Monthly Archives: September 2013

My wardrobe has been in desperate need of an overhaul for quite some time. I realize that I haven’t quite treated it with the respect it certanly deserves given it’s a rather fond friend of mine. It was pretty crammed to the point the doors wouldn’t close, not to mention the dust that had settled as a thin film over shoes and dresses alike. So being semi ill and not feeling like going out, I set my mind on an overhaul. Two hours later and close to 40 items removed my armoire feels infinitely more happy and not quite so stuffed. In fact I think it can breath again.

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looking pretty drab…

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…and miserable

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…to a breath of fresh air

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et voila!

You know when autumn has truly hit when you wake up feeling like a train has just run over you. It’s not quite a flu but blocked sinuses ensures for a for a feeling that you’ve drowning in cotton woll, not to mention a sinister headache. You wish you could go back to sleep but a dry throat and a blocked nose renders the very idea impossible. Better prepare yourself for a weekend in bed. A stack of weekly gossip mags freshly brought in from London makes for excellent reading literature luckily 🙂

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Chill has descended over us.

Like a cloth that means no warm

Yet neither does it harm

Then why do I fear You?

I believe You call it Change

More eloquently put: Transition

It’s a necessity, a must, as life dwindles or seeks new routes

These arbages are vehemently objected to

My objection is overruled

Yet I cling to the life I knew

To the light and the comfort of Your warmth

Your Love

But it is there no more

As You are gone

You have decided to seek a different path

The primrose path I hope….For You

Or perhaps you will become a Being I am vaguely familiar with

I beg You, force You, resist ever molecule that spells out CHANGE

Or Goodbye

With tears of longing and mourning I say my farewells to You

My Friend, My Lover

Goodbye Summer

Welcome Autumn

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Goodbye Summer

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Welcome Autumn

The_Women_Fighting_for_the_Breeches_by_John_Smith-300x238Recently I came across an incident where the man wanted his wife to fight other women. It was a comment on an article delving into female wresting. As novel as the concept may sound, I couldn’t help but wonder how may women were prepared to fight these outright amazons in staged cage fights (I do get a very twisted gladiator image in front of me….or on second thoughts Caligula hosted gladiator spectacles). And who are the the clientele one might wonder? Surprise, surprise….men! If they can’t have several women fighting for them to validate their fractious egos, perhaps this is far more satisfying.

To offer one notable example on this topic, Pablo Picasso unabashedly confessed to his partner, Françoise Gilot (whilst he was married to Olga Khokhlova), his delight in having women assaulting each other over him. He recounted how Marie-Thérèse and Dora Maar had an altercation over  who was his real girlfriend. Instead of diffusing the tension, he encouraged them to escalate from verbal to that of the physical. Picasso told Gilot, “’I told them they’d have to fight it out themselves. So they began to wrestle. It’s one of my choicest memories.” (Life with Picasso, 211)

Who won, the story doesn’t tell alas, but I place my bets on Gilot who went on to have two children with Picasso, although he refused to see them after Gilot spilled the beans in a book after the relationship had ended.