When last we met, Jemmy was giving me the Dickens — in a joshing sort of way — over not properly introducing Morgan to the readers … in a Technicolor photoshoot of colorful alien skins and fantasial costumes.
To which … I agreed that she was right. And, as Morgan looked on in fascinated horror, I started to make my plans ….
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Photographed at the Rose Theatre Ballroom
“People who see life as anything more than pure entertainment are missing the point.”
— George Carlin
I’m just a
Broadway baby
Walking off my tired feet
Pounding Forty-Second Street
To be in a show
“The light teaches you to convert life into a festive promenade.”
Dejan Stojanovic, The Sun Watches the Sun
“A girl should be two things: classy and fabulous.”
Coco Chanel
Sadly, the story I was going to write just isn’t working out yet, so I’ll go ahead and publish just the photos. It’s always been my goal on this blog to publish as good a quality as I can; I don’t always see it the same way after time and exposure, but I try to achieve it. (One reason why we don’t publish that often. Sucks for our visit numbers, but it makes me feel better in terms of what I put up for those who do stop in.) I may revisit this one day, when the muse strikes me properly.
I finally feel comfortable enough that I’ve gone ahead and took out a rental house, at a place called Footprints In the Sand. Hanging out at Harper’s island is nice, and she’s told me I’m welcome to come back any time; but one longs for a place of your own, your own “plot o’ ground,” so to speak, even if you’re renting it.
They say that magic becomes real at the crossroads
The places not quite here
Yet not quite there
The balance points between “was” and “will be”
When the doors between worlds open
And possibilities are unleashed
The twilight is like a crossroads
The borderland between
The light of day and dark of night
You may slumber through the night
And drift through the day
But then the sun truly descends, and the shadows lengthen
The day’s cares are abandoned
As if they had never been
As the magic grows
You race for your home
But oh, only for a span of time
The power swirls about you
As you shed the weeds of workaday
It caresses and teases, the sweetest of lovers
As you gown yourself in glory
It sings sweetly to all your senses
While you touch paint to your lips
Shadow to your eyes
Roses and musk to your throat
And then the door is flung wide
The spell is set
And it shapes your night like a sculptor’s hand to the marble
You give yourself over to gaiety
Drown yourself in music
Reel in the dance’s intoxication
You flirt and flaunt, tease and tempt
Till you capture the one
Who has in turn captured you
And when that moment strikes
Upon the chimes of the night
Then…a new spell begins
— Harper Ganesvoort, 2017
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