I stand at the bathroom mirror, the portal of narcissism, too embarrassed to enter. Where are my enablers? The foundation. the clothes. The curling iron. The hairspray. The eyebrow pencil. They hover over me, and when they are done, I am hidden, but I am here. Now I can go there.
They’re all eyes. Eyes that are scanners running across my barcode. Scan. No beep. Scan. No beep. They’ll have to enter it manually. They ask: “So. What are you?”
I smile. “Glam Rock Peter Pan.”
“Or Prince as a Pirate.”
“Or a character from Velvet Goldmine.”
I bag and carry myself away. No merchandise in the public restroom! But I go in. I am not doing this to impress people. I am doing this to impress that person, now standing on the other side of the portal. That person who looks like me, but so much more lovely. I mistake myself for them. We are Annie Lennox at the end of the “Who’s That Girl?” music video: opposite sex symbiosis. Male and Female He created them. Male and Female I combined them.
This is not a costume. It’s a confession.
I don’t need your lust. I don’t need your love.
All I need is His indwelling. All I need is this instant.
In the iris of imagination.
I absolutely fucking LOVE this look. Your hair, child!
Also, I would have to say that I’m partially glad you live up there and I live down here…because your shoulders .look.so.sexy. I’m quite sure I would come to your house and ravage you. That first picture is all long legs and tantalizing eyes.
That being said, you pulled it off very exquisitely. bravo.
How long will you be here ?
So this is where I write something notable about your blog that I absolutely enjoyed. Instead, all I can think about is how much I truly miss you. We need to reconnect and partake in more musical hot chocolate.
I love your new header/photo. Brilliant! Also this is a fantastic post (which I thought I’d already commented on, but apparently I didn’t. I can never think of anything good to say when I read your writings. You stole all the good words!)
This makes you look more familiar than you deserve to be, were we strangers with one another. I would still say, “thanks” if you looked my way.
Whether you need my love or want it – you have it.
The further I go back, the more challenged I am by your work. That is not to say your newer work is pedestrian and easily swallowed like a fine soup at a french restaurant. Quite the opposite. You have grown. Your writing has grown. These older works, while still a part of you and maybe your everyday thought process, are echos of where you’ve been. And after living with you, I’ve seen your diligent battles. This piece still holds such relevance for those of us who will do anything to be more, even if some of us are to afraid to look directly in the mirror.