Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
judy smith May 2016
For the fifth year in a row, Kering and Parsons School of Fashion rolled out the ‘Empowering Imagination’ design initiative. The competition engaged twelve 2016 graduates of the Parsons BFA Fashion Design program, who "were selected for their excellence in vision, acute awareness in design identity, and mastery of technical competencies." The winners, Ya Jun Lin and Tiffany Huang, will be awarded a 2-week trip to Kering facilities in Italy in June 2016 and will have their thesis collections featured in Saks Fifth Avenue New York’s windows.

The Kering and Parsons competition, which is currently in its fifth year, is one of a growing number of design competitions, including but not limited to the LVMH Prize, the ANDAM Awards, the Council of Fashion Designers of America/Vogue Fashion Fund, and its British counterpart, the Woolmark Prize, the Ecco Domani fashion award, and the Hyères Festival. among others.

In the generations prior, designers were certainly nominated for awards, but it seems that there was not nearly as intense of a focus on design competitions as a means for designers to get their footing, for design houses to scout talent, or for these competitions to select the best of the best in a especially large pool of young talent. Fern Mallis, the former executive director of the Council of Fashion Designers of America and an industry consultant, told the New York Times: “Take the Calvin [Kleins] and the Donna [Karans] and the Ralph [Laurens] of the world. Some of these people had money from a friend or a partner who worked with them, but they weren’t out spending their time doing competitions and winning awards to get their business going.” She sheds light on an essential element: The relatively drastic difference between the state of fashion then and fashion now. Fashion then was slower, less global, and (a lot) less dominated by the internet, and so, it made for quite different circumstances for the building of a fashion brand.

Nowadays, young designers are more or less going full speed ahead right off the bat. They show comprehensive collections, many of which consist of garments and an array of accessories. They are expected to be active on social media. They are expected to establish a strong industry presence (think: Go to events and parties). They are expected to cope with the fashion business that has become large-scale and international. They are expected to collaborate to expand their reach, and while it does, at times, feel excessive, this is the reality because the industry is moving at such a quick pace, one that some argue is unsustainably rapid. The result is designers and design houses consistently building their brands and very rarely starting small. Case in point: Young brands showing pre-collections within a few years of setting up shop (for a total of four collections per year, not counting any collaboration or capsule collections), and established brands showing roughly four womenswear collections, four menswear collections, two couture collections, and quite often, a few diffusion collections each year.

The current climate of 'more is more' (more collections, more collaborations, more social media, more international know-how, etc.) in fashion is what sets currently emerging brands apart from older brands, many of which started small. This reality also sheds light on the increasing frequency with which designers rely on competitions as a means of gaining funds, as well as a means of establishing their names and not uncommonly, gaining outside funding.

The Ralphs, Tommys, Calvins and Perrys started off a bit differently. Ralph Lauren, for instance, started a niche business. The empire builder, now 74, got his start working at a department store then worked for a private label tie manufacturer (which made ties for Brooks Brothers and Paul Stuart). He eventually convinced them to let him make ties under the Polo label and work out of a drawer in their showroom. After gaining credibility thanks to the impeccable quality of his ties, he expanded into other things. Tommy Hilfiger similarly started with one key garment: Jeans. After making a name for himself by buying jeans, altering them into bellbottoms and reselling them at Brown’s in Manhattan, he opened a store catering to those that wanted a “rock star” aesthetic when he was 18-years old with $150. While the store went bankrupt by the time he was 25, it allowed him to get his foot in the door. He was offered design positions at Calvin Klein (who also got his start by focusing on a single garment: Coats. With $2,000 of his own money and $10,000 lent to him by a friend, he set up shop; in 1973, he got his big break when a major department store buyer accidentally walked into his showroom and placed an order for $50,000). Hilfiger was also offered a design position with Perry Ellis but turned them down to start his eponymous with help from the Murjani Group. Speaking of Perry Ellis, the NYU grad went to work at an upscale retail store in Virginia, where he was promoted to a buying/merchandising position in NYC, where he was eventually offered a chance to start his own label, a small operation. After several years of success, he spun it off as its own entity. Marc Jacobs, who falls into a bit of a younger generation, started out focusing on sweaters.

These few individuals, some of the biggest names in American fashion, obviously share a common technique. They intentionally started very small. They built slowly from there, and they had the luxury of being able to do so. Others, such as Hubert de Givenchy, Alexander McQueen and his successor Sarah Burton, Nicolas Ghesquière, Julien Macdonald, John Galliano and his successor Bill Gaytten, and others, spent time as apprentices, working up to design directors or creative directors, and maybe maintaining a small eponymous label on the side. As I mentioned, attempting to compare these great brand builders or notable creative directors to the young designers of today is a bit like comparing apples and oranges, as the nature of the market now is vastly different from what it looked like 20 years ago, let alone 30 or 40 years ago.

With this in mind, fashion competitions have begun to play an important role in helping designers to cope with the increasing need to establish a brand early on. It seems to me that winning (or nearly winning) a prestigious fashion competition results in several key rewards.

Primarily, it puts a designer's name and brand on the map. This is likely the least noteworthy of the rewards, as chances are, if you are selected to participate in a design competition, your name and brand are already out there to some extent as one of the most promising young designers of the moment.

Second are the actual prizes, which commonly include mentoring from industry insiders and monetary grants. We know that participation in competitions, such as the CFDA/Vogue Fashion Fund, the Woolmark Prize, the Swarovski, Ecco Domani, the LVMH Prize, etc., gives emerging designers face time with and mentoring from some of the most successful names in the industry. Chris Peters, half of the label Creatures of the Wind (pictured above), whose brand has been nominated for half of the aforementioned awards says of such participation: “It feels like we’ve talked to possibly everyone in fashion that we can possibly talk to." The grants, which range anywhere from $25,o00 to $400,000 and beyond, are obviously important, as many emerging designers take this money and stage a runway show or launch pre-collections, which often affect the business' bottom line in a major and positive way.

The third benefit is, in my opinion, the most significant. It seems that competitions also provide brands with some reputability in terms of finding funding. At the moment, the sea of young brands which is terribly vast. Like law school graduates, there are a lot of design school graduates. With this in mind, these competitions are, for the most part, serving as a selection mechanism. Sure, the inevitable industry politics and alternate agendas exist (without which the finalists lists may look a bit different), but great talent is being scouted, nonetheless. Not only is it important to showcase the most promising young talent and provide them with mentoring and grant money, as a way of maintaining an industry, but these competitions also do a monumental service to young brands in terms of securing additional funding. One of the most challenging aspects of the business for young/emerging brands is producing and growing absent outside investors' funds, and often, the only way for brands' to have access to such funds is by showing a proven sales track record, something that is difficult to establish when you've already put all of your money into your business and it is just not enough. This is a frustrating cycle for young designers.

However, this is where design competitions are a saving grace. If we look to recent Council of Fashion Designers of America/Vogue Fashion Fund winners and runners-up, for instance, it is not uncommon to see funding (distinct from the grants associated with winning) come on the heels of successful participation. Chrome Hearts, the cult L.A.-based accessories label, acquired a minority stake in The Elder Statesman, the brand established by Greg Chait, the 2012 winner, this past March. A minority stake in 2011 winner Joseph Altuzarra's eponymous label was purchased by luxury conglomerate Kering in September 2013. Creatures of the Wind, the NYC-based brand founded by Shane Gabier and Chris Peters, which took home a runner-up prize in the 2011 competition, welcomed an investment from The Dock Group, a Los Angeles-based fashion investment firm, last year, as well.

Across the pond, the British Fashion Council/Vogue Fashion Fund has awarded prizes to a handful of designers who have gone on to land noteworthy investments. In January 2013, Christopher Kane (pictured below), the 2011 winner, sold a majority stake in his brand to Kering. Footwear designer Nicholas Kirkwood was named the winner 2013 in May and by September, a majority stake in his company had been acquired by LVMH.

Thus, while the exposure that fashion design competition participants gain, and the mentoring and monetary grants that the winners enjoy, are certainly not to be discounted, the takeaway is much larger than that. These competitions are becoming the new way for investors and luxury conglomerates to source new talent, and for young brands to land the outside investments that they so desperately need to produce their collections, expand their studio space, build upon their existing collections, and even open brick and mortar stores.

While no one has scooped up inaugural LVMH winner Thomas Tait’s brand yet or fellow winner, Marques'Almeida, it is likely just be a matter of time.Read more at:www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses | http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-sydney
Latiaaa Jan 2014
You have ripped bellbottoms a shaky smile,
The sandy curls that cascade down your back.

You smoke till your lungs go black,
You sit in the blazing sun meditating till you go tan.

You play the tunes of The Beatles and Jimi Hendrix,
That suede jacket you wear every Tuesday.

You decorate your room with blankets so the colors keep you company,
The daisies you wear in your hair till they go brown.

You let your cigarette dangle from your thin lips,
That gritty sound you make when you form words.

Your eyes are always clouded with memories,
You wear those circular shades to hide from people.

You wipe the tears off of people’s faces,
Smile when theres nothing to smile about.

Your hands are tatted with henna, and you wear the shirt of a tie-dye spider.
All you eat is trail-mix of pistachios and sun-dried apples.

You ride in a Volkswagen with windows down to feel the breeze.
Your peace sign is like “the healer” to all pain.

You take a pull off hookah and a bite of shrooms just to chase away the madness.
You create your own reality.

When the rain falls down you fling your head back and yell to the world,
The face you make when you see animals.
He’s like an eagle, ready to sore through the sky and bring positivity.

Don’t ever tell me you’re not a hippie, because I’ve never seen anyone as unique as you.
am i ee Sep 2015
meanwhile,

the Big Fat Yellow Bootay
was getting right tired of
waiting for the election to end.

so,

she set off down the highway
going ninety five...

"HOKEEEY POKEEEY!" she cried
as she gunned the engine and
threw herself in gear.

"HOKEEEY POKEEEY!  MOTHER *******!"
twice she cried,
"HOKEEEY POKEEEY!  MOTHER *******!"
this second time
for extra good luck
with the unfolding election.

cool Fall breeze caressed
her yellow metal,
her big fat yellow bootay,
a glorious day to
be out on a drive!

well, except where she had
come from.

beep beep
beep beep
always driving her
beep beep beeping insane!

it shore nuf was quiet
out this way!

she turned the shiny
silver dial to turn on the
radio.
'gonna have to get me
some better speakers
one day soon.' she thought
to her big fat bus self.

and what came out blasting?

"That's Alright Mama,"
by who else?
but the King!
Elvis!

Elvis has left the building
and now,
Elvis is ON THE BUS!

she didn't quite know all
of the words,
but what the ****,
she sure could sing!

As the big fat bus
with the big fat bootay
was driving along,
singing joyfully,
she glanced in the rear
view mirrow and what
did she see?

why the ghost of Elvis himself
was sitting right there
right in the back of the bus.

He starts strumming on his
own guitar and singing,
'that's alright mama.."

so she turned off the
radio to listen
to the ghost of
the King,
Elvis,
himself,
singing in the back
of her big fat yellow bootay!

she also watched him eating
a lot of food
in the back of the bus,
her bus.

his ghostly figure
seemed to
fluctuate between fat Elvis,
and skinny Elvis,
like a seesaw.

by and by
says he,

(not the really fat one
but not the really skinny one
neither.)

'I need a pit stop.'
says the King

so the big fat bus,
with the big fat yellow bootay,
asks,
asks she,
'you wanna stop at the next
stop & go,
or
the next
fizz & wizz,
or
my fav if you really
need a constitutional,
the stop & plop?'

at this particular junction in time
this ghostly King,
was in the shape
of Fat Elvis
but very cooly outfitted,
bellbottoms and rhine stones
or were those all diamonds?

note to self,
the big fat bus
squirreled away,
check on that.
are those real or not?
more mulha is always
good
and this just might
be mana from heaven
in the form of Elvis the KING
himself
and maybe just one
of those diamonds
will fall out and
get lost in me.'

mighty strange happenings
going on around here in this
big fat bus
with the big fat yellow bootay.

' the stop and plop little mama,' elvis replied
with that
ohhhh,
soooooo,
divine Elvis drawl
and that darling little
thing he did with his mouth,
but was doing now
as he was sitting there in the
back of HER big fat bus
with HER big fat yellow bootay!

OH MY,
it really is a
HOKEY POKEY day!  she sighed.....
dear reader, i must admit, this is sounding even strange to me... it must be the stress of the election, so please pardon me.  and a very good night to you.
I'm clever almost never
That's untrue, I am quite daft
I once came close to dying,
I got stuck under a raft
Sarcasm is my strong suit,
I use it when I can
This fact became a nuisance,
When I worked for Uncle Sam

In class I played the clown,
I was often tightly wound
Always acting out
The court jester to the crown
I know how this must sound
A rotten apple on the ground
Just don't beat me while I'm down
I might shock you with the knowledge
I still have parents who are proud

See, Im verbally proficient
Surprisingly efficient
I'd cast you out like bait
Cause I’d much rather be fishing
I'd cut you down with such precision
If this was my decision
Without any permission
I'd stitch up your incision
That seeps down in your torso
And turn it into a tradition

My verbiage is unrelenting
Savage and outstanding
There's thought behind my speak
I'm a primed linguistic freak
Destroying all on-comers
Feasting on the weak
Tiptoeing like a sneak
Subdued and quite discrete
Let's hope we never meet
If we do you should retreat
Along with your whole fleet
Like the shepherd to his sheep
Go on head back to momma
Continue ******* on her tete

You can't handle what I'm dishing out
It only adds to my mystique
I'm steadily reminiscing
Back to when Caesar led the Greeks
Conquering all his enemies  
Well established as elite

Your eyes were shaded by a vision
When stricken with a nasty condition
Embarking on failed missions
Should I even bother dissing?
All while leaving a lasting impression
On the mouth you never were kissing
To only end up missing
The target you were *******
Without help or assisting

From beginning to the end
I'm burning bridges I can't mend
Breaking all the rules no one would think to bend
Born to live until we're dead
No more all this wishing
That you were dead instead
Using the brains inside our head
And coming to a conclusion
Your brains' been underfed
Relying on the masses
To muster up intent
Resolving every problem
With a bandaid made of lead
Surviving on a crumb of bread
Its only temporary
A fazed out forgotten trend
Like disco and bellbottoms
Or mohawks and shaved heads

It's time we payed back our debt
Make sure the homeless are all fed
Put these issues to rest
Tucked away in bed
It's not time for story telling
The fairytales of past regret
Back before our needs were met
Finding solutions to our problems
We mustn't ever forget
More a rap than a poem. Had fun writing this
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2018
/                                america, july 18th:
  and the utter media shambles -
like ****** and steroids
for the uninitiated -
     tongues without the rattlesnake
trill of an ᚨᚱ:
   numbed w'ah w'ah peddling
of woe to row the sinking boat:
maniac adult funfair
attempting a nostalgia
for the playground game
of bulldog...

                russia, 25th march:
the kemerovo fire (siberia) -
          children frying, screaming,
perhaps even hoping -
  a shying herod, the example
of: as moloch descended...
          prayers in the fire
                  by the innocents...

england, july 19th -
   alternative to rehydrating
using water...
    a generous 5 hour sleep -
******* on the remains
of last night's lemon
     used to infuse the subtle
smoky of bell's whiskey,
playlist:

- the jon spencer blues
  explosion (bellbottoms)
- britney spears (criminal)
- twenty one pilots (heathens)
- calvin harris (this is what you came for)
- camila cabello (habana)
- rihanna (disturbia)
- birdbrain (youth of america)
- ghost (ritual)
- focus (hocus pocus)
- edwyn collins (a girl like you)
- the guess who (american woman)
- the knack (my sharona)
- cronica (herr mannelig)

and then onto buckling in
4 beers and thinking
about black holes as the pin-head
of antimatter -
a dead sun...
     dead, but not dead...

   and the first, crude graphic
tomb raider game...

   rather than having completed
it...
     since only owning
a demo...

                 investigating
the possibility of 2D objects in
3D space...
       well: the universe isn't even
exactly 3D: it's hyper-3D...
    but in the tomb raider game
you could walk up to a minor
detail in the game, a fern,
and observe two-dimensionality
in a "three dimensional space"...

   namely: the ferns were all 2D,
and rotated within a "hyperbole"
of the eye -
   however you observed the "object"
it rotated round and round,
never allowing you to see
    its demoniac otherside -

i can only expect dead suns to
behave in such a manner -
   two dimensional objects in a three
dimensional subject matter -
almost paradoxical -

     rotating at immense speed...
invigorating a near but not quiet
a postportem of a death...

       and you really can see UV light
surface
staring at a glaring hot sun with
a naked eye -
   and see the same hyper-rotation -
it's almost like looking at
molten silver, but with a hint
of violet - i.e. akin phosphorescence:
but in the daytime...

and who said you need to
ingest hallucinogenics -
    and enter the labyrinth of a short,
short, history,
    of the chipmunk caveman?

i'm just drunk, you're probably
sober...
    but those guys doing
a timothy leary sermon?
   they're...
     gone.......................... gone -
     they hit the tangens curve.
Ashley Centers Aug 2010
They call each other ‘J.’ John picks
red, red roses in Mansfield Park and brings
them to Jane. She explains instant karma to him.

In heaven Jane wears her hair short, sports
fringed bellbottoms and teashades.
John has meat on his bones now; prefers black slacks

and button ups, a trucker hat from Abbey Road.
They take long drives and often sing songs.
He says they’ll remain lovers. Until the end.

Jane’s novels now contain leather, VW buses,
electricity, space shuttles, computers, Madonna and Marilyn
Monroe. The rock’n’roll makes her sway her hips in the rain.

John likes himself with peace. This morning
he will play guitar and sing ‘For He Was Rich, and
She Was Handsome to the tune of ‘Happiness is a Warm Gun.’

Jane will two-step and whistle. Alone
by the fireplace later, they’ll listen to the raindrops
and doze. They will not think of Mr. Darcy

or Yoko Ono. They know why God made them
roommates. It’s because the world
was their playground. It’s because

an artist cannot do anything
slovenly. It’s because
all you need is love.
Copyright 2010 Ashley Centers
My guru skinnydips in multi-colored waterbeds.
Listen!
A pop festival blows bubbles in free flashbacks.
Dig it, brother!

John Lennon overdoses on the agony of paisley bellbottoms.
Will the Grateful Dead give shotguns with laid back madness?
Eric Clapton quivers in Janis Joplin's windowpane.
Oh, how Timothy Leary plays lead with strung out drug busts!
Cassie Sep 2013
i smile too hard in social situations
to make up for the fact that i've sorted through my every thought and can't find anything of interest to say
and i blush at every compliment i receive
because i'm too embarrassed to disagree
you see
I'm kind of vapid
but it's only because I can't control the voice inside my head
I'm not crazy, unfortunately
I'm just overly self aware
and i want you to know that we are stardust
but you're only interested in superstars
and I'm only interested in companionship
so I'll entertain you with magic tricks
I want friends
**** their ***
but women judge me too harshly
and men don't judge me on the right things
they like my mind, but abuse my body
i only care for souls
for records
and old pictures of kids in bulky glasses
neon bellbottoms and
flower power wallpaper
plastering the walls of an alternate universe
where i may blossom and open up
like a flower in the rain
last line is from one of my favorites by bukowski. i wasn't expecting to use it but it seemed to tie everything up nicely.
CJ Sutherland Dec 2023
The Baby Boomer Generation
was between 1946–1964.
Currently today between
the ages of 57 and 75.
So that would make most
of us still alive and kicking

No, two people experience,
their generation the same.
It depends upon your age
going through the experience
Facilitates our gauge.

These is what I remember along my way.
Details, I leave out the baby boomers will know what I’m talking about.
One of 8 kids I’ve seen many layers
These recollections are from many players
This memory train stops ,Ends 1979

My generation as a child;
Buying our clothes from the
Sears and Roebuck catalog
Weekend chores morning till night
Sunday church, youth fellowship group
A treat to play baseball in the street
First set of wheels a Banana Bike
with high handlebars, Ten Speed bike
We road for miles but never lost our way.
Made and played with Paper, Airplanes,
Lincoln Logs, Click Clacks and Jack’s
We dug holes to make a Mini Golf Course

I sold fruit from our many trees For lunch
money cafeteria food 4 fruits NO sac lunch,
We were resourceful, earning our own way.

The boys had a Paper Rout
The girls Babysitters. I bought my clothes, by the age of 12 with babysitting money.
And happy to doit.!NO more sister’s things
The embarrassment of hand me downs

We covered our School Books with
Brown paper, trash bags, creative Kids used
comics from the newspaper cool!
We walk to school and back, never alone

We dial a rotary phone plugged in the wall.
Dial zero for operator to connect your call
Yellow page phonebook to find numbers.
chores and homework done, before fun!
Boys collected Baseball Cards MadeCrafts

Junior High; The quarterly Shop classes
Boys Only,
Auto Shop, Wood Shop,
Electronic Shop and Plastic Shop
The boys sold what they made
for a pretty penny(expensive price)$$

Drivers Ed
In the classroom and in the Car
The schools had four Cars;
4 kids and the Instructor

Home economics
Girls Only;
learn to Sew, A-line Skirt, Gym Bags
with Embroidered Names, one freestyle project. Anything from Turning jeans into a Jean skirts. Imagination creation,
Original design Homemade crafted gifts

Cooking Class had 7 mini Kitchens
Nutritional well-balanced meals, but my favorite Cake Baking tips and techniques.
We had a lemonade Stand in the summer
Sold Fresh lemons off your fruit trees.
Baked cookies, cupcakes, and cakes as well.

Every meal was made from scratch
Feeding 10 meant more than one batch.
We ate Dinner as a Family every night
Us kids, brothers and sisters were tight
We went to Drive-in, Movies in our PJs
We got our information from Encyclopedias
We waited for the Milkman, and the Helm’s 
Whistle Blow, Diaper Services at the door.
We listened toTransistor Radio on the floor.

My Generation as a Teenager
Bellbottoms and Crop Tops” peace signs”
mini skirts, go-go boots, moccasins beehive
Hair with Flowers everywhere
Bought my First Vinyl Record

Rationing Gasoline;, odd, and even days
By The last digit of your license plate
In 1993 and again in 1997. Gas Ran Out!

Changing the TV channel with the ****
First black and white TV followed by color
FineTune the antenna, rabbit ears for clarity.
We piled in the wood panel station wagon

A Phone Booth on every corner $.10 a call.
The simplicity of it all
Until The Moral pendulum Shifted Society
The shooting of John F. Kennedy
I knows where I was the day it happened
The shooting of Martin Luther King
These two Events shaped our Generation.

The Vietnam war, Kent State Univ. shooting
Our Generation Before
Cell Phones, CDs, ATM, machines, Internet, Pagers, Cassettes Tapes Eight Track tapes
in the car. The swear jar

We barter food, sold eggs Goods,& Serves
Wore Galoshes to school on muddy roads

My generation as an Adult
Neighbors Voted in our garage
Their loving façade was an allusion Mirage  
Never answer “Who did you Vote for”
Airing ***** laundry in public, not smart
VOTING couples screaming, fighting in the street taught me.NEVER talk about;
Religion and Politics. Two Deadly Battles
The price, too High, to lose, your happy life

Gypsies gave daisies At the Airport
Make Love Not War, Peace bohemian style
California rock ‘n’ roll bands in the city
And to the sand, Artistry in the air
Music flourished,Bands played everywhere

The Doors, Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd,
The Beatles, , Crosby, stills, Nash, Young
Simon and Garfunkel every day fair
Woodstock a whole other scene
To describe it, you had to be there

Drugs,;mushrooms, ***, psychedelics, acid
Roxy, & Rainbow Club where the weirdos went or Chinese tour buses,
filled with people dressed in 60s wear
Men wore a camera around their neck, Hawaiian shirt, black Horn rimmed glasses, Ladies poodle skirts with Peddicoats and white button down blouses and sweaters
in the 1979. I kid you not. strange people!
I wanted to ask what movie they saw that made them think this was California style?

Car Races on Van Nuys Blvd.
Parking with your boyfriend
Teen center held under 21 Dances.
The San Fernando Valley(Valley Girls)
Really said “for sure”. “Totally awesome” “whatever” “ not even” “ As If”

Orange Grove and walnut trees as far as the eye can see. The city Tarzana was named after Tarzan. South of the Boulevard 4 miles from Michael Jackson’s house. Modest home. Difference as night and day

Curiously, I never thought we were poor
We were rich in love, and that was more than enough. Help a friend in need
Because it’s the right thing to do.

people were people, Just getting along
Decent folks Kind and Caring,Sharing
God-fearing Christians, Moral Values
Live and let Live. The American Way
A trip down memory lane. Every 10 years your life change is 100% birth to age 10 is easy to say. Age 10 to age 20 you get the point. Each of those are new lives. I am in the second year of my sixth life.
Holly Salvatore May 2014
i. You are lying in a bed with no sheets and you are convinced your friends' parents are alcoholics. You are convinced that your entire life has been woven of slimy, sloppy lies and half truths. And you are convinced that you are a werewolf.

ii. At the chili cook-off two years ago you were wearing red flannel and a bandit hat and you were watching your entire home town get wasted, looking at you like a museum. You are convinced that you have been lied to.

iii. It was a full moon and you wanted to tear your clothes off. Except for the bellbottoms which you wanted to carefully hang up with a finicky crease for next time.

iv. You notice that down the street the Hy-** has closed and you are unsure how to proceed because you know that normal people do not get upset about such trivial things as midnight blue pies and insomniac coffee. You want to sob, but people will talk.

v. You are convinced you are a werewolf and you have been lied to. Everyone is smoking around you and you want only to make it stop. This is where your mother grew up. You say nothing.

vi. Drinks seem to appear in your hands, unsolicited. You have forgotten your ID, but everyone knows you from the papers anyway, everyone knows your family and they sort of apologize for spilling beer on your boots. Sort of.

vii. You crave pies at midnight and this is a "beautiful city" with a square that does not quit and causes quite a few accidents. This is a "beautiful city" filled with people who will never get over the high school quarterback, people who will never admit they have a problem with Stag, though the cans lie all around you.

viii. You are a werewolf and you are convinced you have been lied to about alcoholism. You are upset about the Hy-**, more so than you should be. If you took off your flannel now, you would never be able to get your heart back in your chest and Belleville would laugh itself to sleep.
I think it's ready to post. Who knows?
adriana Dec 2020
Sometimes I wish there were two of me;
And sometimes I wish there were none of me.
I wonder, if I were to split myself down the middle clean,
What I would do with either side.
Maybe I would send my right side to school;
While my left side mellowed in poetry all alone at home.
Maybe my left side would fall in love;
And my right side love herself.

I think I would teach my right side manners; she would talk very properly, with her posture being straight and definite. Her hair would be braided into eight neat sections, not one strand being audacious enough to fall out of place onto her forehead. She would sit with her fingers clasped neatly on the lap of her freshly pressed dress. Her smile would be bold but not daring; with dainty dimples guarding her cheeks. She would be the most beautiful girl you’ve ever met. She would be the fresh dew coating morning grass; she would be the last sip of peppermint tea in December. That would be my right side.
I probably would be a lot easier on my left side. I would set rules but probably forget to enforce them, maybe. My right side would be jovial and carefree. She would wear neons and bellbottoms so wide they swept up every splinter she graced over.  She would wade in the bog in August’s damp mornings and you’d be shocked when a splash of water touched her unkempt hair and the slightest curl would form under the frizz. She would love anyone aimlessly like the hopeless romantic she was; she would break hearts and she sure would get her heart broken; but she wouldn’t mind, a broken heart to her was nothing but a separation of phenomenal worlds, and in fact she missed revelling in the fiction of her own. She would be the weeds lining your back yard; every last one of them. The yellow dandelions that you would never pluck because you wanted them to grow into the white fluff that you could make wishes on. That would be my left side.

Except when reality hits, I remember I can’t split myself in two. So I guess my left side and my right side will remain where they are, being the prince and the pauper of my conscious thoughts. They might not be completely fiction; however, I know that because I’ve met them before. Sometimes my right side counts sheep for me before bed, while my left side smiles radiantly at me when I wake up. If only they could ever meet each other, I know they’d become inseparable. They do say that opposites attract, you know.

Two-faced
(12.12.2020)
—adrianatamara
My right side represents academics, intelligence, and primness. My left side represents philosophy, art, and passion.
Eric the Red Mar 2018
This dream was so real...
The Man
The Legend
The Legendary Drunk Poet Hisself
Asks to see my poetry
Tells me to bring wine

Dont Forget the wine *******

So I drive over in my El Camino
&
Bellbottoms
Only I’ve got a can of Fruit Punch
12%
Alcohol
Instead of a bottle of wine
As Hank requested

you have to make the reader jump off the cliff with you in your first line, otherwise there’s no point

sip

good God! What is this?!

I’m thinking he’s gonna be furious
But he takes a deep pull
Knocks out half a can
Looks at it

Fruit Punch eh?

I show him my stuff. He likes it. Some of it.

No more poetry for the day man. Say, let’s go to the beach. Huntington or Hermosa. Grab another can or two of this amazing concoction

I tell him they have it in Lemonade
Peach Black Cherry...he lets out a smile

burp

It smells like Fruit Punch

Well Come On *******!

He talk in rhyme the rest of the day...n just like his words have told me about souls

The free one is rare...but you know it when you’re around one because you feel great and beautiful yourself when you’re near one

— The End —