Tag Archives: Black&White

Daily Déjà Vu

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2001

 

 

One day a plane hit a building

then another plane

then another building.

 

My father sent me a newspaper clipping

a full front-page photograph with a caption

and an enormous bold black headline

as angry as a cold black fist in the pit of my stomach.

 

Since that day the grey tones of life have diminished.

 

Black and white is louder now.

 

Two bold choices scare me.

 

I get terrified when the comfort and safety of colors fade

when poetry can’t take me home

when coffee shops are tense with lying laughter

when the vice of black and white squeezes my crystal soul.

 

 

 

Black, White, and Bowie

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Recently I decided to color my hair in black and white stripes.

 

Then David Bowie died.

 

That tall, lithe, ballerina-bodied man full of stardust. Sometimes carrot-haired; sometimes blonde. Always exploring his inner cast of characters. Always the man hiding inside the costumes. The eternal story of a misfit unfolding.

He once said that being human was boring. He wanted to be superhuman.

And normally I might flinch at such a statement. Think it arrogant. Cast off the speaker as megalomaniac.

But Bowie had the redemption of honesty. He went on to say that he found his passion repulsive. That ego-drive repelled him as much as it drove him.

And I loved that.

He had balance. He had the fearlessness to self-probe with a scalpel. He had the generosity of spirit to share his shadows with us all.

The stage was his confessional.

So, when I masquerade in my own wardrobe of lies, I’m comforted by recalling his guts to globally expose quirks, deceits, contradictions .  .  . and transform them into compelling art.

Even his death was a provocative work of art.

He’s left me pondering: Who will face the armoire, open the door on the right, and raise the alabaster-bodied Lazarus from the dead?

For me, though, he didn’t die but in body – wrapped in gauze with buttoned eyeballs. Just his soul-smoke oozed out into orbit.

And I smile at this thought every time I glance in the mirror and see my awning-striped hair. 

 

A beatific grin of joy warms my heart. It’s the perfect way to celebrate my personal, and far more private, life as a misfit.

It consoles. It gives assurance that I’ll always have this one gloriously galactic companion as I gaze into the deep; into my own strange.

 

 

 

 

This fellow soul of the black-sheep flock.

 

Namaste Mr. Bowie.

 

 

 

The Grind

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Mocha Muse has its very own newspaper, The Grind. It may contain a quote, a poem, song lyrics, snippets of overheard conversation or fascinating facts about creativity/life. So, leather sofa in Home Interiorsnuggle into the sofa, unfold the paper and reach for your morning cup of coffee.

Here’s the twelfth issue. . . just click on newspaper to enlarge, then continue to click until text is readable for you!

The Grind - (6-22-2015) Ode to Dad on Father's Day

Many thanks to Ron Sickler for sharing the opening quote in this week’s The Grind. The moment I read his words, I knew that they echoed the ghost of my father.

To read more of Ron’s witty quips and quotes, check out his book, Out of My Mind, From My Heart & Off My Chest!

And in case you’re unfamiliar with Icebox or Zebra Cake, here’s a little sample to tempt your taste buds:  Icebox Cake

It was a staple in my mom’s summer dessert repertoire. Perfect for those hot, humid “dog days” of East Coast summer!

There’s even a Mocha Chocolate version of the original Icebox Cake. It’s far more decadent .  .  . perhaps best served as a winter dessert, accompanied by hot espresso or mulled wine.