Thoughts and a Wedding

Weddings don't make sense.  They are the ultimate contradiction.  In the mist of this chaotically crumbling social structure is the insurgence of social-media community.  That the peak of the redefined family unit, from the 3 generation, to the atomic, to the collaborate family, we are in love with tradition?  Weddings are strange, they are the glorious celebration of human rite and passion.  Endlessly unique in the celebration of rules as ageless as can be. It is the masterful redefinition and emotion in Micheal Angelo; confined to the canvas and paint, but also expressed within the system.

Culture? Culture doesn't get it.  Pinterest rules with a mighty grip far, far a head of the curve in fad and fashion.  The wedding magazines don't hold a candle to the collective luminary of the internet. This is the peoples party.

And why get married? Why?  To the religious it is the destination, it is the opening of a new life.  It is the start and the finish.  It is the expression of a love once whispered.  To the Greek the inevitable?  The love that is worth the journey, not for sex or acceptance.  A wedding is merely a stop along on the road.

To both it was a part of growing up.  Of establishment.  Of joining the next phase of life in society.  A wedding is garbing hands with the adult community of the time.  Of becoming woven into the loom of history and time and raising up another generation.  It is the nod to the past and the gaze of the future, fleeting as flowers and timeless as diamonds.  It laughs at its own fads and equally at its traditions.  It is human, all too human.

http://vimeo.com/29497176

The week in which I size up my demise and also become and adult.

This was the longest week, ever.

I've felt every hour.

I tried to sleep through it.  Getting 8.5 hours a night is a feat when the alarm clock goes off at 3:00 a.m.  But I'm used to it.  Really.  5 p.m. and I'm ready for sleep to take me.  I curl up (because my heater is broken) and am more than happy to close my eyes--this week all the more. Oh sweet sleep.  Sleep in this job was a treat I got to enjoy all for myself.

I'm finding it more and more apparent that my lack of confidence has ensured some rather "bad habits."  I'm going to call them that because my mind honestly wants to call them personality deficiencies and that simply will not do.  I'll never hear the end of it.  So for now I'll say that these "little bad habits" are more of a social handy capt than anything. A glass ceiling to the perceived adulthood I wish to aspire.

Aspire? Aspire you say? Yes.

I aspire to not be helped as some dear lost soul.  For those around me not to glow with pride when I fumblingly answer a question.  For your information Mr./Ms. Do-good, I am annoyed at your incompetence not shy. I am peeved at your inability to connect dots that have lead me to a thought 5 minutes back which is now interrupted by the requirement you felt needed to re-informing your wise and mature mind.  Thank you.  I'm so happy you stepped aside and "let me have my time" that I may grow flushed and feel a fool while you applause your excellent discipleship skills.  Totally feel discipled right now.

I wish I didn't have acne and such independent hair, then people would stop feeling bad for me.  Then my stumbling for words would be dismissed as the exhaustion that it actually is, not the obvious helplessness it gives off.  I mean as a girl my options are limited to bimbo and dunce, I'd still take my chances with bimbo.

I wish people would card before lecturing me on my friendship abilities.  Or perhaps put a little plaque on the wall explaining that I must be born after such and such a date before my lack of experience in hypothetical discussions cease to nullify my thoughts.

I wish I could turn in my responsibility to be a considerate (compliant) person like a V-card and replace it with feelings of rejection at every whiff of wind.  Yes, I am that nerd longing to be the cheerleader. With flauntingly short skirts of emotions, beguiling ways with everyone; the feeling whore.

As for these personality deficiencies "bad habits" at 21 I aspire to be more confident.  To bullshit my impenetrable fine-ness better.  To manipulate more smoothly.  I aspire like all, to be Miss America, I am an advocate for PEACE. My peace. So here's to 21, to responsibility, in capabilities, to everyone shutting up.

Washed Away

I am shore pounded and drained.  grating sand against sand, I stand in the way.  I am polished and smoothed, re-broken  redefined.  I am warn with in words new definitions new reasons for my, revoked opinion   I am given my rights, inalienably alienated.  I am as common as the grains of grit timeless as a momentary wave.  I am pushed and pulled within the tide, invited to converse and censored into despair.  I am a torrent unstoppable outlasted to the placid apathy of a ripple.

I am tired of redefined words to use in proper racisims, Indian  native, first nation, the proper way to define the space between us and them in a way that does not defile me in becoming a them from the socially sensitive and enlightened us.

I am tossed in the sea of another's feelings given no right to a sailors prayer.  I am fenced by the ever changing and intangible while the air around me, tangible, is ever threatened.

I am ever aware of myself on display, and yet caught screaming and hear all the less.  I am fast found ever at fault. My questions are judgments and my own actions accusations I am cut to the quick and at blame for bleeding  Wounds washed and drained into a sea that can hold all my blood without at drop of red color.  Swallowed by a blue that speaks none of its thousand sorrow swallowed in the deep.