Sunday, April 25, 2010
LiE!
Ah! The wake up call from dream...I just saw you my dream. We were running, and I was out of breath, and said 'I think I am going to stop' in reply you told me, "No! Don't stop! Everyone stops when something is about to happen." One will never know what will happen if that person just stops because the limit was coming to conclusion. Yet, we kept on running and speaking but all of the sudden I heard the buzzer of my phone, I ignore the sound to keep my eyes closed so I may not loose the dream, but then it keeps on ringing. I cannot fight my senses anymore, so I go with the urge to open the eyes a little and turn off the phone and go back my world of dreams. But as I lay back to my pillows, I fight my urges, squint with my eyes, jog my senses, yet there it disappeared for long. Now I am left to wonder, what might the conclusion be. I am always trying to do things and will leave me with feeling that I did not miss out, but I realized that there are some things I cannot do or change as much as I try. There are some things I do unintentionally, but then I ask myself why must I have the encouragement of will to do such thing? But then is it infatuation of some person who I crave? I have had become one of the masses of men that exist in restless faith of experience of being a fool for love. I am charily eager with convincing lure to assume clearly and act sanely yet sinking my mental capability with puns stirred by desires. I hear a expression that is of your name or of relation; or intonation of your voice or giggle; or the gaze of tenderness; or a mocking remark—yet every incident seem to be linked to your personal and surfaced persona leaving the soul with new intriguing meaning to savor each moment in fascination, and existing in expectation of the next drop of a line—for such unconsciously trying to impregnate the vision of new found understanding of love…now, these all sounds like poetry. Ah soothing poetry, yet what fault do you find in them? "A fault most serious, the fault of telling a lie, and, what is more? A bad lie! "I mean to think of it, when I clean myself properly, take note in my appearance and do all things to flaunt my good looks, it is the real me? I mean if I did not groom myself then I am not very pleasant too look at but with few changes and grooming I try to reach perfection, and get attention—then such am I the still me the person who was not groomed before? Then again when I say it is a lie do I say it as a deliberate lie, like "my dog ate the homework"? No, not exactly, I say it in a plausible confirmation of degree in lie. A lie that is has become noble, for example "if I am good, Santa will bring me present." Poetry is nothing but an inescapable element of the bewilderment about imitation, an imitation quarrels to be beaten by narrative art of words.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
My Man-Cleavage
Confession of the Sockless...
Today, one of my colleagues had asked me “who are those shoes by?” I told him Luigi Borelli. He told me, “I get it, you spent all your money on the shoes that you couldn’t afford a pair of socks.” I got the urge to say, you mustn’t know too many fashionable good-looking stylish people, but then looking the way you do, tisk tisk tisk.
I have a serious disregard for fat people (not sick ones or big bones kind, but the ones that try to go to the gym but eats Twinkies right after), but more than fat people I hate wearing socks!! With Savoir-vivre class in middle-school, I was thought how eat, talk, walk with perfect precision; I was taught no man of well-upbringing insult someone unintentionally; I was given special instruction on how to treat a lady vs. a woman; but most of all I was thought to dress well. But it’s the English gentleman dressing. Sort of blue fabric always requires brown shoes, never brown with gray, and a white suit requires a blue shirt. But while learning that I also was taught of dandies…the man who lives for clothes, and however it comes with a price of absurdity.
I enjoy following those etiquette I learned in school. But with it I also learned to almost never bare my knees or elbow, unless I am at gym or on swim-suit (I can’t swim that’s out of the question). So you can say I am usually the only person wearing dress pants on the beach with rolled up cuffs showing as little skin as possible. Its fine when I am with my family and closest of family friend because they are almost alike in the philosophy, but now when I affiliate my self with everyday new Yorkers—it doesn’t work. God forbid if I go san-socks, its sort of “doesn’t your feet smell?” well, no, unlike you I follow “some” hygiene behavior. ;) (read what to do so your feet don’t stink )
It is at that moment I built on the dressing style of a dandy. It is the idea of coquette dressing-impression of luxury, showing everything and exudes lust. Only if you look closely the luxury is hidden with elaborate little details, there is almost nothing showing and lust is the same sincere innocent jest you share with your girl friends. Dandy is then an illusion created in your mind. But being a dandy also requires sense of comedy. Not humor, laugher, but comedy. Any one person who can make you laugh with their humor is a funny person; but a comedian makes you laugh with his experiences. Comedy is real living where your disappointment becomes your enlightenment. I am simply saying a dandy, even though appear to have no meaning in life, have found that laugh because no one gets out of this life alive.
I have had people be disgusted by my san-socks behavior. I had people sub their nose for the fear of smell. I have a girl-friend who accuses me of being gay and effeminate. And I even had a person offer me a dollar to buy the sock. (I actually kept it in a frame just to remind me how much it bothers people.) Now I have to admit I am not too sure if I actually care about what these people think. Its sort of my philosophy of getting a Balenciaga sable refers instead of a luscious mink coat. Only few understand the difference.
But knowing all those things, why do I do it? First and foremost it’s comfortable. And I enjoy the touch of soft skin next to my skin; even if it’s from a dead cow…it is the India in me that refuses such luxury. It is the rebel in me saying I care but I don’t care—buy the best shoes but destroy it with moist sweat. It is crazy partier in me who never want be naked with only socks on. It is leisure me almost never doing any hard work so dress slippers were common shoes by the beach or park. And last but not least, I feel sexy when I don’t wear socks because I am almost at all times fully covered.
It’s that maybe, just maybe San socks are not really for everyone. If you are narcissistic type like me, then even the negative attention is good attention. If you are the affluent type who rarely does anything and weekends at East Hampton, you will have avid followers. If you are the dandy type, well it is our cleavage! If women can bare their breast with hard nipples under covers, we can show off our ankles with twinkly feeling on our toe-fingers!
Today, one of my colleagues had asked me “who are those shoes by?” I told him Luigi Borelli. He told me, “I get it, you spent all your money on the shoes that you couldn’t afford a pair of socks.” I got the urge to say, you mustn’t know too many fashionable good-looking stylish people, but then looking the way you do, tisk tisk tisk.
I have a serious disregard for fat people (not sick ones or big bones kind, but the ones that try to go to the gym but eats Twinkies right after), but more than fat people I hate wearing socks!! With Savoir-vivre class in middle-school, I was thought how eat, talk, walk with perfect precision; I was taught no man of well-upbringing insult someone unintentionally; I was given special instruction on how to treat a lady vs. a woman; but most of all I was thought to dress well. But it’s the English gentleman dressing. Sort of blue fabric always requires brown shoes, never brown with gray, and a white suit requires a blue shirt. But while learning that I also was taught of dandies…the man who lives for clothes, and however it comes with a price of absurdity.
I enjoy following those etiquette I learned in school. But with it I also learned to almost never bare my knees or elbow, unless I am at gym or on swim-suit (I can’t swim that’s out of the question). So you can say I am usually the only person wearing dress pants on the beach with rolled up cuffs showing as little skin as possible. Its fine when I am with my family and closest of family friend because they are almost alike in the philosophy, but now when I affiliate my self with everyday new Yorkers—it doesn’t work. God forbid if I go san-socks, its sort of “doesn’t your feet smell?” well, no, unlike you I follow “some” hygiene behavior. ;) (read what to do so your feet don’t stink )
It is at that moment I built on the dressing style of a dandy. It is the idea of coquette dressing-impression of luxury, showing everything and exudes lust. Only if you look closely the luxury is hidden with elaborate little details, there is almost nothing showing and lust is the same sincere innocent jest you share with your girl friends. Dandy is then an illusion created in your mind. But being a dandy also requires sense of comedy. Not humor, laugher, but comedy. Any one person who can make you laugh with their humor is a funny person; but a comedian makes you laugh with his experiences. Comedy is real living where your disappointment becomes your enlightenment. I am simply saying a dandy, even though appear to have no meaning in life, have found that laugh because no one gets out of this life alive.
I have had people be disgusted by my san-socks behavior. I had people sub their nose for the fear of smell. I have a girl-friend who accuses me of being gay and effeminate. And I even had a person offer me a dollar to buy the sock. (I actually kept it in a frame just to remind me how much it bothers people.) Now I have to admit I am not too sure if I actually care about what these people think. Its sort of my philosophy of getting a Balenciaga sable refers instead of a luscious mink coat. Only few understand the difference.
But knowing all those things, why do I do it? First and foremost it’s comfortable. And I enjoy the touch of soft skin next to my skin; even if it’s from a dead cow…it is the India in me that refuses such luxury. It is the rebel in me saying I care but I don’t care—buy the best shoes but destroy it with moist sweat. It is crazy partier in me who never want be naked with only socks on. It is leisure me almost never doing any hard work so dress slippers were common shoes by the beach or park. And last but not least, I feel sexy when I don’t wear socks because I am almost at all times fully covered.
It’s that maybe, just maybe San socks are not really for everyone. If you are narcissistic type like me, then even the negative attention is good attention. If you are the affluent type who rarely does anything and weekends at East Hampton, you will have avid followers. If you are the dandy type, well it is our cleavage! If women can bare their breast with hard nipples under covers, we can show off our ankles with twinkly feeling on our toe-fingers!
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