Sigma Tau Delta at JMU

Midnight in Paris

Woody Allen put it best.

I want to move to Paris and live in a studio apartment, surveying the people

Their meniscal bodies mirroring their minuscule purpose.

The 20s were a wonderful time

Action, love, Gilding

Everything coated with a sickening sense of hope and newfound “newness” that life could be better or life could change

Gil walks alone…

Down the empty streets of Paris

The midnight train comes to take him away

His purpose for writing is to escape, possibly explaining his character’s job at a nostalgia shop

Nostalgia

Definition: A sentimental longing or wistful affection for the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations.

A curious term…

Return, revert, return

The past always comes back to haunt us

It’s this transcendent power, seemingly touchable that everyone wants to keep

We waste our time and when it’s too late we want it back

Time is just a social construct

Or, is it philosophical?

A purgatory that makes us crave and yearn for something “new”

Yet, how is the past “new”     

By definition it’s old; however, it is truly the experience.

The warm sun bathes my skin as we jump into the pool.

The smell of chlorine fills my nostrils as I struggle for air.

I resurface and all I can see is red

Rocks, swimsuit, flowers…

Our last moments together as friends.

We were racing the clock- not wanting to let go

But, it was too late

Our fate was sealed and by that evening I would be gone.

Her blonde hair matted against her pale skin

Untouched my pain or age

The sliding glass door shuts in front of me and all I can see is myself, or at least a version of myself.

I don’t recognize her. Her frame is the same- medium built, tall, athletic. But her face is different.

Sad, her eyes gilded with specks of gold that call out: Who are you? What do you want to be?

She’s gone now. Only to be replaced with another version of herself- a clone, an android?

Programmed to complete requests…

Yet, her maker is one-in-the-same

It is she who binds herself down to the stake and watches as she burns

The future memory fades and all that is left in the ash is what she wants to be

Reflections masked by innocence.

The fountain capsizes and the only sound left is the gurgling of the placid water.

Built in the 1820s a time of industrialization and drastic change.

Smoke fills the air as the screams of the innocent enter the busy streets

Mucked with dirt and grime as women empty their heart’s belongings

Progress is only relative

“The times have changed”

Yet, history repeats itself

If I could have one superpower it would be to time travel

To escape to an era that is an idea of what I believe what life should be.

But that’s everything that Allen is trying to explain.

We all want to go back to a subjective idea of what is “great” or “wonderful”

The only difference is that we do not have to wallow in the mistakes of others or ourselves.

The snow has cleared

Cars leave to and from work

Schools resume

 The passing of seasons cloud my judgment

I sit alone

I want to go back home…

Her smile brightens the mood

The enigma that is…

Development

Unknown changes

Lose

Did you know that smiling causes frown lines- the cost we pay for living?

The inevitability of death holding us consciously aware of

What’s the point?

“I want it all back now!”

The gun pointed at her head

1,2,3

“BANG!”

The old is dead

However, we never really change

We will always be moldable pieces of clay-controlled by our lack of self-reflection, craving for more, the thirst never filled

The vase cracks like the façade we each carry

Our masks hidden behind our backs

Truth is a lie

And lying is a truth

Are you getting my logic?

Sitting, mourning the loss of someone I don’t know. It’s funny how connections work- I’m sorry for your loss-I don’t mean it-I wish I did-If I went back, would I know you?

Pondering, Wondering, Thinking

Is it all you ever do?

Yes…

40% self-aware

The minutes falling away

“Hello, how are you?”

“I’m fine…”

The door opens again- her reflection no longer there.

No, she’s in the pool

Water, Water, Water

Flowing, rushing, falling

A body- tall, athletic, and eyes like pools

The luster is gone

She knows the truth.

The sun sets on today only to come again

Is this inductive or deductive?

She no longer needs protection

Honesty is what she must consume

Everything must end

The lights come on

It’s only she and “Her”

Lines carve

Incisions

Scarification

Memories flood and stimulate

One last splash…

Angel

Galvani Street