Daemon of The Past

Photo by CodingNinja

Photo by CodingNinja

Movies portray daemons in so many ways - some crawl, some swoop like ghosts, and some lurk faceless in the shadows. But the worst daemon of them all is The Past - unseen and non palpable.

The Past terrorizes the mind like the ghosts of asylum patients haunt the halls of their former home.

The Past is a liar. It fools you into believing a hologram. It's fake. It's a façade hiding your mind's eye from reality and The Truth.

The Past makes you angry and bitter. It makes you blame everyone...everything...except yourself.

The Past asserts you had no control. It was his fault. It was her fault. If only he didn't do that...if only she didn't say that...then things would be better for ME.

The Past is denial.

But at the same time, The Past is guilt and self-loathing. The Past is worthlessness and hopelessness. The Past digs a pit of shame and throws you in, spiraling toward the invisible bottom.

Photo by brownspoo

Photo by brownspoo

The Past enjoys being construed, twisted, and morphed into whatever causes you the most possible pain.

The Past then wants you to awaken its brother daemons in the people around you. Spread the pain and suffering!

The Past is a kidney stone of the mind. The pain is excruciating. It can even feel like you may die.

The Past makes you sadder than you ever thought possible. It makes your tear ducts shrivel. It makes your sleep scarce and strenuous.

The Past wants to break free and become reality. It will convince you its freedom will be your solace, when in fact, it is your demise.

The Past breaks free with death - your death. The escape from its torture lies in your own hands. You must die to alleviate the depression, pain, and tormenting anxiety The Past inflicts.

Of course this isn't The Truth. The Past destroys hope, butchers faith, and mocks The Truth.

But The Truth knows self eradication will only cause more pain - for your soul and those you leave behind.

Photo by lorrainemd

Photo by lorrainemd

The Truth may not be pretty, but it's not a big phony like The Past.

The Truth is now.
The Truth is here.

The Truth doesn't dabble with The Past.
The Truth doesn't fiddle with The Future.

The Truth is grace.
The Truth is the escape.

The Truth is happiness.
The Truth is Love.

The Truth is health and healing.

Sweet Dreams

Warm and comfortable here in my bed, the door opens with a chilling breeze flooding every inch of me and my room.

*sigh*

The Best Time To Flyby Muffin-and-LemonadedeviantART

The Best Time To Fly
by Muffin-and-Lemonade
deviantART

I close my eyes and prepare again for this ritual.
Sweet dreams are made of this, right?
This time, the beach.  The warm, soothing beach.
Right.
Here we go...

I feel the wet, soft sand breaking underneath my feet and squishing between my toes.  I look over the ocean's surface through my sunglasses from under my flamboyantly large sun-shading hat.  It's so calm and relaxing.  A wave rolls up the beach and wraps its fingers around my ankles.  I sink into the sand as the wave pulls away.  I stay put.  Can waves alone bury me in sand?  Another smooth wave deposits more sand over my feet.  This feels so weird!  My ankles are sensually bound by the sweat-soaked sand...

Wait!  Ouch!  I'm stuck!  This hurts!

"Shhhh!"

I gently lift my feet out of the sand and see my reflection in the water as the wave spills back into the ocean.  I love my red summer dress.  So retro chic with the red lace.
I look to the horizon again.
What's that?  Can't be a wave...that's far too big.  The surface has been so calm.  Oh no...  It is a wave...and it's coming my way.
Run run run!  I hear it fold over itself as it moans and groans toward me.  It's close, it's close!  Run faster, run faster!
I knew I couldn't run fast enough.  It caught me - battered me down into the bed of sand, wind knocked out of me.  I'm drenched; soaked in sticky, slimy, stinky sea scum.  There's scum in my hair, scum on my face, scum in my mouth, scum in my...

*whop*

The towel hits my back.
"Clean yourself up.  You can shower in the morning.  'night."
"FUUUUCK YOU!"  I scream in my head and shriek with my eyes.
"Oh, and remember our deal."
"Goodnight," I grunt.

I'm still not very good at this.  I want to escape, travel the world, but then my escape even takes me.
Sweet dreams.  Ha.  What are they made of?
I don't even know any more.

It's impossible to transpose...
                                      ...Anger, Rage, Titillation, Penetration, Screams, Pain, Blood...
                                                                                                                                  ...into serenity. 

I didn't sleep.  Time for a calculated nap.
Ahhh...  This beach is simply beautiful.  I wish I could live here.  I wish I could leave home and stay in this place forever.  It's so warm...so safe...so calm...

Red Coat Reverie Iby shamoney shamblesFlickr

Red Coat Reverie I
by shamoney shambles
Flickr

A familiar chill runs up my spine, engulfing my body.  I whip my head around to find myself surrounded by snow-covered peaks.  As I shiver in my bathing suit, I assure myself, "It's okay...it's okay.  I'll be fine.  This will work just fine.  Just stay here and I'll be fine."  I walk into the lodge followed by many stares and double-takes.  Luckily they have plenty of snow gear for sell.  I pull out my bottomless wallet and purchase a beautiful winter coat.  It's red with hint of lace.  Since I'm here, I guess I should at least rent some skis and try it out.

The ski lift ride is jostling, blustery, and white-knuckled.  At least I'm warmer here under the covers...in my coat.  I get off the lift and slip over to my first run:  Sucker Punch.  They say it's an easy run if you don't think too hard about it - just use your split-second instincts.  Right, don't think.  Here we go.

I push off feeling the cold breeze on my rosy red cheeks.  The rush of weaving in and out of trees, people, and more trees is exhilarating.  I really start to pick up speed.  I see a jump up ahead...  Hmmm...I don't think....  Wait, exactly, don't think.  Just go!  I reach the bottom of the jump, swoop upward, and lift off!  Flying high into the air in slow motion.  I feel snow flakes tap my face.  

*smack*

Ughhh, my face.  Ahh...Sucker Punch...I get it now...  I flip myself over, onto my back.  I have sopping wet white snow all over my hair and my face, in my mouth, and in my...

*whop*

Towel again tossed at my cocooned body.  All I can do is shiver and breathe and cry wrapped up in my red, lace-trimmed comforter.
"Clean yourself up.  Your mother is home.
...Remember our deal.  See you again tonight." 

Right, our deal.  I'll never forget our deal.  And what a deal it is:
I lie here, breathe, and he doesn't kill me.
I clean up, breathe, and he doesn't kill me.
I keep quiet, breathe, and he doesn't kill me.
I feign innocence, breathe, and he doesn't kill me.
I lie here, breathe, and he doesn't kill me.
Sweet dreams are made of...me.

168.365 all the words in my mouth, #474 in explore !by ashley roseFlickr

168.365 all the words in my mouth, #474 in explore !
by ashley rose
Flickr

Dinner.  Steak.

This is hell.

This is insane.

I'm bound, gagged, and in shackles...

How can mom not see this?

This agony has got to stop.

This nightmare ends here.

This time is the last time.

Hell is for sleazy scum like him; not for children.

If mom won't help me, I'll help myself.
I slip one of her precious steak knives into my pocket as I finish cleaning the dishes and prepare to return to my tainted bed.

I immediately tuck the knife under my pillow, inside the pillow case.

*knock*knock*

Opening the Doorby twenty_questionsFlickr

Opening the Door
by twenty_questions
Flickr

My door creaks open.
"Go away," I say, face in pillow, knife handle clenched.
"Just a kiss goodnight."
"Go away."
"Just a kiss goodnight, I said."
"Fine."

These goodnight kisses take longer and longer each night.

*click*

Darkness.  I know it too well.  Time for that kiss.

Tikka Powderby Amit Rosnercplaces.wordpress.com

Tikka Powder
by Amit Rosner
cplaces.wordpress.com

I walk down the alleys of the cramped market standing out like a rose in full bloom wearing my brilliantly red saree.  There is excitement buzzing through the crowd.  "Color, color, color, color" is all I hear.  Is it Holi?  Oh how I would love to celebrate the Festival of Colors with the Indians!  People are buying handfuls of pigments from giant anthills of color!  I want some red.  "Who has red?  Who has red?!"  A woman tugs on my saree and pulls me to a shop.  I look at a mound of red in front of me.  I look at the woman and say, "Now that's what I call red!  Thank you!"  She gives a laugh and moves on.  "Four handfuls, please."

I walk out of the crowded market with my bags of red to a more open area.  Awww, it's so cloudy for such a happy day!  Our colors will brighten it up.  All this color will make the sun want to poke his way through those clouds and see what we're doing down here.  More and more locals begin to fill the area around me, each one of them holding some color.  I holler to the man next to me, "When should I do it?"  He looks back at me with a serene look on his face saying, "Now, my dear!"  He clenches his eyes closed and releases his dust in ecstasy.  Color color everywhere!
Color...
Color...
Red
Red...
Red......
It's all red...?
Oh how I love red!

I'm covered!  Covered in red red red!  It's in my hair, on my face, in my mouth, and in my...

*boom*crash*bang*

The downpour begins.  I knew the sun would want to see, but what a messy way to clear the clouds!  Instantly, our pigment drenched faces turn deep, rich shades, staining each fibre it touches.  The red drips from my body.  It drips through my hair, down my neck and face, into my mouth, along my back, and into my...

*drip*drip*drip*

Dripping Wetby mlibrarianusFlickr

Dripping Wet
by mlibrarianus
Flickr

"The deal's off," I choke out.  "I'm not going to breathe for you any more."
He howls and frantically pulls out the knife I, only moments ago, gently placed in my neck during his blind euphoria.
Only a few more

*drip*drip*drip*'s

and sweet dreams are here to stay.

 

Music to my ears.

*drip*drip*drip*

Sing me to sleep...
Sing me to sleep...
I don't want to wake up...
Sweet dreams.

Inspired by:

Sucker Punch
"Asleep" by Emily Browning from Sucker Punch
"Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This)" by Emily Browning from Sucker Punch (originally by Eurythmics)
"Hell is for Children" and "Suffer The Little Children" by Pat Benatar
"This Time" by Céline Dion
"The Dark I Know Well" from Spring Awakening
Life
Others' Lives

"Steer" by Missy Higgins

On my list of favorite songs, this is number two: "Steer". Here, Missy Higgins recalls the moment she was inspired to create this remarkable and inspirational song. Lyrics are provided below.

"Steer" - Missy Higgins

Feel it falling off like clothing
Taste it rolling on your tongue
See the lights above you glowing
Oh and breathe them deep into your lungs

It was always simple, not hidden hard
You've been pulling at the strings playing puppeteer for kings
And you've had enough

But the search ends here
Where the night is totally clear
And your heart is fierce
So now you finally know that you control where you go
You can steer

So hold this feeling like a newborn
Of freedom surging through your veins
You have opened up a new door
So bring on the wind, fire, and rain

It was always simple, not hidden hard
You've been played at a game called remembering your name
And you stuffed it up

But the search ends here
Where the night is totally clear
And your heart is fierce
So now you finally know that you control where you go
You can steer
Ohh, yeah now you finally know that you control where you go
You can steer

'Cos you've been listening for answers
Oh, but the city screams and all your dreams go unheard

But the search ends here
Where the night is totally clear
And your heart is fierce
So now you finally know that you control where you go
You can steer
Ohh, yeah, get out of the box and step into the clear
Ohh, 'cos now you finally know you can steer

How intimidating and liberating it is to come to this realization. To understand that you have the steering wheel for your life in your own hands is a remarkable moment. You should see her perform this LIVE! Ah! I highly recommend her album On a Clear Night.

May 24, 2008 @ 00:11, Aspen, CO, USA

May 24, 2008 @ 00:11, Aspen, CO, USA

Richard Avedon's Marilyn Monroe

This posting is a bit different for me. I would like to take a blog moment to pay tribute to my favorite portrait photograph. I was first introduced to this portrait of Marilyn Monroe by Richard Avedon in my Digital Photography class Spring semester of 2008. I fell in love the moment I saw it. So in love, in fact, that I now have an almost-life-sized print of this photo beautifully framed and hanging in my house. If that doesn't emphasize my passion about this portrait, I don't know how else to convince you. ;-)

Below you will find the following: said portrait, a video clip from American Masters - Richard Avedon: Darkness and Light (1996) where Avedon recounts the moment this portrait of Marilyn was captured, a critique on the photograph by Maria Morris Hambourg and Mia Fineman from their elegant book Avedon's Endgame, and my own closing critique and remarks. Enjoy!

Marilyn Monroe, Actress, New York City, May 6, 1957 Richard Avedon (American, 1923-2004) Gelatin silver print

Marilyn Monroe, Actress, New York City, May 6, 1957 Richard Avedon (American, 1923-2004) Gelatin silver print

This is a clip from PBS American Masters, Richard Avedon: Darkness and Light, Directed by Helen Whitney, 1996. Here, Avedon himself reflects on the exact moment this glorious portrait was taken.


I really enjoyed the following critique on this portrait. Please note, these are not my comments, but those of Maria Morris Hambourg and Mia Fineman from Avedon's Endgame; I want to make sure they receive the credit for their insightful remarks:

"In Marilyn Monroe, Avedon found a virtuoso of theatrical self-impersonation and with her pursued the mysterious point of convergence between actor and character, between the private self and the public role. 'There was no such person as Marilyn Monroe,' he explained in an interview with the filmmaker Helen Whitney [clip above]. 'Marilyn Monroe was someone Marilyn Monroe invented, line an author creates a character.' Recalling a session that took place at his studio on a May evening in 1957, he continued: 'For hours she danced and sang and flirted and did this thing that's -- she did Marilyn Monroe. And then there was the inevitable drop. And when the night was over and the white wine was over and the dancing was over, she sat in the corner like a child, with everything gone. I saw her sitting quietly without expression on her face, and I walked towards her but I wouldn't photograph her without her knowledge of it. And as I came with the camera, I saw that she was not saying no.'

"The famous portrait that resulted from this session is a study of the complex nature of celebrity. Entombed in her body, Avedon's Marilyn is a secular madonna mourning some indefinable loss. The picture is imbued with a sense of inferiority that seems worlds away from the rigid mask in Andy Warhol's posthumous silk screens of Marilyn as a gaudily glamorous pop icon. While Avedon's portrait foreshadowed the tragic figure Marilyn would soon become in the popular imagination, Warhol's silk screens, made shortly after her death from a drug overdose in 1962, have the still and distant quality of memorials. Yet neither Avedon's humanist portrayal of a sad seductress nor Warhol's luric canonization of her vivacious, wet-lipped counterpart reveals the real Marily Monroe. The truth of Avedon's portrait lies in a new character, a melancholy heroine collaboratively created by the photographer and his subject."

Hambourg, Maria Morris, and Mia Fineman. Avedon's Endgame. New York City: Harry N. Abrams, Incorporated, New York, and The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2002.

This is a picture of my framed print of this portrait. This print was originally made for sale during a special exhibition of Richard Avedon's work at The Metropolitan Museum of Art September 26, 2002 - Jan 5, 2003. After a year of searching, I finally got my hands on it!

I am still at a loss to fully explain why I am so moved by this picture. I didn't (and still don't) know a lot about Marilyn Monroe and her life, but when I was first struck by this portrait, I knew enough to let it take me away. Her facial expression and bodily posture say, "What have I been doing? What have I done? Why am I doing this? And when will it end?" We all do things we're not proud of, get lost in the moment, and have these same striking realizations where we ask ourselves those same questions.

I guess, for me, I found solace in this portrait through empathy. Marilyn Monroe, oddly enough, became someone for me to relate to. Would I have felt the same had I not known anything about the personal life of the woman in the picture? I'm not sure. But either way, her facial expression and posture would ask the same questions. I believe the same message would be conveyed, but it is even more powerful with it being conveyed through this seemingly uncharacteristic, yet stunningly beautiful portrait of Marilyn Monroe.