I've Just Seen A Face

        Today is my birthday. It’s also the birthday of my brother, Mike. He was born in the same year as I was. That makes us twins. Duh.
        Staying with the twin theme, I present two photographs of myself that were taken this past weekend. On the right is a photo of me dressed to attend a fetish fashion show. I’ve got on a pair of snug fitting vinyl pants, mock alligator skin boots, and a beautifully explosive shirt. Standing in front of my drums, I’m ready to go out. Socialize. Engage with people. Have fun. Be myself out in the world and connect to life. I think I convey all of that pretty well in the photo.
         On the left is a photo taken few days later. While the photo on the right communicates something rather overtly through dress, expression, and scenery, the one on the left is just my face, with neutral expression, dress, and background. So I had this question for myself: What was my face communicating? Just my face, all on it’s own. What did one see when they looked at me? I strove for general neutrality so that whatever was being expressed had to be inferred not by what my face was doing, but what my face was saying.
         Now here’s the fun part. I’m asking YOU: What do you see? Can you see a story on my face? Can you see emotion even though I’m attempting to be emotionless? What am I communicating to you through nothing but my face? Are the eyes truly the window to the soul? If you choose to participate, try and go beyond just saying “You look (blank).” If you can, don’t just tell me what you see looking back at you. Tell me who you see.
         Later in the week, after I’ve read and responded to any comments, I’ll tell you what I see. I’ll tell you who I see.
         And remember that when you look at me, when you look at anybody, you’re looking into a mirror. It’s not a perfect mirror, but one that has it’s own image in it as well as your own reflection. The wonder of it is trying to discern what part of the image coming back to you is yours and what part is theirs. What is your own reflection, and what is being communicated by what you're looking at? And is it all really the same thing?
         By the way, happy birthday Mike. I love you....

©2009 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and a twin mirror image of Wrongs) Reserved.

Update on Tuesday, February 17, 2009 at 6:41PM by Clint Piatelli

FOLLOW UP TO THIS POST: Now I remember why I don't usually post something the same day I write it: because it doesn't give me sufficient opportunity to mold and edit the piece. I wrote "I've Just Seen A Face" this morning and posted it immediately because I wanted to post something on my birthday. But it's clear to me now that this was not the best decision, because what I wanted to communicate did not get....communicated.

My attempt was to solicit a response from you, using my face as a mirror, that would say something about you. I wanted you to share what you saw and then see it as a reflection of yourself. Not as an analysis of my mug. Re-reading the piece eight hours later,  I realize that I didn't communicate that very well. I alluded to it in the second to last paragraph, but I was trying to be subtle. I should know better.

Scratch this whole post. I won't remove it, because it stands as a stark rerminder for me to look before I leap. Or at least wait, edit, ponder, tweak, ponder some more, and then leap. It's my least favorite post yet. And it happened on my birthday. Oh well, fuck it.

Boobs

        Boobs. Not a bad slang for that wonderful part of the female anatomy. Easy to say. Usually Inoffensive. A cute word who’s dainty demeanor does nothing to hint at our culture’s obsession. A mild mannered linguistic symbol that belies men’s reverence and women’s societal driven self-consciousness.
        Thumbing through fitness magazine’s at the gym, each week I come across hundreds of shots of beautiful women in fantastic shape. I’m not talking about the hard core bodybuilder women. The one’s that ingest massive amounts of steroids to make their physiques resemble a man’s. The one’s with the “roid jaw” that develops from taking high levels of artificial testosterone. You know, the women who have chins like Dudley Do-Right. That whole look is attractive to some people. I’m just not one of them.
        The women I’m referring to in the magazine’s are the “fitness model” types. Models, who are just really....fit. They have pretty faces, lithe, shapely, muscular bodies, and are usually wearing nothing but a bikini. Sometimes with high heels, which I always find amusing. Only because it’s a sight never seen anywhere on earth except at photo shoots. Like seeing a guy wearing nothing but a ski jacket and a thong. I know they put the women in heels because it supposedly makes their legs more shapely, but something about it always strikes me as absurd. If they want the woman’s legs to look “better”, have them flex their feet and stand on their toes. But I digress.
        The women look great, except for...the boobs. Because they’re usually fake. Which I’m in no way against. But they go house with them. They throw in a pair of D’s, when a C, or even a B, would be just dandy. Unusually large boobs on the type of frames these women have throw off the proportions completely.  I lament when I see such an attractive, fit women with a pair of breasts that look like they don’t belong to her own body. They look out of place and unnatural. The whole effect just doesn’t work for me.
        I realize that this is completely subjective, and that I’m not claiming to be “right” about this. I’m not chastising the women for wanting larger breasts either. It’s their body, and they should be free to do whatever they please with it, or to it. The point I’m making is that it appears as though our cultural aesthetic is just way the hell out of whack. Bigger is not always better. Not from these eyes.
        Our cultural obsession with boob size is the real culprit. Yes, they are wonderful, beautiful, parts of the body. But they don’t need to be big. Whatever happened to balance? We’ve drop kicked that right out the window in our plastic surgery society.
        It saddens me that many women think they need larger breasts to be attractive. That’s the part I don’t like. It’s a troublesome sign that so many women are that concerned about their breast size. All you have to do is check on the stats for implants to know how out of control it is. The pressure on women to have bigger boobs is not healthy. I guess I’m at odds with our cultural demands on women’s breast size. I think a healthier aesthetic would be to go for balance. Even if it’s a balance augmented by implants.
        Here’s an attitude I wish more men had towards their girlfriends or wives who want boob jobs: “Sure, get the boob job baby, if you want. It’s your body. But don’t do it to please me or the male population at large. Do it for you. Only you. Do me a favor and first go inside and ask yourself what this is really about. When you can honestly answer that, you’ll be in a better position to make the decision that’s right for you. Know that I love you just the way you are. And if you do decide to go for it, don’t get caught up in the size. B’s are beautiful too. In fact, so are A’s. Especially if they’re on you.”
        Maybe more guys feel that way then I think. But you wouldn’t know it.

 ©2009 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and a double-D amount of Wrongs) Reserved.

Desert Magic

        I had the privilege of being in Death Valley during August, when the temperatures routinely hit 90 before sunrise and hover around 115 all day. This kind of climate is not for everybody, but if you can hack it, the rewards are spectacular.
        The deserts of the southwestern United States are incredibly beautiful. The unique geological history of the region creates some of the most breath taking vistas on the planet. And there’s something mystical and spiritual about being there. The Native Americans knew this, and that’s why so many of those cultures required rites of passages and vision quests take place in the desert. I love the ocean, but I find the desert just as comforting and magical.
        Before I turned twenty-two, I had never set foot near a desert. I got my first taste when I traveled cross country with a few buddies the summer after I graduated college. But I was a different person then, and I didn’t really connect to it. But every time I went back to California, I inevitably found myself in the desert at some point, and it’s pull gradually made it’s way into my psyche.
        If you’ve never been, I encourage you to experience it. Death Valley and The Mojave National Preserve are amongst my favorites, but any desert will do. The next time you find yourself on one of those long, straight, single lane roads outside of Las Vegas, stop the car, pull over, and get out. Walk a few hundred feet into the desert and just stay still. See if you can appreciate the stark beauty. See if you can connect to the spirituality that’s inherent there. See if you can feel something that wasn’t there before.
        Besides the sweat, of course.

Zabriskie Point - Death Valley, California

The Naked Valentine

        With Valentine’s Day right around the corner, and the perfunctory media blitz that accompanies it, we tend to think about love more often. While I’ve never been a fan of advertisement driven Hallmark Holidays, I will say that this is a great time for couples to do something really special for one another. But when I say special, I mean something original. Something completely YOURS that you give to him or her, maybe along with the flowers or other material gift.
        How about writing a poem to the one you love?
        When I say poem, I mean it in the broadest sense of the word possible. It doesn’t have to rhyme. It can be one brief sentence or it can be a few pages long. Stream of consciousness. Free form word association. Whatever works for you.
        Steal a few quiet moments with a picture of the person you love. Put on some music that reminds you of them, and write down what comes up. The best of what comes up, mind you. If you’re going to mention that he drinks out of the carton and it drives you nuts, do it with lots of affectation and humor. Even in a difficult relationship, there are plenty of wonderful things to write about. Focus on that and see what happens.
        The poem can be soft, or sexy, or romantic, or raunchy, or anything. Get to that place in you that wants to speak to him or her at that moment. And run with it. Or shift gears in the middle if all of sudden you go from feeling horny to feeling sentimental. It doesn’t matter. If you follow your heart, whatever you write will be just as it is supposed to be. And don’t forget to title the poem. That gives it a more epic quality, even if, or especially if, it’s only one line.
        The beauty is that you don’t have to be a good writer to do this. All you have to do is be literate, which, demos monstrata, you are if you’re reading this.
        The hard part will probably be overcoming your fear of doing it. Whenever we share from the heart in such a naked fashion, like a poem, our fears of rejection, abandonment, unworthiness, etc. get triggered. “What if they don’t like it? What if they think it’s a stupid gift? What if the poem’s no good?” All these questions and thousands more can run trough our mind and scare us out of doing it.
        I encourage you to take this risk. It’s worth it. Because what you’ll end up with is something completely yours. Something completely from your heart. That makes it unique. That makes it special. That makes it precious.
        If it just feels too hard to do, try doing it but with no intention of actually giving it to your lover. This often removes some of the fear and allows us to write more freely. And the irony is that if you write with no intention of giving it, you usually end up with something that you like so much you want to share it. Kind of like playing a trick on yourself where everybody ends up smiling.
        I’m going to share something I wrote a while ago for somebody who’s never seen it, and probably never will. But that doesn’t diminish it’s value. Because the real value in writing is the writing. Sharing it, with one other or with the whole world, certainly adds something different to the experience. Sharing what you write transforms the experience of what happens after you write it but does not affect the value of what was written or the experience of writing it. Writing it will always be what it is: Magic.
        So give the one you love a little magic this year.
        But buy the flowers too, just to cover your ass.


the most beautiful scared

if i could lay next to you
and press my forehead against yours
and look into your eyes from that close
i would see beyond your pretty face
i would see through your captivating eyes
i would see into you
i would see the you that loves me
i would see that
the you that loves me
is the most beautiful you of all
and i would see that
the you that loves me
is scared

and i would say
to the most beautiful scared
i’m scared too

i would say to the most beautiful scared
you are not all alone inside there
because i am in there with you
and you are in here with me

i would say to the most beautiful scared
please don’t hide from me
please don’t act out of being afraid
because if you do then you will
lash out at me
or push me away
and hurt me
because that’s what we do to those we love
when we’re scared

i would say to the most beautiful scared
even if you do that to me
i will understand
i will not run
i will still love you

because you
my most beautiful scared
already have my heart
i’ve given it to you
even though i’m just as scared

and when i was through
i would know that
your most beautiful scared
and my most beautiful scared
wouldn’t feel as afraid
or as alone
as they did before we
pressed our foreheads against one another’s
and looked into each other’s eyes from that close
and saw into each other
saw our most beautiful scared

©2009 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and a box of chocolates full of Wrongs) Reserved.

Heartless Spew: An Indictment of Pre-Fabricated Love Letters

        Months ago, I came across this website where you can buy a book of pre-written love letters. Thats right. Pre-written love letters penned by somebody else. So you don’t have to write a single word. It even comes with a money back guarantee. The book is even featured in Cosmopolitan and on A&E too, which apparently gives it some form of legitimacy.
        When you enter the site, there’s a video starring the purveyor of this mind numbing concept. She touts the effectiveness and ease of sending a pre-written love letter. The website also offers books on regurgitated love emails and love poems too. The claim is that women have used these books to send the perfect love letter to their man, without the guy ever knowing it. But the products are marketed primarily to men.
        Are you fucking kidding me? I laughed so hard when I saw the website and watched the video that I had to change my shorts before heading to the gym. Have we simultaneously become completely out of touch with how we feel and a nation of liars? Tell me that we haven’t become the collective emotional manifestation of the Bush Administration.
        Are we so numb that we can’t muster the passion or desire to write any original words to the person we love? Are things so bad in relationship-land that we really have to pay someone else to write a love letter? I can’t think of anything more ridiculous. This is the adult emotional equivalent of paying somebody in high school to write your term paper. At least that can be laughed off as young and foolish. This can’t. Help me with this. How could anybody buy this pre-fabricated, un-original spew?
        On the website, they quote Dr. John Grey, who wrote Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus. He says “When you want to feel good, write a love letter.” They actually use that quote. Am I missing something? Doesn’t the quote says “write a love letter”? That, I assume, implies that you.... “write a love letter”. It doesn’t say “When you want to feel good, pay for somebody else’s love letter, because you can’t come up with an original creative thought on your own, then pass the letter off as yours, bask in the glory of the ploy, and hope she doesn’t find out about it”.
        Maybe I just wasn’t reading between the lines. But us guys aren’t too good at that either, as advocates of this website surely know. Not only are we incapable of writing anything original about how we feel, but we can’t even read about it properly either. Boy are we dumb.
        Along this line of thinking, we should be able to buy pre-fabricated breakup letters too. Everything from forty-two page dissertations on why the relationship doesn’t work, to the simple one liner, “Fuck Off.”
        Anything, repeat, ANYTHING is better than sending this drivel to somebody you care about. If you’re not a great writer, or have trouble expressing yourself with words, get together with a friend who’s better at it and spend a few hours creating something together. If you don’t know any friends better than you at this stuff, call your cousin. Hell, call your mother before you fall for this crap.
        The whole point of a love letter is that it comes from your heart. Not some pimply college journalism major who’s getting paid minimum wage to come up with pages of sentimental word drool that will be edited by the genius behind all this.
        This genius, by the way, is a self proclaimed “love coach”. That’s right. The woman who wants you to pay her to write a love letter for you calls herself a “love coach”. This is a mad case of severe linguistic distortion, even for advertising. She has absolutely no idea what the word “coach” means. A coach does not encourage her clients to pay somebody else to get the job done. That’s more akin to a john hiring a prostitute. A coach “coaches”. A coach teaches and motivates people to reach a higher level of performance. All this woman is doing is providing an easy way out for guys who have trouble feeling. Which is a lot of men, granted. I used to be shut down, so I have empathy for the plight of those who can’t get to how they feel.
        But take it from one who has been there. If you're one who struggles with your feelings, the worst thing you could do is buy this book and fall for this shit. This woman is not a coach. She’s a pusher. And the people who buy this stuff are addicts. Both should get themselves into a twelve step program. Now. They’ll thank me for it later.
        The process of writing your own love letter is the whole point. Paying someone else to do it is like buying an Olympic medal. It feels good at first because you’ve got this shiny new medal that says “You’re Great”. But pretty soon, the buzz wears off. You’re still the same person who can’t produce an original thought about love, and you’ve duped your lover into thinking you can. Full steam ahead in that relationship.
        Even if whatever you write is the most incoherent, misspelled, grammatically ghastly pile of over-sentimental tripe ever written, it’s yours. And you’ll do better next time. And the time after that. If the person you’re with can’t love you for the effort of trying to write a love letter, then maybe you’re with the wrong person.
        How about a love letter that says “I can’t write you a love letter because I’m no good at it. But I just wanted to say that I love you”. Anybody who can spell “cat” could get that one off. If the person you’re with loves you for who you are, he or she will be thrilled that you took the time to do something that’s hard for you in an effort to show them how much you care. What says love more than that? And if it’s the truth, it’s infinitely better than anything anybody else could write.
        Now there’s a novel concept. Truth. Truth that could lead to some truthful discussion. Maybe some truthful feelings. Maybe, god forbid, some truthful intimacy. Isn’t that the point of the love letter in the first place? No wait, I’m sorry. According to this “love coach”, the whole point is the appearance of intimacy. The appearance of truth. The appearance of something genuine from the heart. That’s much better than the real thing. Like “Love...Now Fat Free!”. And just like the shit they sell at the supermarket that’s had the fat taken out, this amalgamation of vomit doesn’t taste very good. And it’s actually much worse for you than the original, fat laden stuff. It kills you. Slowly. Sign me up.
        Lovers everywhere, this book is the problem, not the solution. It’s encouraging us to not do the work; the work we need to do to get in touch with how we feel. It’s encouraging us to love by not digging deep into ourselves for our true expression. I’ve been that route. It’s not possible. It’s against the laws of emotional physics. This whole concept is the antithesis of love, not an expression of it. It’s not just a quick fix, it’s a lousy quick fix at that. Like a dose of bunk heroin from a dirty needle. This book is a bad drug that doesn’t even address the symptom, never mind the cause.
        If anybody out there needs help writing a love letter, please don’t fall for this. In fact, get a hold of me. I’m not going to write it for you, but I’d be glad to help.

©2009 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and a love letter of Wrongs) Reserved.