‘Everybody wears a mask. Hadn’t you noticed? We put them on for one very good reason: we dislike our own faces…
It’s not hypocrisy so much as aspiration. we wear them to persuade ourselves as much as others…
Friendship, fairness, loyalty, dignity–what are they but lovely masks, which we wear till they begin to pinch and then let fall?’ —Life Mask, Emma Donoghue
xxx c.
(images by Michelle Wild Photography)
Month: January 2012
Passion: An Affair of the Heart
Last night I dreamt that I “cheated”…
On my lover…my partner, with another man.
It was a blurry, meaningless, swept-up-in-the-moment kind of indiscretion, as opposed to an emotion-laden betrayal. Still it was a lapse in better judgment, which I all too often fall victim.
When righteously confronted, I stumbled…a flood of shame, which lead to justifications and pitiful pleas for atonement.
What followed was surprising even to me, the dreamer, caught in the emotions of loss and guilt:
A spontaneous moment of passion…initiated by him…in the midst of his anger…bringing a new and conflicting set of emotions: desire, submission, rage, and even tenderness.
It was truly a fervent scene…more so for the impromptu and unexpected nature of it than for the fact that we were speeding along very fast, ripping clothing, and tearing skin, which of course only added to the mania of it all.
When I awoke…I thought, as a dreamer often does, “Did that really happen? Am I really embroiled in some dangerous liaison and of my own making?”
I then turned and struck him…while he slept (!)
He moved only slightly, one grunt, then returned to a peaceful rest. But my rage, passion, desire, and shame remained…as I turned to hold him…forcing me to consider:
Passion as a dialectic.
Passion is focused and intense, driven and eager.
Passion is (also) furious, violent and even…misery.
With all of these compelling yet conflicting emotions…is it any wonder why love gives us such strife?
What impacted me the most was the swiftness with which “the coin flipped”…one moment shame, the next lust, next fury, and then tenderness.
Passion is a reflection of the heart, and as such…can never fully be defined, understood, or tamed…nor do I believe it should.
Cheers to Friday…cheers to passion!
Xxx c.
Fake vs. Real: Everything BUTT
I remember when my boyfriend first introduced me to “Coco” that tanned, cupiesque, curvaceous delight that scampers through Ice-T‘s reality show.
I took one look and thought,
Lord how could you possibly be attracted to me? I can’t even believe that is a ‘real’ woman!
Then I read a bit about her and discovered that her ASS-ets are somewhat up for debate, as to whether or not they are God-given or man-made,
Of course that ass is fake!
I heard again and again…the then her retort:
My ass is 100% real!
And at some point I realized, I didn’t much care…real, fake…blessed or made…you had to give this woman credit for capitalizing on what (at least in dominant white culture) is not considered main-stream beauty…and yet, millions of fans can’t be wrong…Mrs. Coco’s physique is much lauded. And I for one…think she is SEXY BEYOND!
Perhaps…(one can hope)…we are at a time in our culture when beauty (once again) comes in a variety of shapes, colors, sizes, and orientations! If not, then maybe just you and I can share our love of curves…that suits me just fine!
xxx, c.
Images of Beauty: A Reflection of SELF-image?
I, as with many “real-sized” women, have always thought the”beauties” of the 50’s to be so much more appealing than their reed-thin counter-parts of today…still, it makes me wonder:
If these images of beauty are so distant from the majority of women…what do they do to our own self-image?
Sadly, I think the answer is closer to disorder (as in mental illness) than anything positive or validating.
xxx c.
Etta: a Woman, in ‘a Man’s World’
“I sing the songs that people need to hear.”
– Etta James (1938 – January 20, 2012)
“Stop the Wedding” is my favorite Etta James song…the woman who sang “It’s a Man’s World,” showed that TRULY a woman can do it JUST AS GOOD…if not better 🙂 xxx c.
Celebrating LIVING Through Death: A Thought for Gi’
I find it frustrating that so often grieving is filled with comforting the living, rather than celebrating the dead.
I wonder if the death of another frightens us in such a way that we become fixated on the fragility of LIVING and not just “life” itself.
Suicide seems another matter entirely. Its impact seems to only intensify this reaction to death.
I have been touched multiple times by suicide, my father, my aunt, my patients…and now my friend and lover Gi’. In a very real way, I can identify suicide as a primary factor in my own development. Suicide has shaped who I am: my choice in career, my relationships with others, even my personality.
Suicide has given me a rich appreciation for life, for the impermanence of relationships, the enduring nature of love, and the importance of contributing to society as a whole.
Perhaps I have hit on it, where my frustration lies, it is not in the fixations of others, but rather in my own.
It is difficult to go on living with death on your back (literally and figuratively, I have a calaveras de azucar tattooed on my back); frustrating to look for “life in death” constantly. Yes, it is painful and trying…and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Lately I find myself re-reading the Hume…returning to his and other related work on suicide, with the intent to make philosophical sense of this unthinkable “life”-choice. I found this excerpt…which rings true, for my (our) most recent loss:
Suicide is justified when man’s life, owing to circumstances outside of a person’s control, is no longer possible; an example might be a person with a painful terminal illness, or a prisoner in a concentration camp who sees no chance of escape. In cases such as these, suicide is not necessarily a philosophic rejection of life or of reality. On the contrary, it may very well be their tragic reaffirmation. Self-destruction in such contexts may amount to the tortured cry: “Man’s life means so much to me that I will not settle for anything less. I will not accept a living death as a substitute.” – Leonard Peikoff, Objectism: the philosophy of Ayn Rand
Reading this…I can only envision Gi’ dancing in the spotlight…
And SMILE.
xxx c.
“Still I Rise” – Back at it (Blogging) With a Vengeance!
Still I Rise
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own back yard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
I thought these words inspirational and fitting after such a tough month. Readying for conference and dealing with the suicide of a very close friend and lover…it hasn’t been an easy time. But, blogging has always represented a way of connecting…to others as well as, myself…and so…
I rise.
xxx, c.
Dr. Nymphobrainiac 