Wednesday, August 20, 2014

Pepé Le PEW

VOGUE copyright Conde Nast
© 2014
© 2014 KM Fikes
Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from KM Fikes is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to KM Fikes & with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.  No excerpt or link may be used for monetary compensation.

Most Republicans Say Race Is Getting Too Much Attention in Teen Shooting

Thank you, PEW Research Center, thanks eva so. 

H2Omeloncholy is socio visceral - the phantom of an Ism.  Or should one type, 'zombie'?  Phantom implies a crossing over or passing - of sorts.  Dare one utter: 'post'.  A 'zombie', howeva, is the undead.  Pre not; post not.  Some nuisance due to its existential nuance.  Substantively stuck, i. e., H2Omeloncholy™.

In this week following Ferguson po po's six-bullet-shooting death of unarmed teen, Michael Brown, one had yet to experience the thematic phenomena of this blog - H2Omeloncholy™.  The PEW 'findings', alas, slice thru our beleaguered gourd, splattering pink juice as if cutting a vein squirting chronically anemic plasma. 

Too dramatic, gentlesoulfolk?  Nay, think not.  Nah.

Your blogger finds herself in the throws of one, shocking H2Omeloncholic™ episode that may bode intervention.  May the inkwell suffice therapeutically.  

According to the latest PEW research, 18 percent of the homezgentry view 'race' as framing the Brown slaying - too much - in contrast to 47 percent of Dominant Cult agents (61 percent if raising thy trunk in the Grand Ol' Party).  Look ye out fo' dat black melon seed, my good peops.  Lest it fly into thine eye.  I and me - in all of my Du Bois twoness - nod my H2Omeloncholicnapps towards the 47 percent!  True dat.

Indubitably, 'race', i. e., Other-ed Ismry is the exhaustive topic of the day.  Why?  Dominant Cult decided we be Post.  In a committed Post lifestyle, race is evaded in discussion.  In moments where the polka dot melon in the middle of da room can no longer be avoided, national discourse is inundated.  Ad nauseam.  One affirms Dominant Cult's sense of some bombastic bombardment.  Although, this blog differs in the recognition that that very inundation is an indictment.  Sum'in's absent, yo.  That sum'in ain't allusive; it is acquired Ism enlightenment.  Anything acquired most oft requires some semblance of daily discipline.

Sho' nuff, conversely, the homezgentry is bruised from incessantly bandaging invisible microaggressions.  Sanity is challenged in this futile effort.  Our search becomes compulsory - surveying our epidermis for the mark that reflects our insular wound from insidious interactions in Postopia.  Ad nauseam.

How, my good peops, is this possible - how the skin can miss such a discernible diss?  Dominant Cult does so ev'ry sunrise n' set.  So adept - are they - in the practice of Oblivion, that when macroaggression occurs - six bullets strong, Dom Cult is willing to acknowledge uncontextualized tragedy.  But then - and key, now...  Prompt, if'n ya please, return forthwith to Post.

One concurs that dire crises can burst at their seems with racialized consciousness.  Relevance is diffiCult to decipher in the midst of a tragic moment.  Sans a balanced view, Ism estimation leaks integrity to underscore the 'con' in confounded.  "Too much attention" Now results from 'too little focus' Then.  And regretfully, predictably...After.  Poli-correctitude mutes what Matters.  The construction of race - built up prior to being shunned speechless - is unaccustomed to the spotlight.  When sniffing its fifteen minutes of Meaning, Other-ed Ismry seizes the lone opportunity that is publicly afforded: the blurred chalk outline of a black boy slaughtered.  The PEW poll well charts the polarity of Postnessity - gagging pundit mouths who can only regurgitate impotent epiphanies from Trayvon last summer or Emmett from the summer of '55. 

If, perchance, a (w)holistic race awareness was freely articulated in our common discourse, Dom Cult - and dissOrientalized me - would not feel overwhelmed, or worse, inconvenienced by an otherwise democratic dynamic in a virulent void which - granted voice or not - shapes Encounter to create our collective experience.  If racial spatiality cannot trip off the tongue with the ease of its primary act - Oppression, 'tis mo' just to leave the subject be.  Alone.  Suffocating the ill-prepared with the consequences of a conscience could prove irresponsible, if not quasi cruel.  

© Castle Rock Entertainment
Jack Nicholson, A Few Good Men, 1992 

Denial serves a purpose; awakening too soon is hazardous to the perks of Privilege.  Prince Hamlet's melancholy is the precursor to Hamhockuse' H2Omeloncholy™.  The canon of Shakespeare (1564 - 1616) is older than 'our' empire (1776 -    ).  In dog years, 'Merica is a zombie.  In empire years, 'we' are but a petulant adolescent with a fragility too green to absorb how much the past informs our present.  Eager to age yet reticent to evolve, some open-carry a convincing, fake ID.  Onward, Post...

Michael Brown
1996 - 2014 
Roses line the street where Mike Brown was shot and killed, Aug. 21, 2014. Photo by Amanda Sakuma for MSNBC
 rose memorial lining the street where Mike Brown's corpse lay unattended for four hours
 Aug. 21, 2014
Photo by Amanda Sakuma for MSNBC

Silenced.  Zombies rarely speak; they never progress - except in their increase of the living's dread.  Postness implies, at the very least, continuity.  How can dialogue be a fait accompli?  

Been there/ done that/ 'nuff said.   

One frowns whilst inquiring about this supposed, retired conversation:  Where 'race' been?  What 'race' done?  And pray thy pardon for missing what 'race' said.  Might it then be inferred that Dom Cult is weary most, not of 'race', but Reality.  Zombies incite fear, not some façade of Ism-ed finality to protect a weak 'constitution'.  Therefor, Postin' defies that category.  Fictive Postopia is unique amongst horror shows.  It morphs into an animated caricature of itself - grooving hard to the beat of a looney tune.  Cultivators of Dominant Culture woo, or betta yet, 'court' Postness.  An unrequited tale tail - notably, striped in black and white...and bushy - chases itself round n' round.  When its own harassment is confronted, in defense of itself, an odor is emitted that smells like death.

a clever as compassionate critique
on the implausibility of

Til our next 'post', feast upon produce in season...

© 2014 KM Fikes 
© 2014 
Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from KM Fikes is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to KM Fikes & with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.  No excerpt or link may be used for monetary compensation.


Friday, January 24, 2014

when harry met satchel

VOGUE copyright Conde Nast
© 2014
© 2014 KM Fikes
Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from KM Fikes is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to KM Fikes & with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.  No excerpt or link may be used for monetary compensation. 
© Columbia Pictures
Meg Ryan & Billy Crystal in Rob Weiner's film of Norah Ephron's script, When Harry Met Sally, 1989

Expecting Satchel Paige?  

harry /ˈharē/ - to sack or pillage

Pleased to present this follow-up post to both Annie's Haul and chartRUSE™:

Liberty.  Oft as supple as leather.  How one prefers the freedom of hands free to roam the world.  To the chagrin of the chiropractical, one finds a shoulder bag with handle tightly nestled grants all ten digits tactile access.  Alas, the below pre-order's configuration did not intend to venture past the elbow.  Requesting a longer strap to accommodate my upper-arm aim was warmly received by the affable owner of QUEORK, Amanda Dailey.  She complied - with a quickness.  Nevadaless, her designer took temperamental creative license and proceeded to construct a Quirkin handle that she/he deemed mo' 'apropos'.  Now, as Agency o' the Individual - at any cost - is this blogger's motto, I could only chuckle at this act of runway resistance.  The autonomous 'choice' of sewing a smaller handle may have come at my ergonomic expense - and the actual purchase.  Apologetic, Ms. Dailey refunded me forthwith.  Still, one has to admire the artisan.  Power to the worker.  She/he may have a certain ethos: the customer is not always right in assuming authority ova their own aesthetic.

copyright image
Due to her graceful 'handling' of the matter, Ms. Dailey's reputation escaped even a modicum of injury.  One admires that she sources the manufacturing of her wares to those most adamant in assertion of their own taste.  Pocketbook n' Soup Nazis unite

This French Quarter business is currently taking New York by a stylish storm named neither Katrina nor Sandy.  Would that I could peep her inventory of cork couture - live.  One day, indeed.

The above episode occurred ions ago in November, 2013.  Old baggage.  New Year. 

One can only hope a random ebay search of "cork handbag" displayed no Dailey disloyalty.  Her inventory eva entices.  Took balls to craft the Quirkin, a cork parody of the Birkin.  And by 'Ball'?  One props n' daps Lucille, stompin' grapes in wine country - as much as the renewable harvesting of oak trees for their regenerative cork.  

The art o' web inquiry has taken Curiosity from mere, fleeting thought to immediately gratified exercise.  What hath the tech revolution wrought upon Curiosity's mortality rate for pussy kitties?  One's duel question marks - framing the notion of reincarnation - loom large.  Note the 'hook' of the punctuation family; some risks may meet reward.  Curiosity may prove lethal to pussy kitties but mercifully, felines are ostensibly bequeathed nine rounds in the cosmic ring of It All.


The QUEORK site's blog is quite informative in its warning of cork quality by 'lesser' conscious manufacturing.  With tutorial in mind, one scrolled the ebay page with a discerning eye.  Upon locating the compellingly discounted ZILLA listing, one googled for any evidence of the brand's sourcing of sound cork product.  Silvia Pichler, another savvy XX chromo enterprise owner, is an innovative architect creating commendable accessories with unique fabrications in the Italian market.  From the "About" page on the main ZILLA site:

"Bags conceived as moving structures, mobile homes for woman handcrafted in Italy."
© ZILLA ad campaign
What is appreciated most about Ms. Pichler's Spring/Summer 2011 design is its reinvention of a standard made suddenly fashion forward.  All hail motion!  The model here is referenced as the 'Granny' bag for its familiar bulbous shape associated with a done-been-gone era.  Yore, yo.  A carpetbag in othawise retirement, artfully draped - in cork, at that - becomes alluringly avante-garde.  H2Omelorotica™ yesterdecade burlesque - with cork or sponge pasties.  One's vegan wallet/ hybrid keys/ biodegradable prophylactic/ solar-charged cell phone/ certified organic breath mint/ eco mineral lip tint - all wrapped in swaddlin' cork - seems less titillating by way of Whore's punany-ed pocket and more marsupial, in nature, via Madonna 

Even the faintest allusion to socio Biblical XY chromo chaos calls for that ol' gender-bend.  Alas Alleluia...'least a hint.  Raisin' one's right pinky to swear upon her dissolved mint and smeared tint, let us embark upon a G-spot bender.  'Tis out of in order:

© 2014 KM Fikes
ZILLA 'Granny' XL bag with Brooks Brothers silk necktie decked in watermelon motif

A solo XY chromo H2O necktie is mo' than enuf.  One can almost sense the reading of this very line to the reader's nod in the affirmative.  Gentlesoulfolk, how wise thou'rt.  Fo'sooth, successful accessorizing is knowing the art of the parfait edit.  Ms. Dailey's designer may too agree - I dare conjecture.  All, howeva, is a bejeweled journey.  According to Hermès, maker of the über upper echelon-ed Birkin, the technical name for an accent scarf tied upon one's pocketbook is "twilly".  Might that moniker be suggestive of avoidance of the application twice - say, upon da flip side?  'Twill be too much.  The first, few swigs swings of one's wine-topper, bold as dry, pucker-lipped purse still feels a wee bit surreal to o'erthink the obvious:  The otha handle should remain as exposed as its stripped tree trunk or as bare as uncarved, hard knocked melon.  

With da flip side attired in perpetual Casual Friday, let us then entertain a neutered nouveau...or is that chartRUSE collar, masculine retro...Betta yet?  POSTcloset conceptualization.  Enter stage left?  The neoclassic dandy and his choice of metrosexual 'goods'.

          she-he frou-frou? POSTandrogyny.

Imagine thy blogger center stage upon theatrical absurdity.  She is weaved Pfeiffer blonde, in Harvard crimson-melon velvet, with high slit and low décolletée.  She sings sultry atop piano.  For  accompaniment?  Da Fabulous Birkin Boys:

               Kanye West                                                                     Marc Jacobs

                           Pharrell                                         *

 All images - albeit paparazzi - copywritten

One holds but one simple as humble hope as she 'carries on':  May one's satirical tote fail miserably to be mistaken for the egregiously testerone-ed leather or suede that cork nigh approximates albeit trumps texturally.  It was not purchased with any goal, whatsoeva, of convincing replication of any reptilian nor bovine flesh.  Says a peculiar affinity for leather-bound knots a la Katherine Kwei.  Perchance, yon ChartRUSE™ 'trade' is yet anotha process - as dichotomous as H2Omeloncholy and as derelict in socio evolutionary duty as POSTnessity.

One considers her new cork confection a post-souvenir along one's continued, surrealist-sustainable, ChartRUSE sojourn.  Measuring in inches, 16 by 15 by 4, the ZILLA's generous proportions will accommodate as well as prompt a spontaneous trek, stamping one's passport and fleeing to haunts unknown as absurd.

The aforementioned quote of Ms. Pichler, the architect by training, seems to imagine the bag as renting space in a globalized trailer park - with motor eva running.  Yo, 'twill be lil' surprise to ye that one's preferred architectural design is Barcelona's take on the Art Nouveau movement - as expressed best thru Gaudí: 
© Creative Commons 2.5
'Façade' of Casa Batlló
One will confirm this penchant after actual perusal in person - like one's anticipated début twirl in the QUEORK headquarters.  For interior décor, one tends to Pisa lean towards Hollywood-Regency-meets-French-Country-émigré-toile-that-demurely-flirts-with-POSTkitch.  Irreverent refinement...or sum'in like.   

Antoni Gaudí left the world his orgasmically celestial Sagrada Família - not to be completed until a century after his death.  Picasso - ironically enuf, Gaudí's fellow Spaniard - was rather well-endowed with a fetish for découpagin' mutant nipples.  Pablo Picasso managed to ravish XX chromo breast tissue along with 'The' African mask's aestheticism.  Left brah blue - for a period.  

There be dissOrientalism.  And then there be the damned:

One still finds oneself in the early stages of recovery from said 'cubed' cultural plundering and therefo' remains challenged to reclaim one's own imagined heritage.  One wonders if Other-ed Ethnic taste is subliminally sentenced to a statelessness beyond the requisite transitory forms of fashion.  Neitha pre nor post.  One writes of that inegmatic "rebirthed cool", a cutting edge, quantum suspended prescience necessitated by survival in some absurdist zeitgeist where H2Omeloncholy Prohibition beacons speakeasies to flow - eroticizing the exploitation of exotic spiked juice from forebodden fruit.

Above all else, one admires but mo' so, finds a style respite in spaces organically adorned with yon inhabitant's travels - as if wallpapered with dog-eared pages from their own exaggerated journals - writ on some border-crossed train.  'Tis an effective affective illusion: how carpetbaggin' tourism can carpe diem.

Can a handbag serve, daresay, swing, as artistic commentary on the commerce of ecology of our chosen 'luggage'?  Further, one is choosing to 'arm' oneself with an accessorized attempt at getting some half-melon handle on what does/should symbolize status.  Plus, my good, peops?  One will remind oneself - daily - to pop Life's cork, i. e., stop short to smell da roses or swirl n' sniff the melon.


Prefer thy present to post reflections but hey, one shall take what thou art generous enuf to bestow.  The comment section would be honored to be graced with such esteemed presence.  We await...And by 'we'?  One means H2Omeloncholic moi and her 'Granny'...'Elder Statesman'...'Elder Statement' bag.

Michelle Pfeiffer in The Fabulous Baker Boys, 1989

* Jo Dunlap's site, Australian fashion blogger living in Freetown, Sierra Leone:    

a clever as compassionate critique
on the implausibility of

Til our next 'post', feast upon produce in season...

© 2014 KM Fikes 
© 2014 
Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from KM Fikes is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to KM Fikes & with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.  No excerpt or link may be used for monetary compensation.