Smoothbeautifully Folded

I still can't write. My mind is muddled mixing, mashed mirth and mourning, a mire of muffled musings.

I feel dried up. But I'd like to believe there is still beauty in this world. In honor of beauty, I give you this.

Pied Beauty

GLORY be to God for dappled things—
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough;
And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.
All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
Praise him.

-Gerard Manley Hopkins

Eye See

Punny, isn't it? No, seriously, I could go off on a small apologetic rant about how I've been unable to write anything lately (why my grades are probably suffering) to try and make up for that title. But instead I will try to conquer my mental block by forcing myself to write, and focus on the story at hand.

Last Saturday I helped out my friend Andrea with a photo shoot. It was my first time officially being shot, and it's a little bit intimidating. You'd think someone as vain as I am would enjoy flaunting my stuff for the camera, but instead of improving my vanity it made me feel very self-conscious. Mostly because she decided to shoot me from the nose down. It had something to do with conveying a sense of anonymity or something really cool and artistic. But for me, something felt a little strange in how I was being portrayed.

I didn't realize until that exact moment how much I rely on my eyes.


It's no secret that I consider them my best feature (a belief built up over the years by multiple compliments).

Here's just a few of my favorite descriptions:
"She had the eyes of a Thundercats character."
"You have Gooch eyes, but not crazy."
"You're eyes are like Milky Ways."

Yeah. I'm kind of a fan. Needless to say.

So during the photo shoot, as I stood there trying to manipulate my mouth into interesting poses, it hit me how much I missed using my eyes. They're how I communicate, how I share emotions. And without them I feel useless, a dumb creature unable to get my point across. And it's infinitely frustrating. It bothers me when I can't get my point across, or when people refuse to understand what I'm saying. Being stripped of my expressions completely robbed me of the ability to connect, left me alone in the universe.

That's a little dramatic. I apologize.

I think the photos turned out pretty sweet though.

"I couldn't even begin to think about knowing how to answer that question"

Why do I like Wes Anderson?

Is it because he uses Bill Murray, Jason Schwartzman and the Wilson brothers as regulars? And they are all favorites, especially Murray? Is it because I secretly love the uber-hip playlists that expose a new generation to John Lennon and the Velvet Underground? Or is it the enduring color scheme of yellows, oranges and green that permeate his films? And that all of these elements give his movies a distinct style that is simultaneously comforting AND oh-so-easy to mockingly imitate (a respectful homage, of course)?



I guess it's a mystery.