Monday, May 30, 2011

A Summer Post for the Painfully Decorative


Summer only has a couple weeks worth of life left in her, before she wilts like a fruity flower in heat. So you gotta give her a chance. Show her what you’ve got. And what is it that harbors in the recesses of your bottomless closet? The right answer is jumpsuits, mini-dresses, maxis, bell-bottoms, high waist shorts and/or skirts and generally ill-fitted flowy things. Everything else is wrong. And I’m not the one dictating terms here; the fashion frat is shouting it from the rooftops and runways of New York and Paris! To clock all things most beloved to the current Parisian heart, I’ve made a list. This is the summer “it” list; it is very jolly, it really
is.

1. 70s hippie glamour makes a colossal comeback this year. Think flared pants tied or belted-up mid-torso, think gypsy dresses, think chunky jewellery. Personally, I think one of the biggest gifts ever (accidentally) made to mankind was Woodstock. Musicians, movie-makers, playwrights, beer pubs, discos and now fashion designers all owe it their life’s savings. They visit and revisit this historic event, tweak and tussle about with it, and “revive” it in a contemporary light until they’re sore. And so it is, that 70s shimmer and shine is back with a “contemporary twist” *yawn*

2. Overheard at a fashion event: a pair of black “kitty heels” right off of Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s was reported stolen by a runway model. Okay maybe I’m exaggerating. Detailed perusal of said reports show that the shoes weren’t stolen, merely “borrowed”. What are kitty heels? They’re a cross between high heels and flats. With a dainty 2 inch pencil heel, it’s for those of you who believe in the saying “nothing lost, nothing gained” For the sacrificial goats in you, kitty heels are the thing.

3. But the real dead weight holding us all prisoners to summer’s ire are the clogs. Yes you heard right. Not the clogs of dirt in your sink or the clogs of hair in your sewage pipes. The clogs we’re talking about are a type of shoe. When Platforms took a tour of Holland, it made it with a couple of undisclosed shoes and came back with children named Clogs. Clogs aren’t comfortable. They aren’t exactly what you’d call divaesque. Obviously we all know that the only things truly divaesque are stilettos and disco-balls. But clogs have the one thing- they are deconstructionist, or atleast appear to be. The perfect inversion of fashionable footwear, the clogs give even skinny sky-scraper girls a complex. I mean walking tall is one thing, but looking like a giant is still a no-no in these parts. They add atleast 6 inches to your height, while leaving you looking like a tottering dummy. Wooden, flat, unimaginative and grand-motherly (although a single grandmother wouldn’t be spotted dead wearing them; they probably prefer Crocs) these are strictly for the blind-lovers of “haute-couture”.

4. To make up for the heaviness of Clogs, feather-light see-through numbers are making the rounds. Sheer blouses in honeysuckle, lavender and oceanic pastels are very much in. I suppose they make one feel…….delicate. Everybody’s wearing it, even the paunchy bunch.

Everything else this season rings mellow and inconspicuous. Or maybe just repetitive. If you’re looking for something marginally new and safe, I’d suggest the jumpsuits. Mix it up with some good old earth (read dirt) and have a ball with this semi-sporty outfit. No seriously, I’d really like a jumpsuit. Commes des Garcons, make me one? Oh never mind, they’re probably too busy making their models look like starved schoolboys (specifically hailing from idyllic English country schools).

Thursday, May 26, 2011

EARTH OCEAN SKY

I sat in the hollow
Of a grassy cup of earth
Grass so thick, and longish
Blowing like a brunette’s hair
Against the prairie breeze.
I saw one gull
White against an off-white sky
Keeling like a feathery ship
Against a heavy sea-tide
Dancing feathers haloed
In sunlight’s prism.
I shut my eyes tight
And heard an eerie quiet
The quietness of sound
And red and black alternating
I opened my eyes
To this beautiful dream
Again.
So never let me go.

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Anchor

Sparse like rust
Crumbling like dust
From your fingertips
Dripping from your hair
Vacuumed like particles
Running a race
Drained like oil
Filtered through mesh
Picked like husk
Picked like louse
Crushed or burnt away.

Now you can stay
Gagged and tied
Blinders on
Like you always were
Like you want to stay.

Friday, March 18, 2011

HOODIE

Make me warm in the dark
I look up stars glittering high up
In a blackish night sky face of day
That looms close and alien and warm
Large surrounding rounded all around


Round



Hold my breath as I nuzzle against your t-shirt
Black forms just like ants small
Huddle in your safe black warmth

The world is a bubble

Sunday, February 20, 2011

Youre So Pretty!

Youre so pretty I can’t express
Sometimes
You were an ugly baby
I saw the photos

You looked so silly and scared
Then
You were foolish a kid
I thought you looked it

You used to smile simply
Because they told you “Say cheese!”
You looked just like the rest
Only more pitiful
Soaked puppy, you!

But you were thinner then
In a sorrowful frameless way
The bones were still parleying
Which way we grow?

So then
You made up your mind
About what you Like
Like movies and books and music
That are beautiful
And make you beautiful
Made you beautiful
Like you are, now
Perfect and shrouded
Protected

I can’t touch you.

POEM

Poem plonks like
A pebble
Plonk plonk plink
Then- cascade of gravelly stones
Bigger than pebbles, noisier too

The ocean is Mind
It ripples and bulges
Or writhes in convolutions
Of snakes in the water
Or breathes silence
Why can’t we be sacred
In our globed conversations
Can’t we be left to ourselves
Self to self

Can’t we shut out for a second
The usual drone buzz in
And out of everywhere
We do we feel
We touch fingertips
But only a moment

Like puny threads in vastness
We forget we fret
We let stray winds undrive us
We forget
Mutual promises unsaid

Better for once
Than the familiarity of everydayness
Better a polaroid
Than rubbing shoulders in milling mess


(I liked E E Cummings)