Brinksmanship

it's always been a dilemma each birthday-- i wonder if i should have a big shindig, or if i should just lay low and keep my expectations non-existent for fear of disappointment. this year, however, i decided to throw a nice dinner party! given the dearth of posts recently, i figured maybe something more personal might fill that void. 

for some reason the dress was really popular with people, and it was actually highstreet and not even designer! i was desperate and only found this the day before the party because i swamped with this intensive law module. more on that another time. 

dress: warehouse, shoes: louboutin (the camel pumps!), bag: fendi, friends: priceless.

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i've also been feeling quite... out of sorts to say the least. which, i suppose, is why i havent much to say. interestingly my parents are in SF right now, and ihope theyre having a great holiday! especialyl since they footed the bill for aforementioned party... HAHA.

the whole bunch of people studying in teh states have flown off too, and we've having a bunch of sendoffs for the people going to the UK. in teh spirit of new beginnings for everyone, i guess i'm just going to post this poem. i wish it applied to me as wholly as it does to some others, but either way i wont let anything get me down. 

peace and love. xx

Brinkmanship (or ‘On Beginnings’)

 

A wind-up monkey clashes its cymbals

(sounds like symbols—for what, repetition?

Anthropomorphism?) in anticipation.

Keys jangling in a pocket, silk-lined and

Shallow, waiting to escape their cloth lockup.

 

Hands held close, waiting for the millisecond of

Silence—

A pregnant

Pause—after which rapturous applause can emanate freely, endlessly.

 

I take your photo like there’s no tomorrow, because

(excuse the cliché…)

There really might not be. Inbetween the clicks and snaps

I realize you are Most Beautiful when you almost-laugh;

 

When your lips lift themselves, cloud-like,

Into slight crescents, upon which

Celestial chimeras can prance

And never tumble off their soft pink confines.

 

I await, along with the primate-toy, the metal

Keys, the impatient hands, your Cupid’s bow—I

Await, along with them,

The next new thing that comes.