Friday, January 17, 2014

OOTD "So Filter"

Bronze sequin skirt: Forever 21
Black lace-up boots: Enzo Angiolini

Tuesday, January 14, 2014

Taking A Stab at Poetry: Star-Lit


My first original spoken word piece.

Star-Lit
by Chelsey Knuth

In all her wisdom
The little girl never understood,
Though her desire to live
Was as explosive as a
Shooting star,
Sending a streak of light across the night sky.
In all her vivacity,
She could never comprehend
That beyond the threshold of
Hospital doors and dinner plates
Was a universe filled with people
Grabbing at the twinkling light in the sky,
As hungry for another slice of life as she.
After a week in the psychiatric department,
I was damn glad not to be the new one anymore,
The admit we waited for like a child for a toy…

We predicted the way she was inflicted,
And her hospitalization history,
Contemplated her mystery and
Charted her journey to us with a
Worn-out map of stars we’d thought we could forget.
And when she walked in,
With sunken eyes and bony thighs,
I could see she was just like me.
A stargazer, lost under the canopy of stars grown dim,
She too had grown slim from straining toward the light.
Anorexic.
30% below a safer body size,
A mile of space between her thighs:
After six months in desperate isolation…
The realization that we were alike enough
that she could be my sister,
The blister of my raw emotions
Had now worn open.
 
She. Knew.
And could immediately see through my
Shrouded deceptions and warped perspectives.
She could see me genuinely,
and divide my reality from the disease.
And then... something inside me happened,
And my emotions rushed back from all ends of the universe,
The shooting stars that had crashed to asteroids,
Assuming they were no longer needed.




And that night at the dinner table there were
Now four suffering stargazers,
Joined together as a family at a table
Lit by a single bright star,
Last name Recovery.
But that’s not where it ended,
Because friendships extend beyond
Where you expect it…
Now let me preface this socialization
And state that when you’re an in-patient,
Freedom is restricted
Too such a limit that
Standing is a privilege,
Until you’re yelled at to sit back down
For excessive exercise.

Something about her sick presence overwhelmed me with calm,
A walking zombie that you want to dis-embalm
Because you’re either thoroughly convinced they are still alive
Or you want to un earth death and face it head-on.
And I know it was the first reason,
The way she understood my every meaning;
From the way I freaked out over cookies and cake,
Stole sit-ups at every unsupervised break..
But got bruises on my spine just from laying on the floor.
To the moments she, too, felt social isolation,
Could not fathom the concept “All in moderation,”
We each had this sensation that the other was outrageous –
And so together we worked… to mend ourselves.
Sessions of therapeutic relaxation
Became finger puppet presentations –
The kind you make at sleepovers
Under a flashlight.





And cognitive behavioral therapy
Became Gatorade electrolyte analysis,
And our bond became the genesis
Of our newly-lit lives.
Slowly we strayed from the congregation
Of emaciated bodies
Falling in worship to magazines, models, and perfectionism.
 
On the fourth of July,
Fireworks lit up the night sky,
And the twinkle we had managed to bring back into our lives
Now shone bright with color.





After eleven days,
I was diagnosed as “better,”
Sent to partial to recover,
Left my friend alone to suffer
In the prison of food and fear, all by herself.
I haven’t seen her since,
But in 2014 we often forget
That to reminisce is sometimes better than to know.

And the disease isn’t all that her friendship lifted me through,
see, what relationships can do -
they inspire you,
Igniting a hovering halo around the human heart
where darkness hung before.











Strength and self-confidence are the
resultants of interaction,
and they uncover your attraction for life
and guide you in the direction of
perpetual satisfaction - the light.

She wrote me a letter when I left treatment;
Master to apprentice,
Survivor to survivor,
sister to sister,
self to self
She said “I just want you to believe as much I do!”
her words like guardians for my singular soul, and today,
I see the stars again.
I do.


Sunday, January 12, 2014

OOTD "Historical Genesis"


Flyaway cardigan: NOTATIONS
Black tank top: H&M
Black high-waisted skirt: Forever 21
Black knit tights: H&M
Bulgarian Tsarvuli: Handcrafted11 on Etsy

Saturday, January 11, 2014

Bloglovin!

Follow my blog with Bloglovin <-- It would be awesome if you could follow my blog on Bloglovin! This makes it incredibly easy for you to stay updated on my posts!

An Introduction.

I don't know what this blog is, what it will be about, or what my goal for it is. All I know is that this is the third blog I've tried creating, and if I've gone through the labor-intensive process of starting up a new blog three times, then it's obviously something I enjoy in a way that I can not quite comprehend yet.

I guess that could be the goal of this new blog, titled "The New American Pioneer" to epitomize the way I view myself. I draw much of my fashion and lifestyle inspirations from the ambitious pioneers who excavated the final frontier throughout the majority of the 1800s and rely on female pioneer figureheads such as Laura Ingalls Wilder and Caddie Woodlawn to explain my ideals to others. Since I was young, and by young I mean my mid-elementary school years, I've always wanted to live out west. I currently live in suburban southeast Wisconsin and feel blessed to have grown up in such a beautiful, busy place, but long for the quiet of the northwoods and western plains, plateaus, and mountains so I can spend more time meditating in solitude and enjoying the natural world before my time here expires. Next year when I attend The Barrett Honors at Arizona State University, I hope at least some of my frontier fantasies will come alive! *crosses fingers*

Aside from the American west and 1800s history, my passions include water skiing, Pomeranian folk dancing, playing the flute and piccolo, reading spoken word poetry, and observing/emulating/modeling/ and creating street fashion. I hope that all I write and document here will be of value and inspiration to you. Please feel free to email me with any questions and/or comments at chelseyyknuth@gmail.com, and don't hesitate to share posts from this blog on your websites, blogs, and/or social media pages as long as the blog link or some other form of credit is given.

Thanks much!

Chelsey Knuth.