Sunday, September 20, 2015

In The Attic of my Life.

in the attic 1

Nostalgia and heirlooms and antiques are not always what they seems.  Sometimes it is contrived.

A kid who falls in love with a vintage box and keeps their treasures in it can be considered an authentic case.  A kid forced to keep his grandmother's skull on his book case - probably contrived.  Lots of families force their emotional crap on one another.  Road Shows - those British Auction type things that are on television - where they tell people their ugly painting that Uncle Bernard gave them is now worth 500 pounds - promote the scam.   They always give the impression that anything ugly, so ugly that you hide it in the crawl space, if left long enough, becomes worth a whole bunch of money.  And then they pretend, despite not having a single tooth left in their mouth, the person bringing it will never sell because what is food broken down into swallowable bits so your body can process it and sustain your life, really mean anyway?  You have an ugly picture of an eggplant on a dish.


Blankets are another one.  You know how suddenly every kid you see has some remnant of their baby blanket still on them?  The blanket they vomited all over and that acted as a safety diaper, catching that which the diaper did not . . . 

THAT blanket.

And their parents wash it and keep giving it back to their little sanitized hands.   The child falls asleep one hand clutching their sanitizing solution bottle (probably the same arm that has been vaccinated 438 times by the time they are 2) breathing in the sanitized and perfumed air, listening to sound designed to make them geniuses while they sleep, on their special self cleaning mattress and pillow . . .with their toxic little ragged bits of a baby blanket tucked in the other hand.

Metaphor for life, caught in the image of a sleeping child . . . ready for life . . . heading out with the equipment to keep them safe . . . and a chemical bomb.

Think about it.  We taunt our children. 

Blankets represent bed time or nap time . . . 2 things kids hate.  Doesn't it seem cruel to you that when we have the energy to go , go go - 24 hours a day - they keep trying to ply us with warm milk and tuck us in?  They try to make us sleep 18 hours a day.   Then, when we are older and can do what we want and no-one even cares if we bathe, let alone drink warm milk and get  tucked in, we are lucky if we can stay awake for more than a couple of hours at a time.

I think God has a sick sense of humour.  He invented Pinterest and suddenly all these parents are posting pics of their child with their blanky bits, done in low lighting and fuzzy edged pictures and everyone is wiping their eyes and getting all nostalgic and asking their parents if they had a blanky and where it went to. 

Parents seem to flaunt their control over their kids - making us carry that damn blanky, the instrument of our torture, reminding us anytime, ANYWHERE, when we least expect it . . . they can put us to bed.  

in the attic 2


As soon as I realized it was another conspiracy, I burned my blanky.


My family stood around last night, during the burning,  and applauded and pretended to be proud of me but that did not fool me for one minute.   I knew they still wanted me to go to bed.


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HAIR:  [LeLutka]-MALEFICENT hair/
EYES:  Egozy..Eyes Intense Collection
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FASHION BAG:  MULIER x 1992 // Obsidian Bag (Nude)
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SWEATER:  A Piece of Chic -Diane Bourgogne
PANTS:  A Piece of Chic -Lola Bourgogne Pants's
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