"Dust"

The power of a woman’s intuition can stretch dimensions beyond the mind’s eye, farther than the stream that runs deep into the forest from the courtyard in the lower quarter, than the castle’s shadow over the little village that rests so humbly outside of our gates, than the journey of the scorching beams from the sun to the aged terrain that rests on our glorious nation of France. 

The gray, stone walls have become colder and more barren, just as the light in its spirit has dimmed so surely. The days when we entertained the royals of our neighboring brotherly nations and the dignitaries of our own have long since passed, and what was once a joyous temple of nobility, respect, and honor has become a corroded mass of empty rooms, icy wind drafts, and a familiar mildew.

And so, if the power of a woman’s intuition can extend itself far beyond the realm of comprehension and our humanly constrained grasp, I have failed my own instincts, for I would not be in such a circumstance had I listened to that simple, melodic voice in my head which guides me through these most unreliable stages in life -- the one that tells me to sweep away the consistently accumulating dust in the banquet hall every hour, the one that informs me of the dangers in trusting the dishonest minds who poison the purity, beauty, and goodness in this world,

 and the one that warned me of the witch.

A witch’s influence can seep through generations, the pores of someone’s soul, and the  choices made by her target. Whether such choices are in the same vein as the intent of her victim is not quite the issue, it is dependent on that poisonous magic she infuses through her prey, and the color of the witch’s hope for you, good or bad.

The witch’s hope for me strayed so savagely from my own, as it did from all of the other beings bound to this dismal reality. She was unable to attain the affections of our Prince, and his refusal of her advances was, disastrously, his downfall, and ultimately that of our own. 

So she cursed the Prince, and transformed him into a hideous beast. She told him that true love would break the spell if and only if he returned the love professed to him by an honest admirer. Such an occurrence would restore his handsome looks, yet, according to her, such an occurrence was unlikely, and that no one but her could love him in this atrocious form, for he was too monstrous to adore. So, now, it was up to him to return her love, if he would choose to have her. 

Yet he refused. 

I knew what would become of him and I knew of his fate for such a refusal, and now it is too late to abandon my responsibilities, my obligations. I am confined to these duties until I am granted worthy of a relocation - of a rebirth. But such is the case for all who reside here, including the Prince.

It was a time ago that he gave me this position, for reasons that I am still unsure. He was not always so beastly, and the monster within would only make its appearance when we expected guests if the butler forgot to light the banquet candles, if the china wasn’t polished, or if I failed to sweep the constant build up of dust these stone floors so devilishly attracted. 

But he always forgave me, and he always excused my youthful indifference, for he knew this was why I ignored my destined chores. And he knew what I was capable of when I exerted my full focus toward such tasks, and ones that so few in this world were capable of! But did I love him for it, just as he loved me.

Now, I can barely look out the window to the desolate courtyard, where we would once play, laugh, and bathe in one another’s gaze until the sunset hit the horizon of that never-ending forest. These times are only bound to a memory now! As well as the feeling he gave me, that one of wholeness, that one of completion, of my soul’s uncomplicated, innocent eternity! This, too, is adrift with all of the other graces turned backwards by the witch’s curse!

But did he love me! Even when a great distance apart, I would fall asleep, as I still do, imagining his embrace cradling me, protecting me, from the vicious spirits that protrude our dreams to give us a nightmare so unforgettable, so evil, that we fear the realm of our unforeseeable slumber. But with his spirt around me, with his love that he so selflessly bestowed on me, as he still does, my fear became less and less. 

I became brave because of it. Maybe too brave, but with the gains of maturity, one learns how to reign in such a confidence by dissolving the vanity, pretensions, and flurries of pride which may arise when esteemed by such an appraised embodiment of nobility. One learns that a moment of haughty, unabashed naïveté is not worth the immobility it affixes to one’s spirit. Whether one’s soul is a force of mathematical genius, an ambassador of purity - inclined to sweep away the soft grains of negativity or insecurity which threaten the virtues of the Prince, his people, and often these dusty castle floors - or even a radiant light of unlimited creative dexterity, an immodest regard for one’s own innate, God given capacity is a formula for its paralysis. 

So I thank the Prince everyday for the foundation of strength he has built for me. I thank him in my thoughts, in my mind, and in my dreams which are the only keepsake of our memories now. And he always dreams of me! I can feel his deep reverence for my soul, the anticipation which wanders through his imagination for the fruits of my beating, productive heart, and his penetrable advances discovering the flowing thoughts that journey through my perplexing, labyrinthine, and sometimes stormy hot-head -- a haven that has remained so enduringly impassable to anyone else!

The witch did not know any of that!! Nor did she care. She wanted a love from someone because she wanted the glory, honor, and fame of such a love! She wanted a love from someone at the expense of the magnificent destiny positioned ahead for myself, the Prince, and his castle. She did not know of the times the Prince and I would lay together in the courtyard, of the time he promised me that he would remain my friend and I, his muse, for an eternity longer than the everlasting presence of the stars in the night’s sky. And she certainly did not know of the time the Prince whispered a beautiful secret in my ear after he gently brushed my hair back with his even-hand, promising a happiness only heard of in silly, child-hood stories.

I remember the first time the witch arrived at the gates, and I could smell evil, spite, and manipulation on her! None of us would be in this deplorable circumstance had I listened to my own, inner-voice then! For it was me who allowed her through the front gates, and it was me who introduced her to the Prince, and it was me who carelessly invited her into the estate for a glimpse of its signature hospitality! 

So I chose to listen to that inner-voice again.

The Prince had told the witch he would remain a beast as long as I remained in my cursed appearance. He requested that she change me back, and begged for my freedom, above the others and himself. And she refused, as he refused her. 

And in that moment of realization, when I listened to that inner-voice that kept me so foolishly oblivious and unaware when I ignored it, I thought of the Prince and all of our lingering moments together, all of the laughter we shared, and all of the joy that pranced from my spirit so amusingly to his. And I thought of his patience.

My love was more than just a selfish, juvenile respect for a Prince who endorsed the calling of my heart, it grew into a revelation of a spirit’s complement. A revelation the Prince was so patient for, because he loved me so.

All I needed to do in order to reverse the damage was listen to that voice after disregarding its humble directions for so long. He would not change without me. He chose to remain a beast, as I would remain, what felt like, a wooden, idle and unused cleaning device bound to servitude for this doomed castle. 

And then his soul heard mine.

And I removed myself from the fire pit's ledge in the East Wing, from becoming one of its contents to devour like firewood,

For him.

And the curse was broken.

 And I swept the witch, her curse, and my childish ignorance away just as I sweep the forgotten dust that hides within each unknowing crevice of this castle. For it is simply dust, a material that is so easily cleared, which veils the beauty and the truth of any entity stemming from a universal goodness, stemming from a truest love.

The power of my intuition is too strong to be beaten by such wretched extensions of darkness. And I would not let a witch’s curse turn me into a fool. I would not let it turn me into blinding dust.

A Little Bite of Film Noir Style: Who Are Your Favorite Femme Fatale Fashion Inspirations??

Cora Smith as Lana Turner in "The Postman Always Rings Twice"
One of my inspirations in this fashion post, among others. Can you guess any??
Anyway, I love film noir fashions and the femme fatales who sported such legendary ensembles, so I pulled a few pieces from my wardrobe in honor of this timeless style.

One of our favorite items to wear is a towel right when we get outta the shower...With a kitty who loves to play..

...Then throw on a little, white two-piece ensemble because it's all you can scramble into after someone rings your doorbell.. 

..my lacey white bandeaux of purity was so pure until....

..too much blood got on it after we hid the body...

..So I had to hide all of the evidence.  Every. Last. Piece. Fortunately, my partner in crime - the love of my life - gave me his coat, and I tied some rope around my midriff so it'd stay in place when we did our next job... 

..But everything I owned got darker and darker, just as I did...

..And I decorated my jacket with all our leftover bullet shells...

..but it just got too dark to see...

..And nothing could hide the reasons why my shirts were always died so blood red.. So I had to stop..

...So I got on my knees - baring my stark naked soul, and asked for forgiveness...

...It was granted, and I was allowed to wear my purest snowy hues again...

..like a boss...

...and wear the pants too.

Review of Joe Carnahan's "Stretch" (2014)

Ever heard of Murphy’s Law? Well, the dynamics of the revelatory decree, which states that anything that can go wrong will go wrong, are wonderfully encapsulated in Joe Carnahan’s “Stretch.”  A bit rough around the edges, the film follows the tumultuous journeys of the equally as unrefined limo driver, Stretch, played by Patrick Wilson. In the opening moments, it’s clear he’s down on his luck, with a drug, gambling, and booze addiction to top it off. It is only when he meets Candace (played by Brooklyn Decker), and falls in love with her, does he find the willpower to eradicate his personal addictions. A year after dating, he plans to propose, but Candace breaks up with him, and he falls back into his old patterns of self-destruction.

On top of this failed relationship, and owing $6,000 to an angry dealer who wants it ASAP, the limo business Stretch works for is about to go belly-up, and his boss enlists his favorite employee to ensure that this doesn’t happen. So, the only logical solution to both of these problems is by working for elite clientele with the money to pay off his debts and keep the business afloat. So, Charlie, a receptionist/assistant at the limo company, played by the beautiful Jessica Alba, gives Stretch leads to the big timers who could really help him out. As you can imagine, the pressure’s on. 

This is only made worse by the first ‘big-time’ client Stretch acquires, in the form of an eccentric rich guy, Roger Karos, played by Chris Pine. Let me tell you, we’re all so used to seeing Pine as one of the most handsome men in the world, but this particular role gives him room to display how he can transform into someone completely different: A dirty, disheveled sex-addict, likely indifferent to the fact that he is stricken with various venereal diseases, with a grungy, dreaded hair/beard combo to boot. To give you a better idea of this extreme character, Karos’ lovely, um, package greets us before he does as he parachutes from the sky stark naked in his introductory scene. 

Of course, Karos, though not an ideal form of aid, is now Stretch’s only hope, and when any of us are given help, we are obliged to do our helper’s bidding. Unfortunately, for Stretch, this means aiding and abetting in Karos’ illegal schemes, enabling his sex and cocaine addictions, as well as his penchant for “high-end” prostitutes. Stretch certainly breaks bad in his quest for survival, and if he can’t change his circumstances, he has nothing to lose by joining the dark side to stay, and even feel, alive. All of this is overlooked and commented on by his guardian angel, Karl, a former limo driver who committed suicide, played by Ed Helms. 

This is merely the convoluted premise to such a convoluted story. There is such an interwoven labyrinth of subplots, character connections, and criminal activity, that the viewer feels the need to decide on what to focus more: the mini-stories that make up the entirety of “Stretch?” Or the main character, Stretch, of “Stretch?” Or what about the kooky Karos, who is a movie in his own right? Or even Stretch’s love life? Career? And relationships? And how is Stretch going to escape the authorities and criminals chasing after him? And then make it to coffee with his Tinder date the next morning?

If that felt like an overload of questions, it’s because it is, and that’s how I felt as I was watching the film. It was completely overloaded, but, in all fairness, you are experiencing the tension, anxiety, and fear with Stretch. This is what he was going through from the moment he met the love his life at the beginning, to the moment he found a new interest at the end. I’m just glad that I wasn’t the one having to answer any of those complicated questions, because it’s such fun watching Stretch solve them. A definite full throttle B-movie whose high rubs off on the viewer awhile after its conclusion, in the physical, emotional, and metaphysical sense.

A Few Cool Pieces: What Are You Wearing This Thanksgiving?

Okay, so I'm going home tomorrow and I put together some key pieces to make the painful process of packing a little easier. When I'm home, I'll probably make another, more detailed Thanksgiving capsule and share it with you. I still have some of my clothes there, and I'm aiming to travel as lightly as possible, so here's just a little basic list!! Enjoy :-)

Okay, so here's just a dark wash jean. I love dark wash jeans - they can be worn casually or even for a more sophisticated look. Also pictured are two leather jackets - a red one and a black one. I can make so many cool outfits just with these three items!!

I love this dress. It can be paired with so much!! Since it's black and white, it can go with so many different colors. In this particular photo, I'm just pairing it with black tights and heels...

Okay so here's just a pair of black basic pants. I also have shorts - I love pairing shorts with tights or leggings underneath in the winter. I think it's such a cool, hip look.

I bought this at a little boutique in Williamsburg when I first moved here. The shops here are so beautiful, with such wonderfully unique pieces!! Here's one of them and I wear it all the time.

Just some basic, adaptable tops...  Can go with any of the pants I pictured and even the shorts...

Just some scarves...

I love this dress...

Beautiful sequin detailing.

My favorite pea coat. I wear it all the time, and I never want to let it go. I've had it forever.

I promise, this dress is much cuter in person, but I think I'm gonna wear it on Thanksgiving day. The color scheme just reminds me of Thanksgiving :-)

I'm definitely gonna build on these pieces and when I'm back home, in my comfort zone again, I'll definitely provide a more descriptive Thanksgiving capsule. Let me know what you think and, please, share what you're wearing this Thanksgiving!! I'd love to know xx

Martin Scorsese's "Cape Fear" (1991)

What is your definition of fear? From a psychological and cognitive lens, fear is a response to perceived, and often legitimate, environmental threats causing those experiencing the emotion to react defensively, with overt self-protection, and often times  panic. Fear is an innate, inbred emotion that each and every human being on the face of the earth experiences, whether it’s the fear of losing your reputation, the fear of losing a family member, or even the fear of losing something as simple as your MetroCard that has 10 bucks on it so you know you’ll get home okay (that’s actually crossing into the territory of anxiety, but, let’s be real, anxiety is a form of fear...) -- Whatever your definition, we can all agree that, in some ways, fear is a form of self-protection; if we didn’t experience it, many of us would probably be in far worse situations than we are right now.

Well, the definition of fear is acutely dissected by Martin Scorsese in his 1991 film “Cape Fear,” from the minds of people we would stereotypically perceive as fearless, as well as those we would often perceive as a little more fragile or afraid. Specifically, without giving too much away (even though I’m sure there are people reading who have seen it a million times by now...), Robert De Niro’s Max Cady, a rapist who was put behind bars for 14 years for his malicious crimes, stalks the lawyer, Sam Bowden played by Nick Nolte, who defended him in court. Bowden hid critical evidence that would’ve really decreased his client’s time in jail, but, of course, was so disgusted that he did not share it with the judge . As someone who has taken criminal law classes and studied it quite rigorously during my time as a law student (aka paralegal student...), this is a huge no-no. A lawyer, from an ethical perspective, is required to do everything and anything to help his or her client, but one could argue that Bowden was being ethical in this circumstance, simply by getting someone like Bowden off the street. Anyway, I don’t want to turn this into a philosophical ethics discussion, or even a legal one, so I’m gonna put my critic hat back on....

So- my critic hat is back on, and..... This film is a definite masterpiece. The sublime architecture of each scene is truly captivating, especially within the opening sequence and each scene thereafter. The performances are equally as magical, and all of the leading actors rock it with everything they’ve got. However, there are moments in the film that have really tested my fright level, and especially what I am able to stomach or even tolerate, but I think that was the point. It really cultivates a level of fearlessness in us all, even if we are a little shy to proceed to the next gory scene. I’m over it by now, and I’d totally recommend the film to you, so I hope you can handle what it has to offer and take a glance at the movie next time you have the opportunity -- unless you’re too afraid to watch it that is :-)

The 10-A-Day: What Am I Doing?

I <3 New York!!!!! An original photo I took a little after my move....Isn't she lovely?

No, really, what am I doing?? My move to New York City wasn't quite as seamless as I thought it would be (but I'm doing so much better now, promise!!), and the acting jobs I want aren't coming in quite like I thought. Don't get me wrong, there are opportunities everywhere here, but I'm pretty careful about what I wanna put on my resume. I know I need to start from the bottom, and I'm more than willing to do that, I'm just not trying to pose nude for a car wash video set to air on an adult pay-per-view channel after football games this season  ......yeah, offers get like that.

So,  since I'm not getting the work I want, I'm still gonna do the work I want at home. Specifically, I'm gonna do 10 things everyday to help further my career starting......tomorrow. I got this idea off of another site, and I thought it was wonderful!! By doing ten acting-related activities a day, it will turn into about 70 by the end of the week, so think about how much knowledge I'll have gained by the end of the year! What I plan to do is make a list every morning when I wake up of 10 things I can do to fill my brain up with everything and anything acting! Whether it's reading a play, watching a film, or memorizing a monologue, the possibilities are endless! I am sharing my journey with all of you because it gives me a little more incentive to stick with it, and hopefully it inspires some of my readers to jumpstart their own path to success, as well.

So, tune in tomorrow to see what I come up with :-)

(.....just not during the car wash video airing for $3.99 this football season because I definitely won't be in it.)

Thanks!! xxx

"An Overture"

A smooth criminal.

I play Chopin, I play Grieg.

Tchaikovsky is my favorite.

The 1812 Overture specifically. 

Yesterday, the guard walked up during my favorite part. Forgive me, I am not permitted to play anymore, but I always imagine the sounds, the beautiful build up and the mesmerizing, audible constructs united with this story of suspense! A story told through notes; a story told from one ivory key so swiftly to the next to the next to another!

A story told through a crescendo.

You see, I was taught by our Godly man, but he was never my favorite tutor. He was the one who brought us here, I know it! Well, he did not transport us here physically, but he is why we are here! He brought us to this fate! He brought our family to shame! Olga and I were weary of him, but I showed him no fear so neither did she. 

In our happier days, however, we would wake up, bright and early; I would never allow myself to waste a day! Here, though, it is our fate. They force us to waste our days and it is a life worth naught. A day wasted is a day forgotten, and we never know who may steal it from us, for there are many! So many now who will steal it from us!

I would never do that to someone.

I would never, ever do that to someone.

We have done nothing wrong. We have done nothing of damage. We have done nothing of evil! Our Godly man did though, yet I have never lost faith.

But yesterday, I missed the sweet fresh air so badly, I wandered out for a moment. It was my birthday last month, and I turned 17. 

I was given nothing.

A month later I am not allowed to breathe true air for a moment at my leisure? I am 17 years old. 

I am 17 years old.

How sweet it was. How sweet it was! It’s as though my guard knows when I’m happy, he knows! So I hide it from him, but yesterday I simply could not. 

And he shot. His aim was not to kill me, though, it was to scare me. But I show him no fear, and I showed him none yesterday!

None.

I did not run back inside, I walked. The brave walk, we do not run away from a monster. We face it. We do not give them a feeling we do not want to give. They somehow manage to steal it from us though. Yesterday, it was fear he wanted and I would not give it. I would not.

And I will never.

But I walked back in. Not out of fear from him, but from fear of the thought of my family returning and seeing my lifeless body. That, I fear. Not him. Never him. I love my family enough to produce fear for them. Only them.

My family was doing the bidding of our captors -- oh, how I pray for my sweet little Alexei! He is not well, yet they do this to him. I was told to stay back yesterday as I am told the same today -- to stay. My family is not with me, but they are in the quarters. I hope to see them soon! I pray they do not worry for me!

But yesterday, I walked. Walked back into the apartment, the one I share now with my entire family. It consists of two rooms: a living room, and a quaint adjoined bedroom! Our parents sleep there, but my sisters, my brother, and myself sleep on the floor in here! It really is not bad -- we have some sweet little blankets, so I am grateful! But yesterday, I walked back in and sat in the chair by the living room window, not the one at the table, as I usually do. The one at the window has such a graceful view of the little garden, and I just could not help myself. I love that garden so!

But in this living room space, you see, we were given a little raggy carpet, it is actually quite sweet! It sits underneath an oak table, and when I am permitted, I write and I write and I write all my thoughts over it! As I do now! Of course, with the pieces of fine paper and the silver pen I hid in my cloak when they took us from home. I hope that the guards do not find these articles; they are all that give me life now. 

As I sit here now, though, writing, I have learned my lesson. But yesterday, I was sitting in that chair, after I walked back in, the chair in front of our little window! Of course he saw my happiness! A happiness he hates! But I closed my eyes and it is simply wonderful what an imagination can do because, before I knew it, I was sitting in front of my glorious, grand piano -- the one MaMa gave me when I turned 6. And I began to play. 

I began to play Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture. My favorite of them all!

I do not need sheet music anymore, but I can see the Treble Clef and my heart, my mind, and my soul lead me to the rest. To the build ups, to the climaxes!

To the crescendos! 

As I hit the first crescendo, I could hear foot steps. But I did not want to stop! I kept my eyes closed! Louder and louder the steps became, and louder and louder my crescendo!

The door was slammed open, and I stopped playing. 

I stopped playing. Nothing ever made me stop playing.

But I stopped.

 It was not out of fear, mind you! It was out of the hope that my family had returned!

But I saw that gruesome, despicable face! The one that looked at me right before he shot! Those were his footsteps!

I was not afraid. I was not. It was the amount of fear I would show our evil Godly man, which is equivalent to none! That is the only reason he was in our lives -- to prepare me for this! But a darkness crept over me. It is natural as you stare evil directly into the face -- as evil creeps over you, you want to fly away, fly so far away!!

I ran under the table. He could see that I was not able to overcome his strength! Not for a moment! He crept over -- with those hideous footsteps! So I ran into the bedroom -- but I had nowhere to fly, to flee! And he struck me! But I have always been strong! May God have mercy on this man’s soul if he did the same to my sweet Alexei!

 And he struck me and pulled me and dragged me to the other room before my sweet little table, and threw me against its wooden molding -- leaving no mark of my body thrown against it, aside from a gash on my forehead and the visible blood stains that have now seeped through the raggy carpet. My last memory of those moments are a blur, but I seem to recall the other guards running in through the outway of the garden immediately after! 

To save me? I know not, for they have all done everything to ruin me! But I woke up to one of them breathing new life into me, my lips against his! I do not know of this procedure, but I learned that it worked as he pumped my chest! And now I am alive again.

Resuscitation. 

I am alive.

He demanded the other guards to clear the area immediately! He turned to me and asked,

“My Ana, my Annie are you okay? Are you okay, Annie?”

I told him that I have never shown fear. I do not today, and I will not tomorrow. 

I am okay, and I will be for eternity. I do not show fear for those who do not deserve my being afraid.

For I am the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna of Russia.

And I survived,

not because I am unafraid,

but because I am fearless.