Fairy tales are a corner stone of children’s literature but I don’t know if it enriched my life or made me delusional, but whatever the case may be my life is none the less more beautiful because of them.
Photos: Joshua Castaño
my boyfriend is the only one who can capture me like this. I adore him.
I know your face, I have seen it before.
Simone de Beauvoir,
I have seen your name appear in books, in endless halls of records; decaying under the glorious weight; history suffocating you.
I know you now, I see you on the corner, I get my coffee from you, you pick up my trash, your soliloquies fall to the ground hard and fast. No one shall ever listen. Your hands will never create, only to idle, your voice shall not soar like a bird’s, only to faintly whisper like a dying Gaul’s last words. Your mind is now the property of someone else. Your heart is invalidated, your soul a mere abstraction ran through the gauntlet of rational, and analyzing it’s market value. Bohemia you do not traverse for it has been gentrified, the Bauhaus you will never get to; it’s no longer accredited, the Romantic West you will never find; it is now a theme park, you will never create beauty because beauty is passé, you will never emote on the silver screen; the screen is now cheap tin, minds you will not open through your fervor and joy; unless you are viral, revolutions you shall not lead; you don’t have one million followers.
You lay wasted like a masterpiece under cheap linens.
This is not the Rape of Europa this is the rape of my generation. We have been lead to a room of promises and then assaulted; violated and sent back into the light bewildered and told we deserved it.
Kyle Chvasta 7/11/13
Ronald Colman and May McAvoy in Ernst Lubitsch’s Lady Windermere’s Fan (1925)