with Ghesquière in mind

As a new month begins, making transitions
between cities, embarking on journeys of
professional and artistic endeavors, or
progression with relationships one has with
others, while finding centered moments and
learning to thrive with a third guiding force
of intuition on not only significant matters
but sustaining peace and helping others
achieve the same awareness, seems like
exceedingly practical goals to accomplish.
These days many people seem to be
overextending their skills because they can
identify elements in need of support while
accomplishing requirements of one’s position
but are unmet with support from superior
authorities of seemingly less creativity-inclined
mindsets. The interview with Nicolas Ghesquière
proved the vitality of recycling the feeling of
empowerment within a place of work.

What was clear was the disintegration of
language juxtaposing the eerie immediacy
of information, which one cannot refute
as a sort of ambiguity in establishing
how one can grow when the original
responsibilities of one’s occupation
no longer carry the same intensity while
moments of reflection demonstrate the
cloudiness masks an abusive demand for
one’s skills. Is this the plight of all
creative entities? Perhaps, however, as
aggressively as the wind pushes against
bare tree branches, it seems one must
navigate through cumbersome hierarchies
in pursuit of support for successful
achievement with exceptional stamina in
order to overcome rigidity of tradition.
I wonder how long it will take for Playboy
to move beyond the impediments posed in Goa.
If change incites skepticism from occupied
positions of power, how do creative gusts
of wind garner enough momentum to motivate
a wholesome and effervescent evolution?

many pages and half moons

The first warm breeze of the spring season
tickled a young boy’s ears for no apparent
reason. He watched the branches’ rigid
movements and let his nose be overwhelmed by
the scent of moist soil until upon a horizontal
current slid a screen door. When he turned
around and saw his playmate run from afar, he
felt in the pit of his stomach a desire to learn
what he’d heard once in the schoolyard.

“What is respect,” a young boy asked his
playmate in a sandbox who responded to the
interrogation with a face so coy.

“I read in a book with many a page and half
moons respect is something you feel if an
honorable impression is made.”

Staring at his toy and then at the sand, the young
boy inhaled and said, “The feeling I get when I
sit on a train, seeing trees and clouds whiz by in
the sky, is this an instance respect can be applied?”

The corners of the playmate’s mouth turned
upside down but he stayed calm for he enjoyed
the effect of a verbal merry-go-round. “When
you sit on a train respect could be felt, as long
as you’re not thinking of yourself.”

The young boy’s eyes widened with surprise.
“Not think of myself? Well, you must be joking!
I’m most happy and can twaddle for hours when
I see the world and it speaks to me.”

The playmate laughed heartily and exclaimed to
his friend, “Now you must be the one who’s
joking for the world does not use words to talk
to human beings! We’re on it because it’s only
here to be seen!”

“Take that back,” said the young boy in a fury.
“I’ll have you know the trees and grass have a
bond with the wind and rain as much as you and
I have in this sandy space.”

Shaking his head and peering around, the
playmate stood up and looked quite proud.
“This area is for everyone to use and enjoy,
not to…”

Before he could finish, the young boy inserted,
“Isn’t it everyone’s duty to employ gentle senses
when understanding all forms of nature’s beauty?”

The playmate answered quickly, “How do you
come up with a word like employ when you just
asked me to clarify simple terminology?”

“Words of that sort seem easy to understand
while terms of so common seem abused by the
absence of comprehension regarding the realm
imbued by simplicity.”

The playmate shrugged then looked toward the
heavens. “Maybe the self can be included in
thought when it comes to respect of this
wondrous environment.”

a silhouette ponders love

The smell of nicotine
clouds a room in which
the silhouette of
a masculine body
with feminine features
sits near a window.

Love, how you evade me,
make a mockery of my emotions,
declare me mad when I’ve made efforts
to communicate on levels of unusual custom,
falsify any notion of affection!
Why do I entertain thoughts,
mere fruitless ambitions,
which evoke no promotion
of strong feelings within
the subject of my admiration?
Is this game of emotions,
battle of wits, what have you,
similar to the flight of a young bird
soaring through the air without experiencing
the altitude it strives to achieve?

The silhouette falls silent as
raindrops splatter diagonally
across horizontal walls of glass.

Oh, stop the indecent conversation.
Prepare yourself for instant gratification.

I thought you were to be found
after hard work and dedication?

Only the blind can find
me in such consecration.

Then I beg speak to me plain!
What must I do to forgo lover’s scorn,
admit passion in another, all to
satisfy desires deep within?

Impede such interrogation
for it is not healthy
contemplating that in which
you have not participated.

You ridicule my ineptitude
for this sort of relation?

Dare you question my advice
disseminate from malice?

The silhouette pauses,
taking note of faster raindrops.

I rescind my former inquiry
for I meant no misjudgment.
Please spare me though still,
will I ever move forward
from this frenzied isolation?

Your forward motion is
dependent upon your actions.

And what of these sentiments for,
I must admit, I waste minutes
and hours entertaining the
cruel nature of idle
introspective fervor?

The estimation of your
heart’s movement toward love
and devotion is not a prediction
I am at will to recite.

Then oblige me with
a statement forthright,
will I ever know what’s right?

And with the last word,
a gust of wind whistles
through a cracked window,
forcing the silhouette to
shiver through the night.