The Glitter of the Mouth
Words stick. Choose wisely.
Don’t like reading? Allow me to read it to you 👈
These words, packaged as they are in the cellophanes and plastics of tone, burst forth with eager glory. A head turn, a glimpse of a face, and BOOM! The glitter comes.
Scatterguns and smatterings, the silvers and golds and rubies and emeralds and sapphires of each sensational channel are dispersed as fireflies of feeling, swirling and clicking to life in our atmospheres.
Tiny sprinkles of thought as speech confetti—the glitter of the mouth.
Formed in our heart’s distribution centers with lathes whirring and our soul dust flying, the glitter exists as impulse and unfettered enthusiasm, primed and ready for release.
Our urge to say what’s on our mind in the mind’s moment will not be held back. So pure, so innocent, this glitter is not afraid to be known or seen. There is no self-censorship board halting its departure from our bodies. We exhale this heart dust, out and over tongue bypassing teeth strainers to launch straight into the faces before us.
Singing, talking, whispering, shouting. Out! Out! Out!
Glitz vomit spritzes the air.
Words.
Each letter, a speck of memory glistening in the open air to be sucked in and processed by others. We sprinkle this glitter over the skin of anyone within earshot as though salting fresh meat.
Wounding words. Wonder words. Wayward words. The vocabulary of our humanity (or lack of.)
Cold glitters, warm glitters, yes glitters, no glitters. Hateful, hurtful, harmful glitters. Meh glitters, joyous glitters, godly, holy, judgement glitters. Vengeful glitters. Verb and noun glitters settling softly in the darkness waiting for the light switch flick.
Strange glitters casting spells in rooms populated by the mesmerized.
The glitter of the mouth.
Showering from the open maws of those who deliver, these shiny jewels spew into empty spaces, making room and broadcasting their arrival.
In the initial projection, those who speak it see only the dazzle and remain blind to any potential environmental damage this glitter may inflict upon their landscapes. Relationships, social standings, the ability to order a sandwich—all are compromised or complemented by glitter.
Caution label reads: Swift kicks to the teeth from glitter-scuffed boots are rare but not unheard of.
So pretty. So dangerous.
The speech of the political animal—true or not—glitters with promise and hope to fall softly upon the masses. Cheap glitter with the shiniest hue, caught in the blink of an eyelash as it settles upon our glistening, sweaty faces. No-one is safe. At the high tables—drinks and deserts flecked with careless colors—these animals decline to eat their own promises, spooning off the foam in heaping helpings.
Its voice remains an echo on the menu.
Touching this. Touching that. We will never be rid of glitter. Coating the world, it thickens and sticks. Becomes impossible to wash off. Attaches to the very souls of its citizens.
So beautiful. So destructive.
Caution. Throw it to the wind.
Passion glitters. Glitters sweet and savory. This love buzz bomb streams its ordinance from the mouths of the affected to splash upon flushing, blushing skin. The snow upon our bliss, glittering with the tremble of a shy finger lick to touch upon our flesh. This is the glorious glitter. It understands the potential of pain is forever linked to the promise of forever. The understanding outweighs the danger.
Exploding with joy, the glitter glints and hearts are spoken. The glitter of the mouth stretches as a rainbow and we ride it to the very end. To the horizon and beyond.
Caution. Read the label again.
Passion glitters. Glitters mad and agitated. Oppressed and frightened and angry and tired, glitter caught in the heat rising, alighting from the mouths in the central square to reach for the fortresses above. Protesters, mouths stretched with the glitter of outrage. It is red. It is blue. It is all the colors of the mouth’s flesh brought to life the moment it catches a sliver of light. These words have passion. It is not enough.
The world puts on its makeup and the coverup begins again.
Caution. Glitter sticks.
Glitter gets everywhere. Words mashed into our fabrics and sprayed upon our vision in fonts we do not recognize. Glitter collects in our consciousness underwear and in the wrinkles at the corners of our squinting eyes. An irritant. A comfort. A remembrance of a moment.
That’s just what glitter does.
Francis Bacon, the artist, said that he liked the “glitter and the color that comes from the mouth,” and that one day he hoped to “be able to paint the mouth like Monet painted a sunset.”
He famously painted a Screaming Pope with the head half gone, the mouth the star of the moment, demonstrating perhaps that a sunset’s beauty is a matter of interpretation. When he said glitter, was he thinking speckles of beauty—the color of the mouth—as pink hues and flesh tones sinking on the Seine in a glow of infinite love? Or in Bacon’s world, was it code for flies buzzing as macabre glitter around the hollow mouth of a grotesque corpse?
I am shrugging.
Words. Flies. Sun-dappled worlds.
The glitter of the mouth is bottled and sold. Hoarded and recorded. Vacuumed up and stored in the libraries of our minds as memories to glint only when we shine a light in their direction. A sunbeam catching in the evening air, making us see the truth of what the world paints upon our canvas.
Words lie. Words save. Words are sprinkled in the cosmos, creating movement around our constellations.
Benevolent glitter.
Insolent glitter.
Disaffected glitter
Unruly glitter.
Resigned glitter.
Vigilant glitter.
Exposed glitter.
Vulnerable glitter.
Deceitful glitter.
Love glitter.
Rapturous glitter.
Glorious glitter.
All that sunset of your mouth.
Caution.
Yours in tiny thought,
Janeen
Go behind the scenes and see inspirations for this post👇
This week’s amends…
“I like, you may say, the glitter and colour that comes from the mouth, and I've always hoped in a sense to be able to paint the mouth like Monet painted a sunset.”- Francis Bacon
On Rotation: “Glitter Freeze” by Gorillaz
I mean, but of course.
What a job. Also, what a childhood those kids had.
Via my YT algorithm.
Because, Mars. In 4k. At 60fps.
Via Kottke
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