of the finest grand piano
And play me the blues.
There's nothing to writing,you just sit at a typewriter and bleed.
The paraphrased words of Hemingway.
I feel a tingling in my fingers,as with each letter I put in,I peel back the fences that jealously guard my soul and I watch it pour out before me and flood the screen.
I'm often asked how come despite my vision being far from the seemingly perfect 20/20 I never go about life buried behind my thick-rimmed glasses.The answer to this has evolved over the years.I started wearing glasses at the age of 9,I can still hear Mrs Meaney asking if I wanted to put my blush specs case in her 'special drawer'.I still remember wondering whether she now saw me as somewhat deficient,deserving of special treatment.
The answer has not only evolved but also gathered depth with each passing year as an antique clock would dust.The thing people don't understand is that I don't need any help,seeing the world or people for that matter.The world is far more than what we see around us and people are far more than the shells that their souls are trapped in.Perfect vision,20/20 breeds vanity,If you ask me.
So 9,is pretty young right?
Myopic,short-sighted,
I love the irony in that last description,that's the last possible description I'd give myself.
Well other than the fact that it was genetics little gift to me,I was also addicted to computer games,t.v anything on a screen really at the age of 9 or younger.Maybe that's why I don't fancy gaming,anymore.I however,still remain uncured of my love for everything else on screen. It's a little hard to believe I suppose,but then again I was born well after(overstatement) virtual reality robbed the earth of its color and glory.
My un-20/20 vision.You see,the thing is my soul is so full it pours out of my eyes,that's possibly why I've always felt my eyes had a kind of power,a kind of magic.Now my judgment of power and magic is a little skewed,I always thought that the fact that I could copy notes from the board without looking at my book made me some kind of prodigy.
But if you look into them they tell stories of everything I've ever loved,every hand I've ever touched and everywhere I've ever breathed.They speak of my darkness as well as my light.The black floating amidst the white.That's magic,alright.
They speak of words unspoken,the unimaginable,the triumphs as well as the defeats.
Light no matter how small can undermine darkness.Our eyes no matter what darkness surrounds us give beacons of light,in the way the moon blemishes the darkness of night.Fall in love with someone's eyes because it is the only beauty that doesn't fade.
They tell stories,far more than people are willing to share,and no matter how broken we are there is still a light that gleams from within and radiates outward through our eyes.
As I add the candles to my birthday cake,I've learnt of the profound beauty of brokenness. How each piece of shattered glass,reflects the sun's rays and in unison they give out such a glorious light.The beauty of the flawed,the imperfect,the quirky,the weird.
Each aspect of our life that crumbled,we rose well above it and our bravery left our insides gleaming as the embers of a fire do,long after the fire's been put out.And prayer,love among other things fan the flames back into existence.
Bravery,is waking up each day and facing the same demons you wrestled with and that tired your spirit the day before.People are brave,way more than we give them credit for,they have fought battles and still fight others that we couldn't possibly even come to terms with.But we're too busy mending and positioning our sails to even glance at the storms that rock anyone else's boats.
The ability to rise,even after the unimaginable is one of the greatest strengths of humankind.People have risen above unspeakable evils,slavery,war,sexual violations,oppression,the darn patriarchal system and all the alters of bigotry.And not only have they risen but for generations henceforth they continued to rise and rise and rise.
Another sort of superpower is the camouflage of normality.Look around you,we're all seemingly normal aren't we?No Mahatma Gandhi,no Harriet Tubman,no John Lennon lining the sidewalks.Just everyday ,average folk.Our ability to deceive,our ability to awake each morning and put on our Jane and John doe mask and carry on as perceived simpletons.
With friends,or those close to us,we may kid ourselves that we see through the mask but we see only that which they let us see.
To truly understand a person you must experience each and everything they have,which isn't practical right?so we cannot proclaim the falsehood that we know or understand each other,truly.It's sad really to think that, but I feel what's even more sad is the fact that we haven't even began to explore the depths within ourselves.
You don't really know anyone,and I mean really.
You see the mask and you're content with it.
Why explore others paths? I have my own wars raging,right?
You look into my eyes,but you haven't the bravery to touch, let alone feel my darkness.You haven't the patience to bask in the warmth of my light.And you haven't the wisdom to understand that both the light and darkness make me whole.
I am Margot Robbie.I am Harley Quinn.
But you see me the way you want to see me,
In the simplest terms,in the most convenient definitions.
You see me as A brain.A basket case.A princess
An Athlete.A criminal
-The breakfast club.
The less we know about a person the more they intrigue us.
It's the reason why we're so enchanted by the lonely stranger by the bar counter.The unknown waiting for the bus.We stare and for a moment try to vision what chapter of their life story they're on and what possible common purpose drew you to this meeting point.
I love nightlife,I believe it's one of the greatest forms of human interaction.For one night,people come together in celebration of life despite it all, the heartache,the trials,the rocking boats.And it doesn't matter why you're there a birthday,a breakup or just because it's sad to drink alone.
And for that one night,you get to feel like Jack,as he dined among Titanic's most prestigious passengers.
A place where you usually wouldn't fit in,amidst company you wouldn't normally keep.But you are together in celebration of the one thing,even if it is the only thing,being alive.And you affirm this newfound unity as you belt out the hooks of popular songs.
I truly feel alive at that moment.It's exhilarating.The possibility the endless possibility.I get to put down my daily persona and I get to play whoever I want to be.I could have a different name,a different personality type not to mention heck,I could be an art student,a law student .You could live out your alter ego.
There are chapters we all don't read aloud.But for those euphoric hours of darkness,you could have the whole book hidden away.
And no one really cares,who or what you say you are whether it's the truth or not ,It's one big masquerade party, to strangers of course,but not really because even whoever you came in with gets to see you in a new light,d'ye ken?(I've been picking up some Gaelic).
And even to the stranger the nature of your acquaintance is set to have a time limit,by dawn you're once again blissful strangers.
Possibly the one time plastic is defiance not just of true self but of what the world sees you as.A defiance of the labels society has placed on your back.Living for the moment.The next morning,you wake up and you are once again you're just a Jane,John Doe.The way others see you.A brain,An athlete,A basket case,A princess ,A criminal.
I suppose that's why being in a new crowd pleases me,the mystery,the suspense,labels not yet placed and everyone who so much as greets me is at the mercy of whichever vibe the rhythm of heart gives off that day.Passive-aggressive,haughty,happy-go-lucky whatever.
It's not only in the grip of night that this masquerade ball goes on, you see. Well,maybe you can argue that after a few run ins with seductive tots of alcohol,you may add a little creative twist to your story or even change the book cover altogether.
But in the midst of fresh faces,in broad daylight,the greatest form of irony occurs everyone sees you as you truly are,but no one truly does.
You may be walking about, being yourself,your true 7 o'clock in the morning,no coffee yet,self.
Your singing in the shower,music blasting self.But all they see is what you let them see,if you're really lucky,but in truth they see what they want to see.The brain,the athlete,The basket case,The princess,The criminal.
Just like the stranger hanging 'round the bar counter,we see him as we want to see him.The brain,The athlete,The basket case,The princess,The criminals.
That's the thing about people less is more, we delight in their mystery ,their unknown chapters,we seek them out in a bid to indulge in this pre-perceived 'Up to our standard' version.
'till they let us and we begin to learn of the shadows that lurk behind the closed doors,the pretty smiles,the still eyes then we wish we'd never gone in and scorn our curiosity and vow never to be drawn in by another perfect stranger.
Few still find us just as,if not more intriguing.Few.
They gleam at first ,those seemingly perfect strangers,stars.Stars burn bright.Stars burn out. What's left is darkness,a darkness that we often cannot handle.
Undoubtedly,The 80's was the perfect stage for bad boys considering that's when the world sorta dipped into a wayward stance,It started way earlier no doubt but I'm no culture expert.
Ruffled hair,leather jacket,white tee,white canvas,cool ass dark sunglasses,piercings and tattoos sprinkled like confetti on their chiseled bodies( Of course they weren't all chiseled but my symbols of 80's bad boys shall not be compromised!) and let's not forget the dismissal of all things conventional.
3 words (and a dirt ridden Mustang,please) describe them.
Ruff,rogue and non-conformist.
Austin Butler in The Carrie diaries,John Bender,The breakfast club,Johnny Depp,who I feel lives out this era to date,bless his heart(check out the Sauvage by Dior advert)
They(well the true versions of my 80 bad boy symbols) were the heartthrobs,nowadays bad boys are for school girls and idle housewives,I believe,
they are the only ones with the energy to be at peace with their shortcomings.
But what is it about them?
Well I'll speak for my golden age poster boys.In my age they're a little misguided for my taste......
Usually.
They keep you gawking,no matter how much you think you've known them,they maintain that fascinating intrigue like the loner at the bar counter.
See the thing is,you don't exactly know what's going on in their heads,they keep people at their fences,like the brand new building next door,you stand at the gate only catching a glimpse of what is possibly going on inside.
The mystery and the suspense,defines their persona,it's what draws you to them,like a bunch of school kids to a prohibited area.
Prohibited,that's another thing they are.Damned by society,damned by every schoolgirls parents,damned by every posy of neighborhood women and their broken-hearted daughters.They are always up to no good,that's what you're told.
You want to see and feel the magic,then you shall decide whether you too,shall damn the enchanter.
But that's what's so intriguing,you inch closer and closer to the wild fire,the warmth,the light.
Gallant little heart,they ought to be proud.
His presence cripples your skin and his fast paced life makes the blood curl in your veins,he has a superpower to him,an immortality of sorts.Nothing gets to him,his sails are never shuddered.Life was a party and he was the host.And if this was burning,I choose to be consumed.
And he has a strength to him,he's conscious of his flaws but unlike most people he doesn't wear his weakness as shackles,he wears it as amour.
And not to mention the non-conformist attitude.He doesn't take girls out for nice dinners,that's conventional.Your needs before his,conventional.He defies societies norms,too back dated.All that chivalry,nonsense highly overrated,conventional.
He's the embodiment of masculinity isn't he?He's ruff cut,they way they should be.God's gift to womankind.They shouldn't be ungrateful,whining about flowers and chocolate coated hearts.
Maybe,I nag too much.He does show up,doesn't he?Says nice things to my friends.Looks like a movie,sounds like a song?I am lucky to have him,considering he has girls piled up in heaps at his doorstep.
I'm drowning,but let me sink at his feet,in his aura,in this illusion,let me ride the high tides with him,feel sanity or air rush past my soul.We'll face the world together I'll be Bonnie and he can be Clyde.Puddin'
He doesn't feel the need to 'be like everyone else'(you know,polite,kind,considerate) maybe I should be more like him.I think too much,I feel too much.Maybe,I too should have the courage to live my truth and disregard those of a contrary opinion or of any opinion,really.
I too should dance circles around people's hearts and puzzle them with my being.
Frontin' boy please,
I see you,for what you are
I'm no Mr.Vernon.
The hollowness within you,the void
you fill with people's baseless praises and curious souls.
A fire consumes,but it eventually consumes itself.
Miss,
You are a queen.
May Patriarchy,always beg for your greatness.
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