The Z-Hen House

When you try to count sheep after going to bed hungry…

Time is that unexpected guest at your dinner party; you have no idea what he brings and what he plans to take away from you: a piece of mind? a small slither of sanity with a bigger slice of disappointment trailing behind? How much negotiation can you make with time? Should you just not open the door when he rings the bell? Or treat him like any other guests and hope he behaves?

No situation in life ever evolves without a visit from time, for better or worth; This life is a boat on an endless river (until it ends, that is); Sometimes you just have to stick out those tired old umbrellas and wait for the rain to stop; but oh I can smell your fears…that a rainbow won’t appear at end of the pour to restore the dynamics that you had fallen so deeply in love with.

Or is this just the side effect of wearing your heart on your sleeves?

Are you sure you are not Spiderman?

Vines shoot out of your fingers when they close around mine

They tangle around my wrist, sprout up my arm,

lighting up lantherns of goose bumps along my clavicle.

Your smile rises and sets on my skin like the sun

Are you sure you are not Spiderman?

I took some pictures from a bridal shower I went to yesterday.

Cat Heaven vs. Cat Hell

I watched the “session” tonight. It’s a movie based on a true story about a severely disabled man hiring a sexual surrogate to help him come to terms with his sexual desires and repair his self-image.

I cried, of course. I can’t hold back tears if my life depends on it these days. If my soul is an instrument, it couldn’t ever be a violin, a guitar, or a cello, it has to be an organ, a monstrous and terribly heavy thing crawling with tubes and strings, custom-made like the ones hung in ancient European Catholic churches, one that has to be installed by multiple handymen and require constant fine-tuning and dusting. Everything touches my strings, from the faintest smell of jasmine in the spring time to the fictionalized account of a handicapped man’s journey. Now that more than a third of my life is over, I realize with no small certainty and sadness how profoundly flawed it is to carry an organ of a heart like it. It wishes it is the size of the world; it wishes to beat more than just my own beats, but also the beat of others. It refuses to grow callouses even with age. But how lonely it can get in all its emotional wanderings to unfamiliar places.

It’s strange…the older I get the more I feel that I lead an uncommon life. Uncommon not as in grand, majestic, or famous; uncommon as in unusual and non-ordinary (with zero intent of self-praise). I don’t dwell on these feelings (remember, I tend to feel too much?) but it never disappears.

Anyway, I immediately Googled and read the article that the movie was based on. It wasn’t very long and was written by a handicapped man Mark O’Brien, who passed away in 1999. By the end of the article, it seemed that he did not find the salvation that he had hoped for and he was just as lonely as he was before he lost his virginity to the sexual surrogate. I find it sad that he did not find a way to rescue himself from the self doubts and fears. It is one thing to “feel too much” and quite another to dwell on these feelings and not be able to move on from these moments.

I wish he rest in peace, and if there is an after life, I wish he could live more care-freely and release himself from the self-imposed prison that seemed to have governed his days on earth.

Broke out my red lipstick for some self-timed fun shots

I rarely use filters to manipulate my photos, but I did some here to have a little fun.

Stealing Cinderella

Sunday Funday