aesthetic ghosts

Watching Yves Saint Laurent's 2002 retirement speech gave me life this week. Quoting Proust and Rimbaud, this remarkable artist said, among other things:

• I have lived for my work and through my work
• Fashion's role was to...reassure them (women), give them confidence and allow them to assert themselves
• Every man needs aesthetic ghosts in order to live. I have pursued them, sought them, hunted them down
• I have known...anxiety, fear and terrible solitude...I emerged, dazzled but sober
• The most important encounter in life is the encounter with oneself

Yves Saint Laurent's Retirement Speech, January 7, 2002 from ketty mora on Vimeo.

re-set

I haven't done much writing lately and it's weighing on me.
I have done a lot of thinking, though.
There's a story I've been wanting to tell for so long, and each time I start to write it, I lose my way, lose my confidence, the writing of it feels so icky and bad, that I quit.
But, I think I have a new way in.
*
Inspiration galore the past few days:

• I watched The Incredible Jessica James movie on Netflix. What I loved: her character's passion for the stage and plays and drama, the alienation of being at home with family, her joyful dorkiness, fan-girling over the playwright at her drama school workshop
• I re-watched a few series, including Master of None--do not sleep on this show, it will change your life. Also, Fleabag, Atlanta, Misadventures of Awkward Black Girl
• And this tweet from Mr. L-MM:

a breather

The smoky haze blanketing my town is finally blowing away. Enough with the sweltering days and muggy nights, please! Everyone has kennel cough and crusty eyes. We need a break.
*
Also, enjoy this semi-natural creation. This is not my usual shtick. Consider it a breather from the overstuffed ottoman and all of the above.

four days, three shows

I went to three shows in the past four days and even for me that's over-achiever status.
Tuesday was Kendrick Lamar at the Tacoma Dome, on his tour for DAMN. He kept it simple and real, on a plain stage with stark lighting and unadorned, yet rich, costumes. So powerful in his confidence.
Wednesday was a quick stop at the vegan-metal bar The Highline to hear Pisswand, a pal's metal band. Loud. Raw. So good.
And yesterday, a brave jaunt into the muggy, smoky, post-workday heat to sweat on a grassy hillside and see Summer Cannibals at Seattle Center. The band has an intriguingly rough sound offset with PNW cool. Despite the armpit-like environs, they shredded and I enjoyed it.
*
C'est tout. My pictures are blurry, and honestly it's a miracle there are any, because I get so caught up in the show I nearly always forget to take out my phone, and they always look pretty much the same, anyway. Thanks to the good friends who made this a delightfully musical few days. I'm taking a breather. Rock on, y'all.

wilting

The heat is getting to people. It's been in the 90's for days, humid, with hazy smoke from British Columbia wildfires settled in over the western part of the state. How else to explain the constant stream of crazy in my neighborhood. On Sunday I stepped out at noon to run errands, and immediately crossed paths with a pantsless gent, casually draping a garbage back over his nether parts. I dodged him, hurried up the hill, only to pass by another guy, wearing shorts and caressing a large boner and staring in my direction. Such a treat.
 Flash forward a few days to another cloudless, hot morning, BSP late for the bus as usual and hurrying towards the stop. First a drunk lady, weaving the sidewalk and half-heartedly sipping from an open wine bottle. Then a guy, talking to himself, who screamed "get the fuck away from me, bitch," as I walked past. Then another guy, coming down the hill, screaming "crap!" and I mean screaming, at each passing car, punctuating the scream with a middle finger. There are a lot of cars on the street even at 7 a.m. The piece de resistance--yes, one more angry gent, also heading uphill, circled the bus stop and walked so close as he passed me that I had to step back so as not to collide. He summoned up his best Steve-Martinish-"well excuuuuse me" and flicked cigarette ash.
Disheartened, I boarded my bus for working. It had already been a trying day and it wasn't even 7.30 a.m.