I originally wanted to debut this look on a Friday since it's obvi Shabbat appropriate, but it was just too hard to keep my little pun hidden from the public like an esoteric Kabbalah prophecy. I'm proud. Of my Judaism and wordplay and chiffon harem pants. And tragically impractical skill at nailing the punk-rock-Rebbetzin hybrid aesthetic with a wide-brim hat, plaid checks, and Hebrew letter sweater clip. By the way -- those little shiny symbols that look like Pi followed by a curvy apostrophe? They spell the word "Chai" (nope, not a tea latte) which means life. Now ya know why we say "L'Chaim," to life, after clinking glasses of spiked grape juice (otherwise known as Manischewitz).
Not sure that I do or don't have a cause, although I am almost positive the green contacts I'm wearing in these photos afford me the semblance of a shiksa in costume. Or maybe my dysphoria is triggered by the fact that I actually look more Ashkenazi than ever... it's been a long month, bear with me people.
I've been sick on and off since the beginning of this year and it's taken a pretty major toll on my 'chai' outlook. You'd think I'd feel more grateful for those peaceful days in between agony and weakness, but strangely they leave me wondering what's the point of even waiting for them at all. The truth about these green contacts is that the last time I visited LA (nearly two months ago) they shriveled up in their travel case and were thrown away. Kinda like me. Exposed to air, immediately sucked dry of life and purpose, disposed by my own volition. Even more interesting and metaphorical is the nature of sickness -- sometimes it appears in foreign bodies that can be charged from the battlefield with artillery like antibiotics, antivirals. Other times, and more often than not at simultaneous times, that sickness appears in nebulous auras of chiaroscuro morbidity. An uncanniness in silhouette, safeguarded from any biologic weaponry through its infinitesimal form. No dimension, no parameters, just existence. Presence. Thereness. I'm resigned from waiting for days in between compromised states... I seek routines that feel like ripe momentums. Anybody can experience the weightless thrill between jumping and landing. I've already had my turn with that fleeting moment - it's called "falling." When will it be my turn to experience that fleeting moment everyone else endearingly calls life? I can hear them already, reminding me that this actually is life, chai. A series of merciless thuds.
Not that there's anything worth toasting to, but maybe today I'll order a tea latte.
Romwe leatherette jacket, Romwe checkered sweater, Romwe harem pants, Yes Style wedges, Spooky Eyes contacts, PinkBrix rings and chain necklace
Everything is infinite,