Monthly Archives: February 2020

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Frida and Minju, and me…

21 Friday Feb 2020

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The stunningly beautiful, awe inspiringly humble, and magically talented 
Minju Kim, on Next in Fashion: 

"...my collection is inspired by Frida Kahlo, ...she never gave up."

I must remember that for a thousand and one reasons, and for decades 
now, I too, am inspired by Frida Kahlo... and while that which ails me 
physically, is vastly polar in nature and circumstance, its
ramifications, share everything in common, with that which ailed her... 

...and I remember what she accomplished, who she was, not despite, 
but because of it.

Just for this moment, I will channel Frida, and Minju.

~Marcela: Hanging on by Minju's thread.

Posted by | Filed under My World(s), Poetry

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A bark with bite…

19 Wednesday Feb 2020

“True adulthood… is a difficult beauty, an intensely hard won glory, which commercial forces and cultural vapidity should not be permitted to deprive you of.”
 
-Toni Morrison
 
A culture that ‘fetishizes youth’ is exactly the one we live in… the older and wiser, the more knowledgeable I become, about self and the world, the more valuable I am to others… but: this is precisely when they begin to devalue much of what I have to say… …interesting, that when a great deal of what I had to give was simply loud bark without substance, no bite, they all paid attention… it is little wonder that the Hitlers of the world, like what’s his fuck in the USA, get where they do…we exclude the input of those who know in the decision making.
~Marcela: thinking out loud on real and present adulthood. 

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Parker’n me II – The Culvert

02 Sunday Feb 2020

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, , 

The roar of the culvert
spewing forth the runoff,
raging like the internal and external storms
of the night previous,
temporarily assuages my tinnitus and pressure addled brain,
with this other,
din.

I walk on
leaving the culvert behind, and,
with the relentless vengeance of the intruders in my body,
they cut anew; the razor-sharp edges of my current reality
and I wonder:
why I still choose to live this wounded and broken,
life(?).

Parker, Dorothy that is, in all her glory and folly
calls on me, again, to live another day
for while increasingly troublesome,
my vision endeavors to see, that “cherry bough gone white with Spring,”
and so I walk on, desperately seeking;
the next “prettiest, thing.”

~Marcela: not done yet, according to Parker anyway.
02, 02, 2020

Posted by | Filed under My World(s), Poetry, Rants & Other Musings: Unfiltered-Raw

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