may all these weeds be wildflowers.

The world is turning, and I'm wearing pants. In general, I find pants boring, unflattering, and they don't sing to the tune of my hips, quite like skirts do. But I believe in experimentation, and I've recently discovered an appreciation for pants. More than anything, I have a desire to wear all of the garments in my closet. I have so many blouses, shawls, jackets, skirts, pants, accessories, so many outfits that have been dormant like the apple tree in winter.  Are you like this? You buy a shining blouse, bring it into your wardrobe, and 3 months later, you finally wear it because you forgot it existed? This is my fashion-life story. I'm working on changing this. The pattern of buying, forgetting, wearing, forgetting, it has to stop. it has to stop.

I began writing for this post in a Cafe on 17th avenue.  Elton was rockin' tiny dancer, and the streets were a library. You learn so much about the way of people, just by watching them.  All of the hours spent in malls, day-gazing at park benches, eyes open at airport arrivals, all of these hours have helped me to understand the beauty. Too many declare people-watching as vile, rude, ignorant.. 

But to me, people watching is a fuzzy peach, a can of corn. It's not tasteless.

People watching is an act that causes us to think.    Have you ever met someone who spoke of museums, libraries, books, and poems to be bad/tasteless/awful things? Neither have I.

without me watching, without you being watched. with no people-looking. There would be no museums, no books, no libraries.   If we never knew to watch an old man in a tuxedo parade through the streets, a young woman on her bike, a mother and her crying baby. If we didn't see these things, we'd be blind. We'd only feel the tones, variations and rhythms of our own lives. We wouldn't be so vast. We wouldn't be so curious. And the books that we read would be missing their pages. 

when I spend time people watching. I feel like I see through my own eyes into someone else's life. I begin to feel what it might be like to live through someone elses body.  

and then I can write a poem, or a story about it.

The sad poetry I write isn't always a creation of my own blues,

just as my happy poetry isn't limited to my own smile,

I think I'm a writer because I'm a watcher. 

But hey, I'm just rambling around.

 

Now, I'm gazing through magazine scans of Korean fashion. The styles are full of camel, and pastel colors. Flowing lacy tops are adorned with bows, and chunky knits drape over flowered-covered dresses. Everything is  intricate, but more importantly, everything is cute.   There's a china town where I live, and it's full of Japanese and Korean fashion outlets..  I've dreamed of purchasing a dress, or pants, or top, so far I've only gotten butterfly boots from my boyfriend.  (I need to quit spending.. but..) My birthdays in a month, and I'm thinking, a day exploring in China town, shopping in cutesy stores, and finishing it all with a platter of sushi, sounds like a happy birthday.  

^_^

MUCH LOVVVVVVVVVVVVE TO YOU ALL! happy weekend....xoxo

blouse; thrifted/japanese
necklace; aldo accesories $15
trousers; thrifted $7
booties; the bay $80