There is an image. A cold, sort of aloof girl--or woman, depending on whether her disconnects are part of a childish fear, or post-adolescent understanding of the world--standing on the edge of the world, staring out at something new, something profound and undiscovered. She stands defiantly, perhaps with a little too much pride, perhaps with a certain defiance, a strength that I myself long for. She longs to defy the constructed spaces that bind her, and wade out into the vast ocean of the unknown and create new space, wholly unlike the spaces she has been before. And unlike Orpheus or Antoine Doinel, who looked back, she steps forward off of the known universe and into something completely new and different. And this new space is rushing and cold. It engulfs her. It may destroy her, but that is not the point. Why would it be?
She sheds her signifiers like skin, the carapace disintegrating, falling like cubes and fusing with the sandy bar, sifting smooth over her blue toenails like a sea.
She discarded her manic army boots, her black stiletto heels, her glass sandals, and blood red slippers. She undid the thin silver chain that clung to ankle. The charms cut like a lover’s scorn. They were reminders she no longer wished to remember, and things she no longer wished to remain. Rings littered the path that came to this sandfoam sea. The nailpolish they tore from their bearer’s hands clung to the semi-precious metals in the same way the semi-precious lovers clung to the steel framed lattice of her memory.
They were unimportant, anyway.
Created: Aug 10, 2012soanparlell Document Media