...a way of seeing beyond inner and outer.

Friday, December 31, 2010


..are most often two dimensional treasure chests of eye glazing beauty no one I know can afford, rooms shined up in ways no real human being can maintain, craft projects that require staff and photos of women too thin to be women dressed in clothes designed to flatter the shapes of adolescent boys or genetically unusual girls who are too young to have the money to buy things like Gucci Techno Horsebit Flat Boots, the sort of footwear offered to us by the lovelies at Vogue ( greedy voice: yes, but they're black and black goes with eeeeeverything.  sane lucid voice: *cricket sounds *maternal "hell no" stink eye)
I believe a steady consideration of these magazines is psychological Russian roulette.  They can blow huge holes in your self-esteem if you let them.
I believe this. Wholly.  
Yet, this is my dining room table underneath a small gathering of what's on my bookshelf.

Knowing what I know, believing what I believe, why do I have so many of them? 
I have magazines because they are beautiful.  Period. They don't have to do anything else, but they do, at least for me they do.  They inspire.  
Even so, "no object is so beautiful that, under certain conditions, it will not look ugly." 
Thank you Oscar Wilde.

     In the case of my home, the ugly is found in the growing pile up reaching a near reality tv hoarding manifestation. Good for me" or "bad for me" has clarified into, "get rid of them". I've started culling them one page at a time. It's an exercise in self-discipline.  I will never use the recipe for honey comb that I started to tear out of an Oprah magazine.  I have people for that, the candy, not the tearing.  
    Everything I need is here. 

No comments:

Post a Comment

I love to know what you think, "for the Sake of Blessed Connection and Exquisite Controversy"