Baby, You're a Wrecking Ball

The Muse's Tragedy

2012-01-23T19:46:00.000-08:00

Let me begin at the beginning. When I first met Vincent Rendle I was not yet thirty. That was twenty years ago. From that time until his death, five years ago, we were fast friends. He gave me fifteen years, perhaps the best fifteen years, of his life. The world, as you know, thinks that his greatest poems were written during those years; I am supposed to have "inspired" them, and in a sense I did. From the first, the intellectual sympathy between us was almost complete; my mind must have been to him (I fancy) like some perfectly tuned instrument on which he was never tired of playing. Someone told me of his once saying of me that I "always understood;" it is the only praise I ever heard of his giving me. I don't even know if he thought me pretty, though I hardly think my appearance could have been disagreeable to him, for he disliked to be with ugly people. At all events he fell into the way of spending more and more of his time with me. He liked our house; our ways suited him. He was nervous, irritable; people bored him and yet he dreaded solitude. He took sanctuary with us. When we travelled he went with us; in the winter he took rooms near us in Rome. In England or on the Continent he was always with us for a good part of the year. In small ways I was able to help him in his work; he grew dependent on me. When we were apart he wrote to me continually -- he liked to have me share in all he was doing or thinking; he was impatient for my criticism of every new book that interested him; I was a part of his intellectual life. The pity of it was that I wanted to be something more. I was a young woman and I was in love with him -- not because he was Vincent Rendle, but just because he was he!

People began to talk, of course -- I was Vincent Rendle's Mrs. Anerton; when the Sonnets to Silvia appeared, it was whispered that I was Silvia. Wherever he went, I was invited; people made up to me in the hope of getting to know him; when I was in London my door-bell never stopped ringing. Elderly peeresses, aspiring hostesses, love-sick girls and struggling authors overwhelmed me with their assiduities. I hugged my success, for I knew what it meant -- they thought that Rendle was in love with me! Do you know, at times they almost made me think so too? Oh, there was no phase of folly I didn't go through. You can't imagine the excuses a woman will invent for a man's not telling her that he loves her -- pitiable arguments that she would see through at a glance if any other woman used them! But all the while, deep down, I knew he had never cared. I should have known it if he had made love to me every day of his life. I could never guess whether he knew what people said about us -- he listened so little to what people said; and cared still less, when he heard. He was always quite honest and straightforward with me; he treated me as one man treats another; and yet at times I felt that he must see that with me it was different. If he did see, he made no sign. Perhaps he never noticed -- I am sure he never meant to be cruel. He had never made love to me; it was no fault of his if I wanted more than he could give me. The Sonnets to Silvia, you say? But what are they? A cosmic philosophy, not a love-poem; addressed to Woman, not to a woman!

But then, the letters? Ah, the letters! Well, I'll make a clean breast of it. You have noticed the breaks in the letters here and there, just as they seem to be on the point of growing a little -- warmer? The critics, you may remember, praised the editor for his commendable delicacy and good taste (so rare in these days!) in omitting from the correspondence all personal allusions, all those details intimes which should be kept sacred from the public gaze. They referred, of course, to the asterisks in the letters to Mrs. A. Those letters I myself prepared for publication; that is to say, I copied them out for the editor, and every now and then I put in a line of asterisks to make it appear that something had been left out. You understand? The asterisks were a sham -- there was nothing to leave out.

No one but a woman could understand what I went through during those years -- the moments of revolt, when I felt that I must break away from it all, fling the truth in his face and never see him again; the inevitable reaction, when not to see him seemed the one unendurable thing, and I trembled lest a look or word of mine should disturb the poise of our friendship; the silly days when I hugged the delusion that he must love me, since everybody thought he did; the long periods of numbness, when I didn't seem to care whether he loved me or not. Between these wretched days came others when our intellectual accord was so perfect that I forgot everything else in the joy of feeling myself lifted up on the wings of his thought. Sometimes, then, the heavens seemed to be opened.

All this time he was so dear a friend! He had the genius of friendship, and he spent it all on me. Yes, you were right when you said that I have had more than any other woman. Il faut de l'adresse pour aimer, Pascal says; and I was so quiet, so cheerful, so frankly affectionate with him, that in all those years I am almost sure I never bored him. Could I have hoped as much if he had loved me?

You mustn't think of him, though, as having been tied to my skirts. He came and went as he pleased, and so did his fancies. There was a girl once (I am telling you everything), a lovely being who called his poetry "deep" and gave him "Lucile" on his birthday. He followed her to Switzerland one summer, and all the time that he was dangling after her (a little too conspicuously, I always thought, for a Great Man), he was writing to me about his theory of vowel-combinations -- or was it his experi- ments in English hexameter? The letters were dated from the very places where I knew they were sitting by waterfalls together while he thought out adjectives for her hair. He talked to me about it quite frankly afterward. She was perfectly beautiful, and it had been a pure delight to watch her; but she would talk, and her mind, he said, was "all elbows." And yet, the next year, when her marriage was announced, he went away alone, quite suddenly . . . and it was just afterward that he published "Love's Viaticum." Men are queer!

After my husband died -- I am putting things crudely, you see -- I had a return of hope. It was because he loved me, I argued, that he had never spoken; because he had always hoped some day to make me his wife; because he wanted to spare me the reproach -- Rubbish! I knew well enough, in my heart of hearts, that my one chance lay in the force of habit. He had grown used to me; he was no longer young; he dreaded new people and new ways; il avait pris son pli. Would it not be easier to marry me?

I don't believe he ever thought of it. He wrote me what people call "a beautiful letter;" he was kind, considerate, decently commiserating; then, after a few weeks, he slipped into his old way of coming in every afternoon, and our interminable talks began again just where they had left off. I heard later that people thought I had shown "such good taste" in not marrying him.

So we jogged on for five years longer. Perhaps they were the best years, for I had given up hoping. Then he died.

After his death -- this is curious -- there came to me a kind of mirage of love. All the books and articles written about him, all the reviews of the "Life," were full of discreet allusions to Silvia. I became again the Mrs. Anerton of the glorious days. Sentimental girls and dear lads like you turned pink when somebody whispered, "That was Silvia you were talking to." Idiots begged for my autograph -- publishers urged me to write my reminiscences of him -- critics consulted me about the reading of doubtful lines. And I knew that, to all these people, I was the woman whom Vincent Rendle had loved.

After awhile that fire went out too and I was left alone with my past. Alone -- quite alone; for he had never really been with me. The intellectual union counted for nothing now. It had been soul to soul, but never hand in hand, and there were no little things to remember him by.

Then there set in a kind of Arctic winter. I crawled into myself as into a snow-hut. I hated my solitude and yet dreaded anyone who disturbed it. That phase, of course, passed like the others. I took up life again, and began to read the papers and consider the cut of my gowns. But there was one question that I could not be rid of, that haunted me night and day. Why had he never loved me? Why had I been so much to him, and no more? Was I so ugly, so essentially unlovable, that though a man might cherish me as his mind's comrade, he could not care for me as a woman? I can't tell you how that question tortured me. It became an obsession.

My poor friend, do you begin to see? I had to find out what some other man thought of me. Don't be too hard on me! Listen first -- consider. When I first met Vincent Rendle I was a young woman, who had married early and led the quietest kind of life; I had had no "experiences." From the hour of our first meeting to the day of his death I never looked at any other man, and never noticed whether any other man looked at me. When he died, five years ago, I knew the extent of my powers no more than a baby. Was it too late to find out? Should I never know why?

Forgive me -- forgive me. You are so young; it will be an episode, a mere "document," to you so soon! And, besides, it wasn't as deliberate, as cold-blooded, as these disjointed lines have made it appear. I didn't plan it, like a woman in a book. Life is so much more complex than any rendering of it can be. I liked you from the first -- I was drawn to you (you must have seen that) -- I wanted you to like me; it was not a mere psychological experiment. And yet in a sense it was that too -- I must be honest. I had to have an answer to that question; it was a ghost that had to be laid.

At first I was afraid -- oh, so much afraid -- that you cared for me only because I was Silvia, that you loved me because you thought Rendle had loved me. I began to think that there was no escaping my destiny.

How happy I was when I discovered that you were growing jealous of my past; that you actually hated Rendle! My heart beat like a girl's when you told me that you meant to follow me to Venice.

After our parting at Villa d'Este my old doubts reasserted themselves. What did I know of your feeling for me, after all? Were you capable of analyzing it yourself? Was it not likely to be two-thirds vanity and curiosity, and one-third literary sentimentality? You might easily fancy that you cared for Mary Anerton when you were really in love with Silvia -- the heart is such a hypocrite! Or you might be more calculating than I had supposed. Perhaps it was you who had been flattering my vanity in the hope (the pardonable hope) of turning me, after a decent interval, into a pretty little essay with a margin.

When you arrived in Venice and we met again -- do you remember the music on the lagoon, that evening from my balcony? -- I was so afraid that you would begin to talk about the book -- the book, you remember, was your ostensible reason for coming. You never spoke of it, and I soon saw that your one fear was that I might do so -- might remind you of your object in being with me. Then I knew that you cared for me; yes, at that moment really cared! We never mentioned the book once, did we, during that month in Venice?

I have read my letter over; and now I wish that I had said this to you instead of writing it. I could have felt my way then, watching your face and seeing if you understood. But, no, I could not go back to Venice; and I could not tell you (though I tried) while we were there together. I couldn't spoil that month -- my one month. It was so good, for once in my life, to get away from literature.

You will be angry with me at first -- but, alas! not for long. What I have done would have been cruel if I had been a younger woman; as it is, the experiment will hurt no one but myself. And it will hurt me horribly (as much as, in your first anger, you may perhaps wish), because it has shown me, for the first time, all that I have missed.

2011-01-30T19:44:00.000-08:00

i often worry for you..

but, why don't you for yourself?

and why can't you for anyone else?

why couldn't you understand my love?

2010-12-26T17:26:00.001-08:00

Why couldn't we be beautiful?

and why do I want it so bad?

2010-12-26T16:56:00.001-08:00

I find myself..

still caring.

and not wanting to.

like a ghost,

haunting me.

but, a part of your split personality,

I want

your body, if mindless and wordless.

I'd take you, kill you.

and you'd die mine.

my revenge for the loneliness.

2010-12-24T21:04:00.000-08:00

"Kaleidoscope, I beg you" By Caress Genelle

2010-12-23T21:48:00.000-08:00

you asked me to stay, told me to wait,and walked away while I sat waiting...

I'm still waiting.

promises. promises.

I'd like to shatter you.

Everyday If a thought protrudes
I stab myself to the confusion of you
I have wounds.

and I drown myself in the tub of the sorrow in your heart

and still I am sick to think
I really want it.

there was beauty in trying.

hazy smog of a man
a floating lingering gray,

how COULD you?
I can't think straight to replay..

can't. won't.
too many lies entangled with too much truth

and morbidly I wish to the roots
that I died like leaves in the winter
your pale ice
covers me and takes color from my flesh

your breathe,
a dead ice freezing at the start of a beginning

and the end of an ending
because it's everything to me.
forgive me.

denial is the soil in which you root your chasm of any existence
you could have left

and I'd beg a god
to kill me at the sight of your smile

and I even want to burn you
with the way I feel to your touch

I am dieing, yes.
the cause supplied by the beauty
I felt in your kaleidoscope

I wish you never had let go
while your hands diminish the breathe
from my throat. I felt you.

patches of plum on my flesh signal your life inside of me.

I even wished it.

It is a dreadful misery to have hope.

and I think you
wanted the confusion to contain me

in the thought
the lies do not distinguish
different than any truth

but from the yellow bit of life
from your eyes shown..
when I watched the
passion leak in form of words

and how could such green eyes lie?
what contradictions of life.
I don't believe.

spinning on empty responses
becoming just as empty

natural evil in the soil.
I'd prefer to keep the fire.

I felt unfrozen.

empty beds were screaming
of what was stolen.

tears were streaming
of what was broken.

but, only the ache and empty stays.
and the waiting.

I still feel your kaleidoscope surrounding.
its quite frightening.
and I don't care.

2010-12-21T11:28:00.000-08:00

2010-12-11T16:38:00.001-08:00

I hold on to you
and I don't want to let go.

I have faith in you

I hear every single word you say to me
I feel the words

I wait for the day when I see, hear, feel you.

and I'll wait alone.
because I am strong enough.

and I will make it until I see you
and I will show you love
in uncomplicated ways

2010-12-11T14:29:00.000-08:00

“The unreal is more powerful than the real, because nothing is as perfect as you can imagine it. because its only intangible ideas, concepts, beliefs, fantasies that last.

stone crumbles. wood rots. people, well, they die. but things as fragile as a thought, a dream, a legend, they can go on and on.”

2010-12-07T17:16:00.000-08:00

I Heart RONSON

2010-12-05T22:23:00.000-08:00

2010-12-05T17:56:00.000-08:00

2010-12-05T17:30:00.000-08:00

Something Poetic it seems..

In the mind
that once was clean

now all confused impurities
that reach out

don't reach out
it only gets thrown in the face
of the one
once who owned a heart

She feels frail
mangled and pale

and he sucked the pink from her flesh
every last suckle
the sweet apple

it all is dead and walking
it all makes sense
raveled and unraveled sense.

thoughts are circles
there is no straight
no narrow
nonsense

lifeless existence
I'll fight my own fate

don't hear my words
they were never enough
hearts weak
minds sink,
and where did we go wrong?

and how is it
none can say
the color that makes you blind
and the eyes
that steal your mind
as if we
..or he
had one.

Cause I could touch the sky
and you'd tell me I was only reaching

or I'd land on the hill
from the fly
and empty-faced, blankly
reply.."nice try"

there is something
like a shattered sheet of glass
or a broken ocean of dreams
like the tears shed
when no one is listening.

how a human
can take a beating organ
and not see a glimmer
in an eye, I won't ever know..

how do we beg
for what we think is our lives
Romantics die.

now she looks and see's no color
in the eyes of others
and she'll beg her thoughts to turn
to settle

or the color to redeem.
nothing seems poetic.
and what's real is a dream.

2010-11-29T18:39:00.000-08:00

I'm Not Quite Myself Lately..

2010-11-29T18:28:00.000-08:00

2010-11-25T20:55:00.000-08:00

I'm Still Waiting.. but, I'm starting to wonder why..

2010-11-25T20:47:00.000-08:00

Season's wishlist

2010-11-18T21:43:00.001-08:00

Season's wishlist by CaressGenelle featuring a crew vest

STREET

2010-11-14T02:34:00.000-08:00

2010-11-14T02:28:00.000-08:00

LOVE this girl. The Carly.

2010-11-14T02:11:00.000-08:00

Marc for LV

2010-11-14T01:40:00.000-08:00

Lucy in the Sky..

2010-11-14T01:39:00.000-08:00

I love this one.

2010-11-14T01:37:00.000-08:00

coco

2010-11-11T20:28:00.001-08:00

coco by CaressGenelle featuring christian louboutin boots

2010-11-11T11:17:00.000-08:00

I heart Zara

2010-11-10T20:27:00.000-08:00

A new apartment to a designer is a blank canvas with MANY opportunites!

2010-11-10T12:02:00.000-08:00

Accessories LOVE

2010-11-10T11:20:00.000-08:00

2010-11-06T08:49:00.003-07:00

2010-11-06T08:49:00.002-07:00

2010-11-06T08:49:00.001-07:00

topshop by CaressGenelle featuring brass jewelry

Angora Mix Stripe Shoulder Button Tunic - New In - Topshop USA
$85 - topshop.com
Topshop tops »

Basic Speckle Sweat
$50 - topshop.com
TopShop sweaters »

Knitted Slouchy Stitch Jumper
$80 - topshop.com
Topshop tops »

Scallop Silk Shorts By Boutique - New In - Topshop
$110 - topshop.com
Silk shorts »

Chiffon Embellished Panel Skirt Dress
$100 - topshop.com

MEMORY Floral Boots
$70 - topshop.com
Lace up boots »

ACORN Wedge Ankle Boots - View All - Topshop
$170 - topshop.com
Ankle booties »

The Paris Pearl Bag by Marc B**
$78 - topshop.com
Marc B clutches »

Square brass bracelet
$96 - theoutnet.com
Brass jewelry »

Bobbly Tassle Scarf - View All - New In - Topshop
$32 - topshop.com
TopShop scarves »

Beach Rug AT064 Light Blue / Ivory Boardwalk Stripes Rug - AT064LBIY
$100 - csnrugs.com

Shabby Shapes Photoshop Brushes by Designfruit
designfruit.com

Anyhow, I'm a Damn Fool

2010-10-04T17:16:00.000-07:00

I want it now don't I?
My own idea of a heart makes myself sick, anyhow..
I'd like to have you right beside me
but, haven't we all said the same?

How do we ever feel that way again after
the pages have been ripped from the binding?

Oh, I'm sick
and I'm pretend, anyhow.

I'm real and afraid; I want, and I run.
but, apparently not soon enough.

And, I blame myself repeatedly
for not running from the look in that eye.
the one that burns deeper than the tip of your cigarette..

Anyhow, you never answered when I asked.
You never tried when I longed for.
and you never felt when I fell torn.

but anyhow, I was honest.
and you still ran.

ironic, isnt it dear?

what about the way you kissed me?
or, at least the way you said you did..

Anyhow, you made me a fool.

for nothing.
piece by piece- I tried to say the least.

We want what is at a distance?
or maybe I just wanted you too badly
too strongly, too passionately.

Anyhow, I'm a fool
and a little suicidal at times..

So you are strong on the balcony,
cigarette in hand, with your empty stare.
you are a bit cold baby.. That is why I liked you.

I'm a fool, Anyhow.
and, I'm sorry I say for loving you too much
when you never wanted it to begin with.

2010-10-04T17:14:00.001-07:00

We were poetic once.
I fall in love with ideas,
and get caught up in the moment.

What is your excuse?

Recent Escapades

2010-10-04T11:10:00.000-07:00

we all need a place to escape

2010-09-28T10:41:00.000-07:00

2010-09-28T10:38:00.001-07:00

Dude, does this count as nudity? naw...

2010-09-28T10:36:00.000-07:00

A little Bit in Love with...the idea of you.

2010-09-28T10:33:00.001-07:00

Fall Streetwear!!

2010-09-28T10:27:00.000-07:00

Magazine Obsession.

2010-09-22T12:53:00.000-07:00

Reid in New York

2010-09-21T14:44:00.000-07:00

Ferris, baby.

2010-09-21T14:43:00.000-07:00

State Fair tonight! Hoping and dreaming to capture something like this!

Baby, I'll smoke what you sigh with that look in your eye

2010-09-21T11:09:00.000-07:00

2010-09-20T16:22:00.001-07:00

2010-09-20T16:18:00.000-07:00

2010-09-20T16:09:00.000-07:00

Very Excited about an idea of working some with Thrifted.net
Talking with Lauren about an internship in California in January!
Sounds like an adventure!

Lolita Teddy Shoot

2010-09-20T16:00:00.000-07:00

Designer/Stylist: Caress Genelle
Model: Lucy Prouty
Photographer: Kelsey lynne Heinze
Location:Savannah,Georgia

Elizabeth and James Lookbook

2010-09-19T11:48:00.001-07:00

OH ME OH MY!!

Oh, Savannah of the South

2010-09-19T11:04:00.000-07:00

2010-09-16T10:59:00.000-07:00

Sometimes you have to take a few steps back to see the person you've become
and some environments are poison to the process.
so, you can't press rewind and there are reasons for that.
but, maybe you just need a pause playback.

perfection is impossible, and it messes with your head.
I may have lost myself..

but, i know i don't want to be like you, or know you, or exist to you; any of you.

I want to erase that person. I am ashamed, distraught, dissappointed. And you can't cure it anymore. It was wrong for you ever to. It was wrong to confided in any of you or so much in one person. Because, we are only people. You are only as strong as you let yourself become. Only as weak as the poison in your bones, thoughts, muscles, mind, dreams.

I have never experienced such misery and agony that I didn't want to go on. but, stop has much more consequences than pause.

choice is the most powerful. option. realization.

nothing was right. everything was fake, and I lost myself.

never again. shake it out.

2010-03-12T19:39:00.000-08:00

2010-02-23T06:53:00.000-08:00

2010-02-22T22:59:00.001-08:00

House of Harlow

2010-02-22T22:06:00.000-08:00

She makes me moan

2010-02-22T22:00:00.000-08:00

VOGUE

2010-02-22T21:37:00.000-08:00

Amy, Mary-kate, Anna, Ashley

This particular magazine is published in more than 17 countries (Australia, Brazil, China, France, Germany, Greece, India, Italy, Japan, Korea, Latin America, Mexico, Portugal, Russia, Spain, Taiwan, United Kingdom, and the U.S) and has been named by New York Times in 2006 as “the worlds most influential fashion magazine.” Vogue has been up and running for more than 150 years (since 1892), and has had several editors adopt and revolutionize the magazine. The present Editor-in-chief of American Vogue is Anna Wintour.
Anna was born in London to a newspaper editor Charles Wintour, who encouraged her to write. Ana dropped out of school at the age of 16 and found her way to New York and began working her way up the editorial ladder. She worked for publications in NYC and also then in London. Finally, she decided to move to New York for good and received a job as fashion editor at Harper’s Bazaar. Just two years later, she returned back home to London and took a job as chief editor at British Vogue; later she gained control of the American Vogue as well. The famed editor says in order to prepare for a job in a fashion magazine you must “do your homework, go online, visit every museum, and intern. You need to have a love for what you’re doing it’s not about thinking that it’s the cool thing; its about really believing in it.”
Anna is known for her overall strength whether being her striking signature fashion sense or ‘demanding’ drive to succeed. The success of Vogue credits the strong editors of the past and present. Without such strength and drive Vogue wouldn’t have the two sibling magazines, Teen Vogue and Men’s Vogue, which are also published by Conde Nast Publications. The founding editor-in-chief of Teen Vogue goes by the name of Amy Astley. She formerly worked as a beauty editor at Vogue; while there she began a close connection with Anna Wintour who then referred her to launch Teen Vogue in 2003.

Karl Lagerfeld Redesigns Chanel

2010-02-22T21:13:00.000-08:00

Using inspiration from the usual Chanel look, Lagerfeld designs a more feminine interesting look for Chanel's Spring 2010 collection.
He adds a futuristic metallic to the collection, combined with a Japanese-inspired hairstyle which all-together gives off a Lolita, Harajuku aesthetic.

photo credit to Style.com

Oh Sister.

2010-02-22T20:59:00.001-08:00

“The book you are holding in your hands is comprised of conversations my sister and I have had with artists, designers, photographers, writers, and personalities who come from different backgrounds, industries, age groups, and points of view. … It’s my hope each one will remain a constantly evolving conversation that will continue to influence every project that I do – and perhaps by reading, you will be similarly affected by these interviews too.”

The interviews
Peter Beard (Artist)
Alexandre de Betak (Fashion Show Producer)
Bob Colacello (Writer)
David Collins (Interior Designer)
George Condo (Artist)
Francisco Costa (Fashion Designer)
Diane von Furstenberg (Fashion Designer)
John Galliano (Fashion Designer)
Lazaro Hernandez & Jack McCollough (Fashion Designers)
Lauren Hutton (Model)
Karl Lagerfeld (Fashion Designer)
Peter Lindbergh (Photographer)
Christian Louboutin (Shoe Designer)
Margherita Missoni (Fashion Designer)
Robert Lee Morris (Jewelry Designer)
Ashley Olsen
Mary-Kate Olsen
Jack Pierson (Artist)
Richard Prince (Artist)
Terrgy Richardson (Photographer)
Giambattista Valli (Fashion Designer)
Evan Yurman (Jewelry Designer)

The book is an excellent source and includes layouts for both the sisters favorite things, personal photos, and conversations.

GOO GOO FOR GAGA

2010-02-22T20:42:00.000-08:00

Sir Elton John and Gaga's Bad Romance

We all saw the astonishing performance, and in my opinion the ONLY performance worth watching the night of the Grammies 2010.
Elton John says of lady Gaga that "she is the only thing going on in pop music at the moment."

While Miss Lady says
"I'm just so happy, I can't say enough and Elton was so amazing and the performance was really truly magical, I had been fantasizing about this performance piece for a while and we got to do it."

If you missed it...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m17kj8dt5U4&feature=player_embedded

Gaga on Fashion

"I'd love to have my own collection. It's something I want to accomplish. I find Donatella a fashion icon and in many ways fashion and music go together."

2010-02-22T20:32:00.001-08:00

2009-09-04T08:41:00.000-07:00

2009-09-04T08:36:00.000-07:00

2009-09-04T08:35:00.001-07:00