Now You See Her, Now You Don’t

 

Last Monday I went into my favorite little coffee shop to pick up my favorites breakfast food: Quiche and Lemon Flavored ( on a good day there’s Mango flavored ) Greek Style Yogurt.

Something pretty interesting was happening.

They were filming a commercial- at least I think it was a commercial.

They had the equipment set up around a table and in the middle of the table was a coffee cup.

The table top had been polished and shined- it was beautiful, like something out of a picture.

I went up to the counter and as I waited my turn in line ( because the normal staff wasn’t there and the people working behind the counter, though competent and pleasant they fumbled around a bit )  I had time to look around the crowded room.

I noticed that not only had the table under the lights been shined and made beautiful ( it wasn’t the regular table ) so had the customers.

Each table had a very earnest looking millennial wearing white or gray with a lap top opened in front of them. Need I mention they were attractive too?

One young woman in a knee length gray dress stood at a table in a classic model’s pose- slightly bent arm, hip out, chin up. She didn’t move a muscle the entire time.

None of the people I would normally see were there that morning, it was like they had all been replaced with perfect versions of what a person on their way to work in the morning looks like.

Gone were the bus drivers, the street cleaners, the office workers, the warehouse workers ( ahem ) the dog walkers- in our places were for the most part the vision what a Seattle resident on their way to work looks like- under 30, white and perfectly groomed.

I get it, this film was telling a story- but I think the real story didn’t need repair. For the most part it’s a nice blue collar place. That’s why I like it so much.

After a minute of looking around I got nervous. I didn’t care when the cashier mangled my quiche a bit because he didn’t seem to be comfortable with handling the tongs when he tried to pick it up from the tray.

I was busy being creeped out because I knew, in that exact moment that imperfect people like me, the ones who participate everyday in life are consider poor ‘representations’ when the story, no matter how small of a story is being told.

I felt like the young woman in the Twilight Zone Episode ” Number  12 Looks Just Like You.” In her world, everyone looks the same and everyone thinks the same and they are all beautiful.

It’s a shame that I didn’t stick around to see how they filmed  their story, because it’s an interesting process.

I just couldn’t shake the feeling that I had been been plucked out of existence,  that the people I know had been erased because in the story being told that morning- a story about energetic people starting their morning with a coffee and their laptops and their beautiful clothes and nicely styled hair- we  did not exist.

Daily Post Prompt: Pluck

Here’s Spit-Er Beauty In Your Eye

We prize beauty.

We have fought wars for it, killed for it, allow doctors to slice and carve our flesh and fill it with silicone, metal, and even magnets to shape it, to bend it and force to make our bodies beautiful.

From The Article: 12 Most Bizarre Body Implants       

Yes his tattoo has breast implants.

 

 

I have seen a lot of death and various stages of decay in my life time and this is what I’ve learned about the life expectancy of beauty.

You can change it, redefine it, shame people for having it or not having it.

But if you look at it, if you really open your eyes to it beauty is there is always there in all things  and it takes many forms.

I try to appreciate it and enjoy  seeing it no matter what shape it takes.

I think it makes me a kinder person- to both myself and others.

Photo A.M. Moscoso
Photo A.M. Moscoso
Photo A.M. Moscoso
Photo A.M. Moscoso
Photo A.M Moscoso

 

Daily Post Prompt: Exposed

I Wrote This. In Ink.

Photo: A.M. Moscoso

 

Anybody with the Facebook account can be a writer or a journalist.

Anybody with an Instagram Account can be a Media Star.

So I’m beginning to wonder,

what’s the point in it all.

Photo A.M. Moscoso

If everyone is talking

is anybody listening

or are we just waiting for

someone, anyone to pause for a breath

so we can jump in and

for a moment shine?

 

I used to think that

writing and painting

drawing and singing, acting and photography

was a craft you worked at

dedicated yourself to

learned about and lived all of the time.

It lived in your soul.

 

Now all you have to do is enter your password

click and flick and there you are

securing your immortality on the internet

among photobombing cats and dogs

clueless  millennials, angry Bernie Bros

superstars all.

 

I think I’d better keep writing and reading

creating and listening

walking the world,

getting lost, being found

with my dog at my side, and not my phone

gloriously

independent

Anita Marie

a renaissance woman

app free

Vilhelm Hammershøi

Daily Post Prompt: Better

Not Alone

Vilhelm_Hammershøi

 

I write because there are rooms in my head with doors shut and locked with do not disturb signs hanging from the doorknobs.

I write because the rooms are dark and I can hear, at least I think I can hear voices that are talking to themselves, singing to themselves, raging at themselves and worst of all- laughing at themselves.

The laughing is the worst sound of all of the sounds making their way out to the hall.

I write because there are galleries in my head- some are filled with paintings, some of the galleries are empty  except for the paint chipping off of the walls and dusty handprints pressed against the windows. I write because the galleries have people lost in the corridors and all of the people I see look like me when I was young and some are me when I am old and some of them glide through the galleries like ghosts.

I write because of the stories in my head and if I don’t let them out to play, I think they will invite me in and I just might never leave.

That is why I write.

 

WordPress Blogging U: Day One: I write Because…

Margaritas and Cupcakes

There are two holidays that I will throw myself into, headfirst with  blind gelato bingeing passion:

Halloween and my dog Hamish’s Birthday.

I missed Hamish’s first birthday because I was in Las Vegas- every time I think about that I feel guilty and buy him some new toys. I buy him toys buy Kong- which means I blow some serious coin on toys that he drops into mud puddles or drowns in his swimming pool ( you read that right, he has a swimming pool) when he gets tired of them.

My guilt knows no budget.

So this is how I feel about Hamish Birthday and Halloween as a rule:

They need to be bankers holidays.

I want businesses  to close, I want stamps and coins minted in their honor and if you even think about making gluten free treats on those days instead of real treats that make your teeth scream in agony before the sugar even crosses your lips I will personally show up at your house and kick you out of the human race.

I do like Holidays for the most part- they’re fun, some involve food and music and if you don’t get the day off,  other people do and your commute to work is a light one.

I just don’t want to take bankers holidays seriously, I don’t want to be forced to reflect on the day if I don’t want to and I don’t want to argue about their significance to the world or the community or the greeting card industry.

Who’s with me on this?

I should mention, cupcakes and margaritas are involved in my vision the new Banker’s Holiday calendar. If they were a staple of all the banker’s holidays I wouldn’t feel the need to cut so many of them loose.

amm

Our Random View Prompt#71

DO YOU LIKE BANK HOLIDAYS?

Drop Dead Death

Photo A.M. Moscoso

 

Alone with the Reaper

hello Mr Death

I thought you’d be around one day

and spend some time with me

You visited my

dog

my cat my cousin my friend

You  passed me by without a glance

like my crush back in the eighth grade

 

Tired of this dance we do,

of the songs we don’t sing, the walks we don’t take

Hello Mr Death

you’re of afraid of me

I think.

 

Bill Traylor

Daily Post Prompt: Knackered

From My Grave

They buried me deep

in an unmarked grave

near a ditch on a road

with no number no name

 

I think they dream of me

and I dream of them

I think they hear me calling

from my grave

near a ditch

on the road with no number no name

 

” She’s nothing but bones,

maybe some hair or a shoe ”

She’s gone forever

they scream in their dreams

swept away like dead leaves

whispering across a road with no number, no name.

 

But I’m wrapped tight,

held down tothe Earth

from the  roots from a tree

and sometimes I feel cold

when there is a cool breeze

 

I think that one day

I may just crawl from my grave

I think I’ll find my way back

from my unmarked grave

near a ditch

on a street with no number and no name

 

Daily Post Prompt: Roots