I feel things intensely, and that sometimes brings on waves of profound sorrows. My sense senses the least movement underneath the shell. I try let it be, but it always come back as unceasable fire. I treasure this pure, untouched, unadult rated connection, and I just dance, under a bohemian disguise.
whenever miss procrastinator travels, it takes 6 months to infinity upload pictures. thanks for holding me up wind city.
I went down to the crossroads, fell down on my knees
Asked the lord for mercy, said ‘help me if you please’
I went down to the crossroads, tried to flag a ride
No one seemed to know me, everybody passed me by
You can run, you can run, tell my friend Willy Brown
That I’m standing at the crossroads, I believe I’m sinking down
standing in a crossroads of the deep south, the home of blues. one day i will learn how to jam that song.
a hat person is so pleasant to be around. she is so playful, cheerful and spontaneous.
a hat person is so obnoxious to be around. that hat is her shield. you know she has a ton in her mind she doesn’t want to give away. who knows what’s going on in that hat. you do the guess. she probably didn’t wash that hair in five days. she could be having a bad hair day. there could be some bird poop, a piece of baby wipe, or some chocolate in case she’s hungry. she probably want to do an improvised impersonation of michael jackson.
a hat person doesn’t give a damn about her outfit but she care so much in a way that is effortlessly cool. her outfit can be so flat when that hat adds instant chic.
a hat person is very protective of her golden circle. she silently feels so much closer to other people who wear hats. but she doesn’t feel superior to those who don’t. she knows that she’s not any better than anybody else in any way; she is just different.
i’m proud to be a hat person.
after a quarter life, your individuality is well assured and therefore no validation is needed. some days when it’s tougher than the other, you crave complete peace and quiet. any noise that sways you should be blocked. you need to psychologically pave your own streets so you can walk breathing your very own air. how about some leather on leather and denim on denim? not because you are an avid attention seeker, but because folks will be muttering “who is that self absorbed dork?” and stay the hell away, giving you plenty of time for meditation.
despite its humble roots, dr martens can be utterly intimating. it’s not uncommon to find a preposterous scene on the street that someone walk as if she is a slave of her shoes. very recently my first pair arrived and i was ready to ride a wrecking ball. but unlike that adult-rated video, my sense of insecurities urges me to cover up my cellulite with some fantastic silk shirt and skin-tight jeans. still being capable of walking in that stiff leather and bulky sole is more about a mindset. wait until the years go by. being a badass doesn’t come easily.
I thought I understood it, that I could grasp it, but I didn’t, not really. Only the smudgeness of it; the pink-slippered, all-containered, semi-precious eagerness of it. I didn’t realize it would sometimes be more than whole, that the wholeness was a rather luxurious idea. Because it’s the halves that halve you in half. I didn’t know, don’t know, about the in-between bits; the gory bits of you, and the gory bits of me.
it’s ironic when you have the equestrian outfit picked up and you decided to throw on a chunky pink sweater that would basically drown you. have to be a truly sartorial risk taker to do that.
i don’t know how many pink shirts i have; probably can’t even count them in one hand. actually, i just counted them, thanks to my color-coded closet. four. i like to believe that what i wear is a reflection of myself personality-wise. mostly pensive and melancholy, which is seen through what i wear on a daily basis: gray, black, white, beige, sometimes with a hint of color; jeans, tee, leather jacket; very predictable. just not pink. in my biased perception, pink is something that screams princessy, girly, shallow, candylicious and hootchy; it is everything that gives me goose bump and deepens my general fear of not being taken seriously. that’s also why there is probably fifty dresses sitting in my closet and haven’t seen the sunshine for years.
an analogy of this dilemma would be that i’m still struggling with setting the tone for this blog. i tried to infuse a bit of humor and sacasm in my writing to prevent self-exposure. that’s not an easy thing to do especially when you sit in in front of the computer with a 100 degree fever on a depressingly cloudy day, and all the sadness just pour out.
what seems to be the theme of my entire writing, is that, always, always a compromise in the end. always a solution. i’m going to leave this one as it is this time. it’s okay to be skewed.
*tip my hat to anyone who can “read” the title