The Girl With Blue Hair

Sam, as in Samantha
24, ranter/editor, NYC.
I am not Chris Rock.
www.samanthaescobar.com

Fashion & Beauty Editor for The Gloss.
I also do makeup: Portfolio | Contact info
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Self-absorbed bitterness now available on a variety of social networks.

My new favorite vampy shade for fall: Dolce&Gabbana’s Verde Bosco.

My new favorite vampy shade for fall: Dolce&Gabbana’s Verde Bosco.

So apparently I took this photo last weekend.

So apparently I took this photo last weekend.

MEET MY CAT OMG. Should his name be Elvis or Rorschach? #cats #sheltercat #rorschach #elvis #dawww #SOHAPPY (at Bushwick/Williamsburg)

MEET MY CAT OMG. Should his name be Elvis or Rorschach? #cats #sheltercat #rorschach #elvis #dawww #SOHAPPY (at Bushwick/Williamsburg)

I don’t know if I ever want to not be blonde again.

I don’t know if I ever want to not be blonde again.

Smoke signals are perhaps the most beautiful form of the letter ever to evolve. For what is a letter, but to speak one’s thoughts at a distance? Which is why poems and prayers are letters. The origins of poems, prayers, and letters all have this in common: urgency. They each originate in the pressing need to make a message directed at something unnear, that the absence of the unnear be made to appear present - that the presence of absence be palpably felt - that consciousness create consciouness. There are a hundred ways to try and speak precisely about this act; suffice it to say that is a very powerful act…

On September 11, 2011, when the two towers of the World Trade Center collapsed, many people were haunted by the last-minute cell phone calls made by those about to perish. Those recordings are not what haunt me. What haunts me is the image of smoke, rolling mountains of billowing combustion on top of which dance thousands of pieces of paper, suspended in the wind created by the fathomless incineration nothing escaped - except the paper, those thin, meaningless, and disposable sheets.

Once I witnessed a windstorm so severe two 100-year-old trees were uprooted on the spot. The next day, walking among the wreckage, I found the friable nests of birds, completely intact and unharmed on the ground. That the featherweight survive and the massive, that this reversal of fortune takes place among us - that is what haunts me. I don’t know what it means.

Remarks on Letters, Mary Ruefle

i can’t deal with you, souffle 

(via scicchitano)