I digress

Titillating. Scintillating.

Reading today’s “For better or worse” Reading some advertising flyer. I admit it. My eyes were captured by images. I suspect men are that way.

I’ve wondered: how many more bras are sold because of the models wearing them. I just can’t believe that women storm the stores based on scantily clad models wearing some run of the mill bra. But then I don’t get excited by some guy standing in boxer shorts or even a pair of Dockers. I do admit that the bra ads are a bit titillating. I look at the shape of the model and maybe her facial expression for a couple of seconds. Maybe it is a hunter mindset. Bull. It’s a man thinking: “Gee I wonder…”

Images. I’m always looking for images. I look at a sunset and try to freeze it in my mind. A thousand images will replace it. It disappears into the memory void. An image of a steam locomotive. An image of a mountain-side cloaked in ice at dawn. An image of my wife holding a baby. Oh to recall the actual image of the smile on her face. I watch the television for images. Images of London burning on December 29, 1940. Images of the World Trade Center burning. Images of fires on the west coast. Begone images. Replace those images with more appealing images.

Images of potato skins oozing with cheese. Images of some woman running her tongue over her upper lip as if she is starving. An image of a puppy racing up the steps ahead of me. A distant image of some girl in dim light. An image of Marlene Dietrich. Funny, so many images but not a one that I can recall with any succinct clarity. If I was an artist I could not duplicate a single one of them with accuracy. They flow and meld.

What do the mages say about the viewer? An important question that should be considered. Images are perhaps a test of our inner mind. Perhaps, and you understand this is only a perhaps with no image.

A puppy running up steps, a woman with tongue exploring. A mother holding her child, all images of acceptance or dare we call it love which is unconditional. A mountainside of ice, a steam locomotive, a sunset, all images of power that overwhelms everything. A power that cannot be contained. London burning, the world trade center falling, and brush fires, man’s inhumanity to each man and my impotence against the universe.

I think at this moment of another image. A woman. Some woman. Is she myth or reality? Why is her image right there? What does she get from it? She isn’t paid to model the bra or even the panties. She is just there. What was she seeking? What is her reward? What is the reward for those who know her? What do those images say about her? What do those images say about her furtive audience. Ah, that image to has no clarity for me. It’s just part of the film strip that is my life. Thousands of images roaring though my time. At times I think the images which have absolutely no import are the best. I don’t wish I could know them again.

Turkey Hollow is cold this morning.

G