September 20, 2012

The Horizon

The sun cuts my face in two. Half blinded, I plod ahead at a steady pace. Nylon shorts ride high up my thighs exposing almost all of my legs to the sunlight. A navy blue long sleeve shirt clings to my body and annoyingly rides up my stomach because it naturally wants to settle into the concave crease of my middle rather than stretch out over the convex lower portions. I wear old shoes that still look clean after three years, and which mark my feet with a capital N on either side of each arch.

I breathe a 3-2 rhythm: in-in-in, OUT; in-in-in, OUT. I exist as an entrancing steadiness of repetitive motions. Shoe hits concrete, and thigh quivers in ripples before snapping to a tense stop. I'm all brain and body and while those are two words they are not two separate things, especially not now.

Thinking no longer happens along conventional lines. Instead, brain activity becomes like a hard drive just before it burns out and dies, only able to access the most recent data in fragments. This is the best part. The moments of blankness, when the bright and the dark colliding on my face paint a surface under which nothing at all simmers. The shirt rides up and I tug it down. Wind whips stray hairs into sticky sweat and I wipe them off with the grace of a cow swatting flies with its tail. I ache in ambiguous places, like somewhere in between my liver and hip bone, or the fat around my knee cap. I cramp because the breathing pattern got interrupted. I counteract pain with posture to mixed results. But I do not think, clearly, about anything at all.

Here is a space inside my body free of emotion or nostalgia. Here is a way that I move through the environment, poring out of my skin and absorbing into my senses the little molecular bits of what I think it might be to exist in the world. I take and I give in the smallest, most self-centered of ways. And then I come back to my home, and I wash it all off. The time of timelessness slips away into the hours, and I try to remember to keep my face neither up nor down, but simply toward a horizon.

September 6, 2012

It's Luxury to Me

Oh hi there. I'm just trying out my new Invisible Chair Pose™ and trying to look nonchalant about it.

What I'm also doing here today is sharing what I look like when I'm in head-to-toe designer garments and feeling pretty special about it. Basically, this is what zeroing in on pieces of my own ideal wardrobe looks like.

top: Yohji Yamamoto, 100% cotton, made in Japan
skirt: Sonia Rykiel, 100% wool, made in France
boots: Robert Clergerie, patent leather with stitched lug sole, made in France

All three pieces: bought secondhand for $30-$50 each.

In my last post, I shared my new Y's pant/suspender deal. While those were in transit to me, I stumbled upon this fucking perfect Yohji Yamamoto tee shirt at Wasteland in Haight Ashbury. I was there selling a bundle of clothing and making $$, and also found this amazing Sonia Rykiel skirt the same day. I sold about 30-40 pieces of clothing I no longer wanted to wear, and left with these two new addition, plus a bunch more cash money. It was an immediate upgrade.

I've been wearing this tee shirt almost every day since then. I can not get over how soft it is. And the neck and sleeves are ribbed! And the sleeves are cut at an angle! I'm into ribbing as a thing that exists, but not on my torso. So, perfect use of ribbing. Also, perfect cut/length for wearing with baggy pants and pleated skirts.

And then there is this heavy wool skirt that is ideal in fabric, color, length, comfort, and use of the slit.

Even though I'm always broke, I feel like I live a life of luxurious splendor.

September 3, 2012


My first Yohji Yamamoto piece takes the form of black cotton/linen perfect wide leg pants with pleats plus attached suspenders in elastic, metal, and leather.

From the Y's collection.

Since I was given the book My Dear Bomb as a gift, my undying love for Mr. Yamamoto's work increased tenfold. The entire second half of the book is filled with quotable passages on garments and design. In Yohji's view, women need pockets, always. Clothes need to give your body room to move and breathe, and they should function well in daily life. Having read about his design principles before ever wearing his garments filled me with anticipation as to how I would feel in them.

These arrived last week. And when I wear them, I feel fantastic.

Yamamoto is concerned with cultivating a useful and practical garment, but the magic of his clothes does not come from a strictly utilitarian mentality. When he writes about his own attraction to women, it becomes clear that the special, captivating magic of his clothes also comes from the desire for a particular type of woman:
"For me, a woman who is absorbed in her work, who does not care about gaining one’s favor, strong yet subtle at the same time, is essentially more seductive. The more she hides and abandons her femininity, the more it emerges from the very heart of her existence."
-Yohji Yamamoto