JPG Magazine: MsB

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

My birthday. For me 58 hasn't been something I really want to celebrate. I think this is the first birthday I have felt truly old. I think I'm missing the magic. So I googled it. Looking for the beauty of getting old. The first page I found have great stuff, a bit cliche, like "even at 80 I got things to do" and "you just have to grow old gracefully, like cheese and wine." but then these women are in their 80's and 90's. So maybe I'm not old.

And I found this lovely little truth, "But society doesn't hand this glory to us when we get older -- we have to give it to ourselves. I'd say in America it's even a bigger problem. Everybody thinks women are so "equal" now, but talk to anyone over age 35 and see if they agree with that." Glory being the ability of feeling special and attractive in spite of wrinkles and jiggles.

...and from Forbes magazine, "We can buy into the promises our culture offers to magically remove the changes we see on our faces and bodies. We can yearn to revive images of old selves and try to slow down the changes we see. Or we can accept reality. Aging does not stop. So, it's time to say good-bye, shed some tears and then optimistically embrace our ever-evolving selves." easy for them to say...hey when did they become experts on ageing.

This was a uplifting article from the daily OM, http://www.dailyom.com/articles/2006/3224.html
And I think I'll leave it at that upbeat link:)

Monday, July 26, 2010

entropy

Friday, April 30, 2010

Friday, January 22, 2010

NYC NYC

Saturday, January 09, 2010

for what its worth

Traveling on Miles of ugly
She wiped away the endless drizzle
Boots of fear kicked at the likelihood
of unexpected disaster.
Her story no more torrid than some
But faithlessness produces little hope.
Dark in belief
Spirited in a godless sort of way
How could one more romance
Quickened from invetro
unhinge her so
the door of unlikelihood
creaks painstaking open
tightly tucked military corners
frame romance
daylight cracks through venetion blinds
slits of soul splatter across undulating flesh
where love is just another bingo number
and luck is just a word
she moans the joy of surrender
to the child of hope

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