;
****** cosplay fetish,
no cash, no crime; no
crime, no cops; no war

I swear to every heaven imagined
If I hear one more teenager say "art is dead."
I personally will raise William Shakespeare from the grave so he can tell them a million reasons why he wished he could have had a gmail account.
The night I tried to teach my mother how to send pictures through text message
She sent me eleven texts of the same blurry photo of our family's black labrador.
Don't you dare try to tell me you can't find something beautiful in that.
But whatever, stay in your close minded, backwards, noninclusive club.
The rest of us will keep falling in love over Skype.
Write your protest letters to the packaging companies of children's toys
We're all going to watch the first sunrise of the year
So we can remember what a hopeful beginning feels like
When it feels like we're close to a hopeless end.
Lock yourself away like Marie Antoinette
While we all eat cake and tweet about its delicious flavors.
Hashtag stop living in your own pretentious world.
Vincent Van Gogh would have take 20 pictures a day and posted them all on instagram.
Sylvia Plath would have texted her lovers heart eyed emojis when she ran out of words.
Andy Warhol would have had the worlds weirdest vine account.
But that okay because we all would have checked it every morning
As we snapchatted pictures of our coffee orders to the people we wish were pressed against our lips instead of that first sip of latte.
This world is spilling over with 85 year olds rewatchibg their favorite musical numbers from my fair lady,
And eight year olds teaching themselves how to play ukuele, all through YouTube videos.
I never have to worry about forgetting what my mothers voice sounds like.
No longer must we sneak into our families phone books to look up the suicide prevention hotline for our best friend.
I'll never wonder how a German person says Guatentaug
Or how butterflies procreate.
Yeah I've googled both of those things,
Don't worry about it.
I'm going to take pictures on my phone of a field filled with dandelions next to the public park
And you will walk by and scoff
As I so expect you to do
But I can only hope one day you realise
How fortunate you are to live in a time
Where at any moment you can Google how to say I love you in one hundred and ten different languages.
J'taime
Te amo
Art is not dead
You are just not looking for it.

"Pardon me, Sir..." -Marie Antoinette [to her executioner's foot]*

One day the overprivileged
will be trampled underfoot
by the downtrodden.

One day the poor
will have nothing left to eat,
but the rich.

One day the homeless
will have nowhere left to sleep,
but your new marble countertops.

One day malaria
will have nowhere left to spread,
but your country club pool.

One day wars
will have nowhere to be fought,
but your well-manicured lawns,

And there will be
no one left to fight them,
but your well-manicured daughters.

One day the Bourgeoisie
will awaken to find
the Workers scaling their wrought-iron gates,

And there will be no
turning us away
like petty solicitors-

For we have a debt
to collect,
and we will accept
nothing less
than The Merchant of Venice’s
request:
a pound of well-fed flesh…

And we will rejoice,
as we warm our frost-bitten fingertips,
on the smoldering remains of your estates.

And we will rejoice,
as we dance beneath your majestic maples,
composing eulogies for the Good Ole Days of the Good Ole Boys…