The Empire of Death (Paris, FR)

“So are you coming?” asked my father as he started to slowly descend the spiral stairs into the dark hidden area below the Pisa cathedral. I hesitated for a moment as the curiosity of what was below collided with the fear caused by my imagination.

“They’re just inside large-decorated marble and stone boxes,” my father explained trying to convince me. “No way,” I replied.

While I waited for my father to resurface I walked around relived that I had escaped the experience of being chased by resurrected decomposing priest and rich monarchs buried in those roman sarcophagi below. I walked around the large cathedral staring up at the large frescos and vaulted ceiling. Then, I reached a black marble alter and froze in awe. There it was: the very thing I had just said no to. A tall glass-paned sarcophagus with a spotlight on a skeleton of an important priest.

“Is that real?” I asked one of the workers. They politely smiled and replied in Italian, “Si, guarda i piedi.” “Look at the feet?” I thought puzzled.

There they were the white long skinny bones of a human foot peaking out from the decorative sheet covering the rest of the body. I was so distracted by the ornate golden mask placed over the skeleton’s face that I had missed the truth. Now I was staring intensely at this body inside a display case waiting for it to animate. I walked away intrigued at the fact that this skeleton was displayed like some kind of show, while all the others were hidden underground. If death was so prominently displayed out here than something much darker must be in the crypt kept out of sight.

Several years later I stood at a large dark green entrance at the top of a spiral stair case. “So are you coming?” asked my friends excited by the thought of heading down below the streets of Paris. “Of course!” I said. This was my chance to finally see what I had missed in Pisa and stare 200 year old death in the face. Surely by now I was old enough to not be terrified by dead bodies in old boxes, besides these bodies had been dead for so long that all that should be left was bone.

The tour began in small white rooms whose walls were covered entirely with information and photographs of the catacombs. This served as a last point of calm. As you stepped out of the last room into the low ceiling path of the catacombs there was a feeling of having less oxygen in a cramped space and nothing but darkness ahead. Our feet crunched on the gravel-covered floor. We passed two large columns painted black and white and reached a marble doorway with the inscription “Arrètte! C’est ici l’empire de la mort.”

Empire of Death Door Paris CatacombsI pointed up and told my friends, “Well, I guess we are entering The Empire of Death.” “That is terrifying,” replied one of the girls as she walked slowly through the doorway. “No way!” a friend ahead of us in the path exclaimed, “Come look at the skulls.”

As promised past that doorway were innumerable bones perfectly staked against both sides of the path. Some stacks were taller then most of us and seemed to be perfectly organized in layers arraigned by bone type. Farther down the path we reached slightly bigger sections of the catacombs, which were still covered in bone stacks, but this time there were designs: crosses, hearts and arches all made up of precisely placed remains. “The poor workers who had to move all these bones from the cemeteries must have been pretty bored down here,” I said to my friends who were inspecting the designs more closely. “I guess,” one of them replied seeming a little disgusted. “What if they did this on purpose? Maybe this place was meant to be visited,” replied my other friend who was trying to get a good picture of one of the designs.

We continued on the path which got smaller again and surprised you every so often with a pitch black opening beside you were anything could be waiting to grab you. We were nearing the end now, but there was one last surprise. Carved into the left portion of this limestone path was a large scale and very detailed model of what looked like a very expensive French chateau. This perfectly lit museum quality display reminded me of that glass paned black marble sarcophagus in Pisa. Death was on display above and below here too without any reservations.

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Locks

Locks and their illusions only work if the agreement between strangers is kept. It must be the case because if they were so safe and effective then why do they make new models all the time. The fact is that is someone wants to open a lock and invade your privacy they will find a way.

My parents  tell me of a time that sounds made up to me now in 2017. The fond memory of a time in Italy, where we use to live, where people trusted in their neighbors so much that they let their door and car keys on their locks. I mean isn’t it sad that now there are less and less places that continue to live with this kind of mentality, where people have faith in others and respect for their privacy.

10,000 Spoons

I knew it was time to surrender to my problems when I started to cry as I listened to the popular song Ironic by Alanis Morissette, while driving. I can no longer pretend that I’m calm, add to all of this the road rage caused by the ridiculous amounts of stress that comes with driving in Miami, a true terror; every time there’s a merge lane situation I literally don’t know if i’m going to make it. Then add construction going on for months now at home in renovations and I’m seriously done, I cannot continue like this.

I’ve started to slowly give up the the possibility of me continuing to pursue my career in editorial work at the moment. No opportunities are being offered to me no matter how many I apply for constantly and on a global scale. At this point the lack of purpose is getting to me, so I stop and think, “Why am I still here, waiting?” I think I should leave the U.S., it’s not the land of the American Dream anymore and it has too many stresses to bare while also trying to be patient and motivated, ready for when the opportunity offers itself. Everyone is dying to get into the country and I’m just hear with generalized anxiety thinking that although we don’t have it the worst things aren’t improving they are getting worse. People as I like to say are rotting away on the inside and masking it all on the surface.

Italy seems like a better solution, although it too is suffering as a country from a lot of economical problems at least you have a life there. People actually get vacation time, are more responsible on the road, aren’t hollering out sexist comments at you (disclaimer: this mainly applies to the shit behavior of hispanics in Miami.) Or maybe France where people may be aloof but they do come together to fight against abuses in the work place. America is nothing but materialism and people only thinking of their own well being in respect to wealth and easily forget about the important things in life like love, family and freedom.

I’m that girl who has 10,000 spoons and all I really need is a knife.  

Something Beautiful

I remember I once wrote a cover letter that wasn’t bland. Of course it highlighted my skills and previous work experience, but that’s boring, something anyone can just spit out. I talked about something beautiful, wanting to create things that were beautiful and I still love how romantic that sounds.

I am not the best artist in the classical sense -I am however-  phenomenal at concepting and delegating tasks to talented people who can execute them. At first this sounds weird or nonsensical, like I’m trying to take credit for others’s art or something. But what I’m describing is exactly what a creative director does because although the artist may hold the specific talent they may need someone like me who has the view of the bigger picture and complete package to make sure it is executed.

The thought of putting in months of work and helping in the creation of something beautiful like Annie Leibovitz’s interpretation of Marie Antoinette’s world in VOGUE is what I aspire to. And probably something madame Marie Antionette, Dauphine of France would have loved herself.

Speculation is the Enemy

Speculation is the root of all evil…

Okay well maybe greed has something to do with it too, but let’s face it speculation really is the devil.

Now I live in the US and one of the latest cases of stupidity caused by speculation is the miss informed, bullshit polls taken before the preseidential election. All pointing to Hilary Clinton as the next president of the United States. Spoiler alert, Donald Trump is our democratically elected president!

Pure poison is what is spewed out by news sites with no integrity. There was a time in the US when journalists did their job, i.e. serving and informing the masses. Not just doing things for views, money and retweets. No one can be unbiased that’s impossible, but fuck me most of the media isn’t even trying to be logical or fair.

Journalist have forgotten their duties to the people, which use to be and should still be to inform the public. In the same way doctors and laws enforcement is suppose to help the public.

I mean imagine a world where doctors only helped people who gave them the most money or popularity.

Punishment

Punishment is something that many control freaks seek to get a little relief. Relief for the pressure of constantly having to plan, fix, organize and feel responsible for others. Receiving punishment that you have agreed to is sexy because you’re giving the power to someone else, the power to dominate, the power to misstep and have it all be their fault and not yours.

The best part is the moment you agreed to the punishment at your command, is the moment you acted like you were willing to be submissive, but really you gave the order…

Source: Punishment

Job Wanted

I thought the purpose of my moving to NYC so suddenly was to get a job or at least some type of internship/temp work that would help beef up my resume. So far though, no luck. I’m applying everywhere and I mean everywhere; on a global scale! But I’m here, in this famous city to play the numbers game. You see back in my beloved Miami there are pretty much only 3 major magazines and the likelihood of you being hired there is laughable. I’m not giving up though, like I learned at a wonderful mentorship cocktail event by Ed2010, “It only takes one.”