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I'm a chick. I have a modicum of beauty.
If I have mistakenly relied upon it, egads for me.
If I have integrated it, then I am OK.
The ageing part will test it.
At the coffee shop, there was a youthful hippie-ish girl from TN. I bonded by saying I was from georgia. It wasn't really remarked upon as she is the age I was 13 years ago and was flirting with the baristas while I was in my all black and looked rather sophisticated in comparison. Am I using style now?
No, I've always been stylish (when at all confident and happy). Verena and I once walked amoung the streets of wilmington after getting stoned and dressing in her deliriously english-cottage style apartment with a dog a cat and a bong. We were going to some event and laughed at what birds of paradise we look amidst these casual dressers. We didn't care. We loved style and it enhanced our allure... even if only to ourselves (which is really the most powerful allure ironically enough).
These silly days before the fall... when I should be in mumbai picking up trash and crying and listening to horror (or really seeing it as I doubt I could pick up the language in a fast way). What shall I do? send blankets to homeless? Kill myself on a tree for a war that kills people for a reason we've forgotton. Nietzche calls that stupidity.
Let's have fun.
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