Saturday, March 30, 2013
Andromeda always thought of herself as a normal young woman with a job she likes (at an advertising agency), and a dog she called Chip (off the old block). She is not married, but loves and lives with Mike, has loved and lived with him for about 5 years now. Life is busy, beckoning her on, into her future, as time hurtles on. She is 33. People nod and imply and mention her biological clock tick-tocking, and aren’t they going to get married, aren’t they going to have children? Can they hear her clock, she wonders? The tick-tock metronome of life is the steady drum of a heartbeat, sometimes loud and reverberating in her head, her ears the canals that invite all sounds until she has to will them closed. In her dreams the tick-tock is expansive as the world itself, the ocean, as if she herself is a wave, her cells wild and blue, each syllable surfing waves both familiar and thrillingly new.
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Show me the modern mind, Andromeda says, like a mantra, saturated with color and eager for more. All fairy tales begin as myths, which begin as dreams, whose roots are ancient memories of trees in our minds. Like a Jackson Pollock, we drip paint; like a Cecil Beaton we fabricate images; like a Buster Keaton, we keep falling to learn how to land. The brand we create is the brand we become. Are we all genetic engineers, altering a litany of variables to find the most perfect version of ourselves? We live to satisfy our cravings, but let experts guide us into “what we want.”