It's hard to find the balance when you are in love. You're lost in the middle because you have to decide between mind & heart. Heart is the engine of your body but brain is the engine of life.So the symphony was truly lovely last night. Lovely music and lovelier company, and two two of us cut a fine figure--she in her purple suit, me in my little black dress.
This little black dress is truly amazing. I have long admired Kinsey Millhone (the major protagonist of those alphabet murder mysteries, you know, 'A is for Anarchy', 'B is for Burning Itch', etc, etc) not only for her attitude towards life and her ability to get herself out of all of those tight spots she squeezes into, but also for her dress. She owns one dress, you see. It's short, black, doesn't wrinkle no matter *what* she does to it, and is simple enough that it's appropriate for everything for a business meeting to the symphony.
My black dress is my version of the indestructible dress. It, too, is short, black, and refuses to wrinkle. It looks good on me, dresses up or down depending on my footwear and jewelry, and is my default dress--the dress I reach for when I need to dress up and don't have a clue what to wear.
In tights and my cool boots, I am AlternaGirl. In thigh-highs and heels, I am GettingSomeGirl. In a jacket, I am BoardRoomGirl. Versatile clothes are a truly, truly marvelous thing.
I have this weird relationship with clothing. On the one hand, I love it--I love the different things I can do with it. I am terminally addicted to the possibility of a makeover, of slipping inside some new clothes and seeing my whole demeanor change.
On the other hand, all I want is something that will cover me up and keep me warm, and beyond that I don't care how it looks. As long as it fits and does its function, I like it. I can flip between these two attitudes like a light switch, often while attempting to get dressed. Like a little girl who mostly wears jeans and t-shirts but sometimes dresses up in her mother's clothes, I regard taking delight in daily costuming as an occasional diversion.
Part of a new series:vox angelica
pure of mind
body; heart; sing
sing of me, sing of he
she, it; there are no nouns
to describe what you are to us.
we, greater as chorus, sing
light, love; gentle and dreamlike,
we inhabit your better half
as if it were a high-rent condo.
We live you, live through you,
delight in your choices,
the fine tread you walk between
your better intentions and your
base actions. We live in the bottom
of your spine, we love the way
you move when you dance, we long
for you with all the energy
of the spurned lover.
We love you more because you are
freewilled and therefore hopeless.there are no verbs to describe
what you do to us, your love
informed by delicious greed, your sin
wine to us who cannot. You liberate
us, you who make choices, we drink
your anger until you are spent
and lay exhausted in your seamy beds.
We eat your misdeeds and grow fat on them,
experiencing your anguish as a caress,
taking from you what you do not want
and we cannot make for ourselves.We cluster close around you,
we ignore the vast emptiness above us.
We live to serve, and in service to you,
tormentors, captors, lovers, hungers,
we grow sticky and content, singing
to ourselves, in choruses calling
the eternal delight of ourselves,
the feathery servants of the unknowable.
We live to serve.
This is our reward eternal.This is our love, eternal.
—3/10/00
By the way, I now have a Nibelung Webring called Zero Chain, on which I've put pretty much everything I scan every morning. I need to add a couple of things, but there they are--and in the approximate order I like to read them in.
