Take the first step toward more Healthier Hair. Imagine the possibilities😩
Without a doubt your going to ♥️this!
It just might be the best investment that you’ve ever made for your hair the how to and the what not to🤗 The sooner you act, the sooner your journey to more Healthy Hair Under your Hijab begins. And that’s a promise!
ORDER YOUR COPY TODAY
“Feel this moment.”
That’s what I told myself, waking early to sound of rain. Legs spill over the bedside, feet found slippers. Robed, holding coffee, white merging with black, I fill empty pages with ink, with words. Deep longings, gratitude, dreams. Places I want to stretch, grow into. Skin, I want to shed, leave behind. They all live on pages, these thoughts and ideas, misfits and companions.
They are a collection of my inner workings, finding a way out of my core into tangible ideas. They often war on the page. Arguing. Again, misfits, but mine.
The battle of late: accepting the gravity of this season’s change. My children are growing. The local high school roster will have a Panza on the list. Aches and mental scrambling - how can we be here, already?
It’s been a slow build and then all at once. With signs all around me. Be it in the weather, or the backpacks lined up by the front door: a new season is here. Another season is ending. I choose joy in the change. Monumental for us, status quo for others. My feelings want to take me to the fringe, to feel frazzled. I choose gravity. I choose to root in the real... I choose to feel THIS moment. And all the weight that it carries. .
I choose to pause, slow down. I will reflect. I will embrace it. I will let hands linger. I will close my eyes and find comfort in knowing that I am here. With the ones I love... I have lived. I have experienced this gift. And I will embrace the next season, in all it’s changes... because, that is a gift too.
Where you are... feel your moment. Be present. It’s your gift for today. For tomorrow, your hands may hold another.
'Love is the expanse between you and everything. It is centered on you, my occult lover, through devotion. And yet for it to work, it must become omniscient. You cannot be cruel and in love you see. Love is not selfishness. It is grace inspired by you, raining down on the cosmos itself. In love, you not only become gentle with the world, but with that ghost of the self you hate and banish. In your newfound invincibility, you become forgiving and truely what it means to be humane.' Photograph by Abu Ghraib
I’m leaving on honeymoon today and haven’t written anything new, so here are some old friends. anyone else nostalgic for 140-character twitter? 🐥
a tweet I wrote in 2016, as follows.
clutching : I want a poem for the hard time, for hole thru torso, for maybe, for wait, for dread like back cramps. I want a poem for you.
The first book of my series about Pierre Bernal de los Campos comes in two versions. The original written by newbie author me from two years ago and the 2nd Edition written by two year veteran writer me. I suggest the latter. Link in bio!
#speakurbox It wasn't the end of the world, just the end of the bullshit. There's always a better way. but we know this already. Understanding we have the power to do better, is the beginning of the end of the world as they taught it. Things are more apparent now. Knowledge of what really is, has been automatically downloaded. And there's NO APP for that! we've yearned for the law of nature, not the politics of man. If one preaches change, it should be the words from thy own reflection. Only you, me, we, and us can make that change. I have 99 solutions, I'm starting with one. Me. -Alchenetti #write#poetry#poemoftheday#poem#poemsofinstagram#poetrycommunity#write#writting#writter#words#theword#justwrite .... under a tree, I calmly vibe with her frequency. Love is her voice. I heard her voice call, and so I stayed. Her Beautiful colors, and autumns leaves. I gaze and pause .... sigh of relief. She pleasured me with mountains of glory. She harmonizes my tones at ease. As the day falls to night, I sit under her stars with a clearer vision in sight. #todays#freewrite -Alchenetti #love is the #frequency of #life#sharingiscaring#feelingishealing
The thing that fills me with silent fury is when you name me the sum total of my deaths. I am the element. You cannot enter. Your lacerations on me- those past foretellings of disasters- mere ships sunk into me. I am not this. Have never been. I shall change. I am Pierrot, yes. And I, Columbine. And Harlequin. You ll see.
Photograph: Paul Legrand as Pierrot circa 1855. Photograph by Nadar.
When I see us all together on this ride, I can't see where we are going at all-together that is. There is just no 'going to' happening, not really. Our whole genealogy-one long cry of solipsism. What I gather around are songs and stories. That's all. We all continue to pass through the same portal over and over again. There is no cumulative. One piercing through the eye of the fish and the ocean is ours, or it never is. And you can take families down that line, entire nations, planets. It's all in one, and one in all.
Photograph: Trolley—New Orleans
By Robert Frank (1955)
'You know on certain nights as I turn and feel her there, breathing, I am so thankful. Lovers have this magical power to turn their corner, no matter where it is-into a small piece of infinite heaven. And if that's not a superpower, the antidote that humanity has, I don't know what is.' Photograph: Couple Sleeping In A Subway Car, 1940s
By Stanley Kubrick
'When she walked away, I saw her beauty and God I could kiss the cobblestones that touched her feet. I did not call her, did not ask her to stay. There is something amazing about a woman who knows her own heart, a woman who can say no and choose herself by walking away from assholes like me. And I wished I could have seen that beauty while she sat laughing over the morning toast that I had burnt, which she dolloped with marmalade nevertheless. But somehow as an infant man I knew the hunger that lasted only till something stayed out of reach. I had known it as a child. And how I wished to be content. But it was beyond me. Except moments like these- watching her leave, with all the clarity of being.' Photograph: Walking The Streets Of New York, 1946 by Stanley Kubrick
It's me, Marylou. Marie. Little Lou.
This is to you and Dad. 'I cannot explain how it hits me right now, after all these years- how much you and Dad have loved me. How I must have cried at night as a baby. How irritating it must have been. But you pulled me close- that shrill gooey me-and lulled me to sleep every single night. How even as I grew up, I hurt you time and again, blaming all my misfit emotions on bad parenting. You have cried with me, with every tear making it's way right through your heart. Mom how you stayed up late till I finished my homework-, how you winced when someone broke my heart. How you have made me used to so much love that I am slowly realizing cannot be found or demanded elsewhere. Mom, you made me grow up with all I could ask for and I said some very bitter things to you both, even to that sweet little baby brother you brought into this world (for me, as I joked). When I said I am leaving you for the love of my life, my baby brother couldn't believe his sister could have said those words to him. How you rushed to stop me. Agreed to all demands of my self destruction. And whenever it hurts now, I hide myself from you both but you see through and ask where it hurts. And so tonight your daughter sits crying next to the love of her life who gets angry at her drama, who hasn't told his own mother even her name, while she has tried to make you love him, who tells his mother how he doesn't feel at ease with her, who reassures her he isn't serious for her, who says he ll wait till she slowly moves out of his life, who says he shall bring another girl who is more homely than the nameless girl (born of April much to the happiness of you and Papa).' Yours, Lou.
'When that beat hit me, right in my guts-it wrenched out this instant of frightening energy like I should have known all along that I have it all and that I could tilt the entire world as I wanted it to seem or be, balanced on my finger tip- and then the throbs of glasses clicking, people calling out, fabrics and smells brought me to the shore of the sedated land where I chose the rut, where I put it off-cast off my power, my sensation of being. And I knew in that instance, I was a God in exile'. In the photograph: Corrie Lejuwaan. Photographer: Unknown
'I mean it. That girl flew in like a rocket and boy, did she rock my boat. Here I was free sailing on my piano, and there she came, a mother planet adorned by her rings and moons, the locus of all attention, sucking it in, yet not requiring it to flourish, almost looking around with disdain at what was, searching eagerly for some queer fancy that her mind had produced and which she demanded of the world around her like a child. That precise moment when I saw her glow as her eyes took my poor person in- I knew she needed me to power her-Jesus, never in my life had I felt so useful. And yet you know, she was not my type-atleast what I thought. I liked my peace where I could find it and she promised nothing of the sort. She blew me and the house with it all! Women like those, son, weild you, refurbish you with an alien fire, redefining what you love,- and then drown you into the lake of forgetfulness-a forgetfulness towards the rest of the world. And when she is done with her sting, you are of little use to yourself or anyone for that matter.' Photograph: Arnold Newman's Portrait of Igor Stravinsky
'And I thought it couldn't be but unknowingly I have started collecting images and incidents I want to remember before I die. Of course, when the moment would come I wouldn't know what to expect. Not all deaths are the same, and not everyone knows they are dying. But one such scene emerged. At twilight. A pinkish blue sky, a lone star, train tracks. Wires and poles, some waste and weeds. People trying to find their way in the dark. A microcosm of the world's calm and din in a remote place. And I couldn't pin point why would I ever visit this place in my mind before dying. And I might not. For all I know I might think of something utterly different. Maybe I would be looking at the fan blades up above me that badly needed dusting or the stains on the walls that looked like a million things. Maybe something that was inessential. Yes, most probably it would be something inessential, yet Emily, how painfully I am aware that it would be at the end these inessentials that the dying must hold dearly as last remnants of a life lived around the same.'
Photograph by Arthur Elgort
'That vertigo made me feel like I was trapped in my mind and body and that I would never experience happiness again. I was an animal who knew no language, my frustration spelt out nakedly as misunderstood violence. And there you lay, John, soundly asleep. I could see you, miles away it seemed- as I lay curled on the bathroom floor with the door slightly ajar and I caught your reflection in the mirror. And I knew you loved me, as is humanly possible. But in that moment I knew what it was to face damnation as a lone soul on a solitary path. And I expected a miraculous love that you seemed too human to provide.' Art work by Edward Hopper
'Dear Maria, I think you do know what it is like to live constantly in places that you are yet to visit, ecstatic encounters that await, beauty that you are yet to experience and become,- all goods bestowed against your name, signed off to be passed on to you eventually. I am horrified to imagine the gaping mouths of the dead frozen in the same expectancy. And yet, if you are really lucky, young and a fool, you can imagine you are in love and cheat the gods of their own farce'
Photograph by Joel Meyerowitz