My weird obsession with Neil Gaiman became public knowledge ever since I started this blog in 2016. I’m currently on a major ‘life cleanse’ but had to share this post today. One of my first followers, who would soon become a very special burst of stardust to me, was RHAPSODYBOHÈME . I truly feel that some friendships have been pre-carved somewhere out there in space, waiting for you to find each other. Her blog is truly inspirational and her deep love of nature reminds me that warrior women of the earth still exist. On my worst days, I look at the photographs she shares and it fuels the dreams I’ve set for myself in the past two years. It reminds me that however beautiful my present may be, my future is going to be dazzling with more magic and beauty. She often has to read my posts about Neil Gaiman (NOT Neil Diamond,lol) and so she decided to take a chance with one of my book recommendations, The Graveyard Book. I am honored that she has done so and hope she discovers something of herself in the pages of one of my most cherished book favorites. Reading is bewitching and beguiling. And to share that gift with special people…that is irreplaceable. Please read her blog…follow her, comment…she’s used to people like me being creepy, so she really won’t mind! 🙂
I heard that reading is to the brain what exercise is to the body. Well, if that is truly the case, then I have exercised my brain for a long time indeed. Just in case I haven’t mentioned it already, it’s no secret that I love books and I developed a passion early on for […]
For women to tell their stories, it has often been a hard and critical journey. Whether through poetry, the short story form or screenplays, women have always had to pussyfoot around core issues of hegemony and patriarchal suffocation. I’ve been exploring African female writers recently, and their contribution to empowering women’s voices. Each woman is an ocean of tales. She will let you sit on her island and bring forth the waves with torrential rains or gentle drizzle. Do not attempt to impose your prejudice or your ignorance on her. She will smile sweetly for a while, until she loses her patience with your inability to truly see life or those around you.
When I came across the trailer for The Mummy 2017 – yes I’m one of those weirdos that spends an awful lot of time enjoying movie trailers…
…I was delighted at the portrayal of a strong, unapologetic female antagonist. I’m not a fan of evil in the real world (depending on what time of month you catch me) but I am a big fan of women who look their injustices in the eyes and unleash unimaginable terror when it’s called for. Perhaps I’m just a big fan of Karma. I’m tired of the various forms of masculinity I come across that are incapable of seeing the ways in which they reenact gendered stereotypes. The ones you really have to watch out for are the ones that insist that they love women and that they respect them. Those are the ones that love an idea of a submissive woman, domesticated and sweet that never question their thoughts or actions. They’re the ones that outwardly oppose silly displays of male testosterone but make up for it by mentally playing with females, and ultimately destroying each one that enters their lives. They’re also the ones that have a savior complex and can only feel relevance if they’re ‘saving’ women or ‘mentoring’ them. And the more the merrier. Sad. Often unaware of their treatment of females as mere ‘things’. But true. And ever pervasive. So when I see that a horror movie is allowing an oppressed female the chance to get her revenge on types like these that fill the pockets of society- I’m going to silently chuckle.Or loudly cackle. Karma karma karma. Movie narratives are starting to explore the female psyche in deeply provocative and terrifying ways- and I’m ok with that. Of course these are exaggerated extensions of the darker aspects of most human beings, but sometimes stories need to be told from these places of pain and fright. The Gothic in narratives can be a mobilizing force. It can offer a way for the light to intrude and heal those aspects of oneself or society that can often go unnoticed.
Whilst the movie is only set for release in June (I think) the trailer sparks interesting conversations on female roles, the dangers of ambition and greed… and that topic no one quite likes to go near – revenge.
Revenge is frowned upon. If there are any young readers reading my blog, never turn to the dark side. Unless you like wearing full black and were pushed.
Truth be told, I maaaaaay (that’s a yes) be rooting for the Princess when I finally get to watch the movie. Patriarchy could do with a good dose of the heebie-jeebies sometimes. Enjoy the trailer below! I’m off for the Easter vacation to explore the ocean, exquisite coffee and search for some magic…maybe in a stranger’s eyes (who won’t awaken centuries of suppression). Or maybe I’ll just let the creepy-crawly shadows reveal my inner voice…bump…bump…bump. Your thoughts and comments are as welcome as ever. Conversation and differing opinions are how we learn in life 😉 Ciao ciao!
The Irish poet, William Butler Yeats, is no stranger to flavors of the apocalyptic kind ( see “The Second Coming” ). He seems to have built himself a time machine that persists through the ages…one that certainly pops up at random intervals in my life to remind me of humanity, the void and other persistent existential (and highly important) musings. Today I thought I’d share his short poem “He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven” which features in a rather intense scene in one of my favorite Christian Bale movies. Yes, I’m talking about Equilibrium (because despite what people have to say about it, it really is BADASS!). Martial arts, long dark coats and rebellion…do I even need to justify myself?
Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
Art is truly a thing of beauty. It comes in colors, it comes in words. It comes in forms, sounds and feelings. And Yeats’s poem is a gentle wash of a watercolor brush against fine paper. I can fall into the thoughts. It moves me. It reminds me. It changes me. That is what art can do to me. It’s not something that exists in a vacuum, with its ideas and emotions looking at me from the other side of the looking glass: it extends its hand and grabs me. And does not leave me unaltered.
Every ‘creative’ has the potential to feel dystopia like a vast wasteland within themselves, when inspiration is scarce or the well of passion has been allowed to run dry. I can’t say I suffer from these moments in my own personal ‘wasteland’ because I tend to feel inspiration on both sides of the border. I am however, constantly feeling the barren abyss when it comes to questions of humanity. I live in a country that doesn’t make any sense to me right now. I used to (although not in agreement with either) be able to understand crime and murder based on social inequality. I could hypothetically reason that people were forced by the deep ruptures in our system to commit atrocities out of desperation or greed. But what I can’t intellectually reason- and what I never will- is pleasure in causing trauma to others. To breaking their souls. To sucking it out and leaving a gaping hole where a person used to be. WARNING: sensitive/uncomfortable content to be discussed. Yesterday, two stories out of thousands that occur in my city, scarred that area of my being that I like to refer to as my soul. The first was about a girl and her father out for a run and walking their dog. A group of males held them at gunpoint and gang raped the daughter whilst forcing the father to watch. After they were sure sufficient psychological and physical damage had been done, they let them go. They let their bodies go…but what happened to those people’s minds, hearts and souls? We’ll never be able to comprehend. The next was an elderly woman, driving her car innocently out her driveway and the same thing. Only there wasn’t anyone she loved with her. Only guns. Only fear. Only light taken away… “only”.
Every single day when I return home, I take a minute to understand that I made it through the day, without someone holding a gun to my head and taking away what makes me love, dream and hope. I say thank you- to whatever unseen forces may exist out there- that my humanity is still intact. But I wonder…about the things that make people emotionless. That make them want to harm others. Is it an inherent cruelty? Or is society creating these heartless mobs? Shaping and duplicating…in preparation for the apocalypse to come. How can intellectuals and creatives impact on these hardened monsters that are multiplying exponentially? How do we fuse ideas, words and art into a special inoculation that can remind people…yes, you do have a heart somewhere deep inside the mess.
Maybe it comes down to holding on tightly to those things that keep you feeling something. Maybe I’m asking futile questions. But maybe there is hope amidst the dystopia…if we can just ‘touch’ that point within other humans that ripples our benevolence
The theme for today is ‘sight’. What does it mean to ‘see’? Is it to look? To observe? To notice? To understand?
What do you see when you look around you? The glimmer of a twist of fate? The emptiness of existence? The choice of perception is in your eyes. But there are eyes deep within yourself that need to be opened. So…open them.
“My arm was around her and she was leaning back against me, and we were quite calm. She was looking into my eyes with that way she had of looking that made you wonder whether she really saw out of her own eyes. They would look on and on after every one else’s eyes in the world would have stopped looking. She looked as though there were nothing on earth she would not look at like that, and really she was afraid of so many things…” Ernest Hemingway, The Sun Also Rises
“Good morning, it’s time for you to wake up.” Sofia, Vanilla Sky (alternate ending)