Thursday, April 05, 2007

feigned couture

The air is musky. post winter breeze from the north never ceases to frost the canary skies thus leaving murky clouds hovering everywhere. it's the season for unforgiveness. Angst within should be unleashed. Yet always, as if a smeared charcoal, the fierceness of an angry soul will be mellowed and soon be dinted by romance.

Once Kafka wrote in one of his entries during those times when he feels that his ability to continue to do writings is about to wane:

"The glimpse of a woman's flesh is like a story that has to be told. The pale, blue tinge of wrist, the venous neck which hints at the depth of collarbone, the firm calf seen for an instant as a gust tugs at her dress seam, all these promise an unfolding. From a piece of skin the size of a small visiting card, one tricks out the entire body, allowing for the darkened and lightened areas, those covered or part-covered in hair, the folds and tightenings, indentations and extrusions, the muscled and fleshy expanses. When I see my darling M~, she inspires me in this manner. Each exposure stimulates the imagination and if only this impetus produced literature, we would all be upraised."

Such idea also rises to my recent state of being. i'm consumed by the corporate world and my capability of doing "arts" is getting thinner by the minute. instead of teaching arts or doing an artwork, i'm extremely exhausted with IRS tax tables and accounting stuff. Thinking: only by resolving customer's issue brings me to salvation. But there's QA score sheets, call compliance, AHT, and technical know-how.. I feel betrayed by my own fate. But somehow i find art in communication (or i make myself believe) and somehow my semi-monthly wage tides me by.

One night in Julio's place. we have this fashion crave feeling again. Julio revamp his grand ball's garb and he let me fit it in. we then brush those colored dust on my face and filter my poses through the lens and froze it to eternity. i love seeing my beau so inspired and consuming me as his fuel. i love the feeling of being a muse. toying the idea of living the ideals of so called "couture" that leads me to a sheer feeling of euphoria. As what the famous fashion photographer in Paris quote: "couture is not just a princess' story.. it's more than that" for me, this moments with my beau, is a momentary dream, an escape from reality---even just for a moment.

the clock hits 12am.
log in.
take in calls for 8 hours.
beyond that--- its not considered life at all..

somehow i wish, that the notion of this circuitous existence is leading somewhere.

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