Nighttime and the air is chill.
Emptiness that speaks louder than words, screaming in shrill tones, a squeal tearing through each breath. detonation starting at the back of skull, traveling faster than light, piercing iris and jutting out in a stream of vaporous tears.
Tuesday, 28 February 2017
Morning dreams
There was a whole planet of dream I could remember at five in the morning. Why I didn't bother to write it down beats me, oh yes, I was frantically sleepy and much too warm to rummage through life to find a phone or even a pencil.
The one that I do remember which stuck with me because I'd narrated it out to whoever bothered to listen was me stumbling into a pub at 4:00 in the morning, in a sleepy stupor which passed me off as a wasted drunk, and just as these pubs were calling it a day or night they were ushering in the last few handful of guests who'd wish to drink.
I wondered aloud why I came into a pub at this hour, when I'd not even brushed my teeth. I mean I had only just rolled out of my bed and bang inside of a pub; how 'Ford Perfect' of me.
But there I was ordering a beer and checking out the food menu.
There was a whole list of hamburgers, almost fifty names typed in small print with no explanation as to what those hamburgers were about.
The names themselves misleading and pretty metal 'land of jumble death disintegration' , 'paw the evil', 'mechanics extreme' and a lot more cooler names that I can't even recall.
I swear I read all those in my dream and even in that dreamscape I was befuddled and amazed.
I kept wondering what's so different about these burgers and the waitress was not too forthcoming, so I selected one that was written in bold 'cute as FF' and with that burger came a complementary graphic novel.
I never tasted the burger in my dream but that graphic novel was stunningly extreme.
It was about two friends out of which one was a magician and the other god knows what.
Its nudity was quite matter-of-fact and thus a bit on the verging of grotesque.
Apparently the story read like this that a thug had his television broken by the protagonist duo and began searching for them to kill them in manners most violent, to the point that he'd grab heads of people he questioned and crushed their faces between his ass cheeks, most injuries resulting in broken teeth.
These details drawn ever so clearly in comic columns with fantastic renderings were so sharp that it actually woke me up.
I didn't get the hamburger served and I didn't get to know the ending of that oddball novel either.
What did in fact leave my rolling in a flabbergasted mire was that how clear and fantastical that dream was, to the point that I'd made a mental note to write it down in the blog and even scribbled a fading outline about what I would write in my head.
Fading being the keyword, for all my mental notes, the excerpts were obfuscated in a fug of sleep that began to immediately disperse in a zephyr of evaporating atoms, like a blur of sand in clenched fists, quick to disappear in sea water
(The above post might have a wall of text like feeling, but can I help it?)
The one that I do remember which stuck with me because I'd narrated it out to whoever bothered to listen was me stumbling into a pub at 4:00 in the morning, in a sleepy stupor which passed me off as a wasted drunk, and just as these pubs were calling it a day or night they were ushering in the last few handful of guests who'd wish to drink.
I wondered aloud why I came into a pub at this hour, when I'd not even brushed my teeth. I mean I had only just rolled out of my bed and bang inside of a pub; how 'Ford Perfect' of me.
But there I was ordering a beer and checking out the food menu.
There was a whole list of hamburgers, almost fifty names typed in small print with no explanation as to what those hamburgers were about.
The names themselves misleading and pretty metal 'land of jumble death disintegration' , 'paw the evil', 'mechanics extreme' and a lot more cooler names that I can't even recall.
I swear I read all those in my dream and even in that dreamscape I was befuddled and amazed.
I kept wondering what's so different about these burgers and the waitress was not too forthcoming, so I selected one that was written in bold 'cute as FF' and with that burger came a complementary graphic novel.
I never tasted the burger in my dream but that graphic novel was stunningly extreme.
It was about two friends out of which one was a magician and the other god knows what.
Its nudity was quite matter-of-fact and thus a bit on the verging of grotesque.
Apparently the story read like this that a thug had his television broken by the protagonist duo and began searching for them to kill them in manners most violent, to the point that he'd grab heads of people he questioned and crushed their faces between his ass cheeks, most injuries resulting in broken teeth.
These details drawn ever so clearly in comic columns with fantastic renderings were so sharp that it actually woke me up.
I didn't get the hamburger served and I didn't get to know the ending of that oddball novel either.
What did in fact leave my rolling in a flabbergasted mire was that how clear and fantastical that dream was, to the point that I'd made a mental note to write it down in the blog and even scribbled a fading outline about what I would write in my head.
Fading being the keyword, for all my mental notes, the excerpts were obfuscated in a fug of sleep that began to immediately disperse in a zephyr of evaporating atoms, like a blur of sand in clenched fists, quick to disappear in sea water
(The above post might have a wall of text like feeling, but can I help it?)
Monday, 27 February 2017
Saturday, 25 February 2017
Wednesday, 22 February 2017
Eat yer veggies
Sunday, 19 February 2017
Coco nut
No reason, no logic; this need to eat something coconut.
Not something coconut to drink, but to eat. Like coconut barfi/laddoo (even though I never eat these things in really life). Such an odd craving.
Even a coconut cake, with a thick coconut frosting that's mostly a bit of cream and coconut flakes.
Hmm, it needs to be sweet apparently. Just realized it while writing this.
I'm a sucker for all and everything coconut, and often a lot of my food includes cooking with coconut oil or coconut milk and even shredded coconut.
But what about now? How to curb the coconut craving? I mean all these recipes and not a single one for instant coconut gratification.
Sigh.
Not something coconut to drink, but to eat. Like coconut barfi/laddoo (even though I never eat these things in really life). Such an odd craving.
Even a coconut cake, with a thick coconut frosting that's mostly a bit of cream and coconut flakes.
Hmm, it needs to be sweet apparently. Just realized it while writing this.
I'm a sucker for all and everything coconut, and often a lot of my food includes cooking with coconut oil or coconut milk and even shredded coconut.
But what about now? How to curb the coconut craving? I mean all these recipes and not a single one for instant coconut gratification.
Sigh.
After cold
sun doesn't set as soon
birds chirp morn to noon
in the evening too
because it's still bright
outside
wind is worn to an icy sneer
yet not nearly as heartless
in uneven tones of gelid smear
are hidden currents of pleasant cheer
Trees though are naked still
of warmth there is naught nothing nil
winter marches a cruel drill
cackling spine in February chill
the weather soon shall turn
by August we'll feel the burn
now spring will be upon us
sunshine, breeze, moss and fern
seasonal cycles, is there something to learn?
birds chirp morn to noon
in the evening too
because it's still bright
outside
wind is worn to an icy sneer
yet not nearly as heartless
in uneven tones of gelid smear
are hidden currents of pleasant cheer
Trees though are naked still
of warmth there is naught nothing nil
winter marches a cruel drill
cackling spine in February chill
the weather soon shall turn
by August we'll feel the burn
now spring will be upon us
sunshine, breeze, moss and fern
seasonal cycles, is there something to learn?
Butter mornings
To be honest, I took a detour from my regular brand and bought this only because I loved the packaging made of thick recycled paper.
Most of this will go into cooking/baking the rest into making skin creams.
Psst..did you know, this butter is actually oil. Haha. Yes, oil from cacao beans that stays solid at room temperature.
High in fat and a sort of superfood. Taken in right quantities if.
I like to mix equal parts of cacao butter with equal parts coconut oil and use it as a body lotion of sorts.
It really is good.
Saturday, 18 February 2017
Thoughts
What I really want to do:
A bit of still life watercolour drawing.
Maybe from a picture I've clicked, or something in front of me.
I've rarely, If never, done a still life, and think of all the opportunities thus lost. Sigh.
Perhaps I'll dig out a nice picture of seas and skies and suns and do a bit of painting, cuz why not.
A bit of still life watercolour drawing.
Maybe from a picture I've clicked, or something in front of me.
I've rarely, If never, done a still life, and think of all the opportunities thus lost. Sigh.
Perhaps I'll dig out a nice picture of seas and skies and suns and do a bit of painting, cuz why not.
Life and less like it
Of course I'm going to watch 'Logan'.
Absolutely. I love how dark and and dangerous and brutal the trailers look.
I like the no nonsense vibe to it and it's not released in China yet, so I'm just waiting when I can pre book the damn thing.
Also wondering if I should watch lala land. It's a good movie and it's playing near my house too, only the timings are not so life compatible..but hey, I'm currently lifeless, so that's there.
What am I doing right now? Planning out activities for tomorrow which include planning meals menu and workout routine.
Yes, I like to think a bit ahead so I'm not wasting time thinking what next.
Yes I'm that lifeless. Indeed.
Absolutely. I love how dark and and dangerous and brutal the trailers look.
I like the no nonsense vibe to it and it's not released in China yet, so I'm just waiting when I can pre book the damn thing.
Also wondering if I should watch lala land. It's a good movie and it's playing near my house too, only the timings are not so life compatible..but hey, I'm currently lifeless, so that's there.
What am I doing right now? Planning out activities for tomorrow which include planning meals menu and workout routine.
Yes, I like to think a bit ahead so I'm not wasting time thinking what next.
Yes I'm that lifeless. Indeed.
Lunch deets
It's amazing how sometimes you can jeuje up the simplest of store bought ingredients into something of a feast.
These frozen dumplings were rescued from their icy confinement and made into a soup complete with vegetables, simmered in a fragrant broth and now a form a simple solitary lunch.
Bubble baby
These are two tins of cocoa powder stifled in a bubble wrap coffin.
This after unwrapping almost five sheets of bubble wrap to find these babies.
I've seen glassware with less bubblewrap.
Dawn dreams
Still feeling the pangs of caffeine purge week, albeit not as strong as they were.
A bit about dreams that happened in the wee hours of morning today.
I was sitting on the ledge of a window, as a spectator, as were many others ( a dangerous foolish thing to do, but no one cared) and we were witnessing the flying of manned paper planes.
They were many an array, large, enough to carry 2 people and different coloured.
Everyone was coming up with their variation, some even built one to look like a train that could carry 4 people, and the sky was full of them.
They ran on some clean source of energy (maybe solar power) and didn't crash. Simply landed like a paper aeroplane would, and they didn't fly too high. Just about 100-200 feet above sea level.
Soon I realized that if I didn't go back into the house I'd fall and die, and made my way awkwardly back into the house, walking on the ledge and slowly shifting my center of gravity to easy myself into a balcony.
The house looked like it was made by connecting a series of tunnels.
Second dream:
my friend took me to a theatre because she wanted to audition.
One had to stand in a line and fill out a form and at that very moment the clerk behind the table would tell you whether you were in or out. On what basis I don't know.
My friend got in, and she was guided by someone from the management to a make up room where a stylist/makeup guru would see her face and decide what had to be done to it in order to make her prettier/worthier of stage and spectators.
She was a mean fat woman who took out a sketch pen and began to circle her flaws and things she'd need to correct and then spoke to the manager saying why did he always bring her potatoes to correct.
I got angry and told the stylist to speak for herself, which greatly saddened the elderly fat woman.
It made me feel bad that I said it, since being harsh was her job probably, but not mine.
I made my way down the theatre steps to get out of there, and almost floated down the stairs. Jumping 5-6 stairs at a time, and with each successive lower floor the stairs got dirtier, to the point that by the time I reached ground floor they were splattered with blood and gore. So much in fact that they were slippery, and I worried about my shoes.
I exited through a morgue and realized all the gore was from autopsies?
..the dreams ended abruptly with a phone call, that vibrated through my watch.
A spam call too. Sigh.
A bit about dreams that happened in the wee hours of morning today.
I was sitting on the ledge of a window, as a spectator, as were many others ( a dangerous foolish thing to do, but no one cared) and we were witnessing the flying of manned paper planes.
They were many an array, large, enough to carry 2 people and different coloured.
Everyone was coming up with their variation, some even built one to look like a train that could carry 4 people, and the sky was full of them.
They ran on some clean source of energy (maybe solar power) and didn't crash. Simply landed like a paper aeroplane would, and they didn't fly too high. Just about 100-200 feet above sea level.
Soon I realized that if I didn't go back into the house I'd fall and die, and made my way awkwardly back into the house, walking on the ledge and slowly shifting my center of gravity to easy myself into a balcony.
The house looked like it was made by connecting a series of tunnels.
Second dream:
my friend took me to a theatre because she wanted to audition.
One had to stand in a line and fill out a form and at that very moment the clerk behind the table would tell you whether you were in or out. On what basis I don't know.
My friend got in, and she was guided by someone from the management to a make up room where a stylist/makeup guru would see her face and decide what had to be done to it in order to make her prettier/worthier of stage and spectators.
She was a mean fat woman who took out a sketch pen and began to circle her flaws and things she'd need to correct and then spoke to the manager saying why did he always bring her potatoes to correct.
I got angry and told the stylist to speak for herself, which greatly saddened the elderly fat woman.
It made me feel bad that I said it, since being harsh was her job probably, but not mine.
I made my way down the theatre steps to get out of there, and almost floated down the stairs. Jumping 5-6 stairs at a time, and with each successive lower floor the stairs got dirtier, to the point that by the time I reached ground floor they were splattered with blood and gore. So much in fact that they were slippery, and I worried about my shoes.
I exited through a morgue and realized all the gore was from autopsies?
..the dreams ended abruptly with a phone call, that vibrated through my watch.
A spam call too. Sigh.
Friday, 17 February 2017
SMS lingo woes
I was until a few months ago under the notion that only people of a certain age group used SMS lingo over messages and emails. I couldn't have been more wrong.
An acquaintance almost ten years my senior sent me a message asking for a particular recipe, and it took me a good while to understand what it was all about.
'Hi hru' it read and I kept wondering what she tried to mean by that, never for once considering that she might only be asking my well being in such a rushed manner. Apparently it meant 'how are you', and I wondered why she even bothered asking me that when she had to abbreviate this question into three alphabets.
The rest of the message was littered with gems like 'u', 'wud', 'thru' , 'ur' ,'r' .
I didn't realize but my face had upturned into an annoyed scowl. It upset me that someone would write like this, who's supposedly a sometimes English teacher no less.
All my replies to each shorthand were exquisitely long hand, with proper punctuations and all the works, hoping in vain that she'd probably reply in kind.. but what are hopes if not meant to be thwarted, and thwarted they were. Her each reply increasingly abbreviated, to the point that her thanks read something like 'thnxu'
'awesome' has somehow become 'osum' and if doomsday isn't brutally homicidal, I'll have a few grudges to hold against our gods.
An acquaintance almost ten years my senior sent me a message asking for a particular recipe, and it took me a good while to understand what it was all about.
'Hi hru' it read and I kept wondering what she tried to mean by that, never for once considering that she might only be asking my well being in such a rushed manner. Apparently it meant 'how are you', and I wondered why she even bothered asking me that when she had to abbreviate this question into three alphabets.
The rest of the message was littered with gems like 'u', 'wud', 'thru' , 'ur' ,'r' .
I didn't realize but my face had upturned into an annoyed scowl. It upset me that someone would write like this, who's supposedly a sometimes English teacher no less.
All my replies to each shorthand were exquisitely long hand, with proper punctuations and all the works, hoping in vain that she'd probably reply in kind.. but what are hopes if not meant to be thwarted, and thwarted they were. Her each reply increasingly abbreviated, to the point that her thanks read something like 'thnxu'
'awesome' has somehow become 'osum' and if doomsday isn't brutally homicidal, I'll have a few grudges to hold against our gods.
food trends
A glutton for seeds. A healthy serving of pumpkin seeds, flax seeds, sunflower seeds, sesame seeds, chia seeds..and now I wait to sprout.
Speaking of health food, cauliflower is all the rage.
I've nothing against cauliflower, in fact I rather like the white gigantic floret, but looking at how it's taken over the food world is a bit strange.
I'm sure it's a good bit of veg and all that, but look at the things people are making out of cauliflower.
Cauliflower rice, as in rice made of cauliflower. Shredded cauliflower to only give the appearance of rice, thus partaking in a bowl of rice (which is actually cauliflower) and feeling good about not eating any starchy rice. What?
Cauliflower pizza base. As in pizza base made out of shredded cauliflower held together with an egg. Umm.. ok. This is to pacify people who can't or won't eat gluten.
Right. I've actually had this pizza and no matter what anyone might say about how it's impossible to discern that it's not made of flour, it's pretty distinctively not made of flour. It just doesn't taste like pizza.
Baking a whole bloody head of cauliflower in the oven. Nothing wrong with it but imagine a big cauliflower baked into an oven, come out blistering crisp at the top and cloud white when you cut into it.
I rather like the idea of baking bite sized cauli florets.
But yeah, cauliflower—trending the food word, made fashionable to eat and serve.
I mean cauliflower just doesn't give off that edgy food aura somehow. It's so humble and serene and sort of bulky, big and much to meek a vegetable.
Speaking of health food, cauliflower is all the rage.
I've nothing against cauliflower, in fact I rather like the white gigantic floret, but looking at how it's taken over the food world is a bit strange.
I'm sure it's a good bit of veg and all that, but look at the things people are making out of cauliflower.
Cauliflower rice, as in rice made of cauliflower. Shredded cauliflower to only give the appearance of rice, thus partaking in a bowl of rice (which is actually cauliflower) and feeling good about not eating any starchy rice. What?
Cauliflower pizza base. As in pizza base made out of shredded cauliflower held together with an egg. Umm.. ok. This is to pacify people who can't or won't eat gluten.
Right. I've actually had this pizza and no matter what anyone might say about how it's impossible to discern that it's not made of flour, it's pretty distinctively not made of flour. It just doesn't taste like pizza.
Baking a whole bloody head of cauliflower in the oven. Nothing wrong with it but imagine a big cauliflower baked into an oven, come out blistering crisp at the top and cloud white when you cut into it.
I rather like the idea of baking bite sized cauli florets.
But yeah, cauliflower—trending the food word, made fashionable to eat and serve.
I mean cauliflower just doesn't give off that edgy food aura somehow. It's so humble and serene and sort of bulky, big and much to meek a vegetable.
depthless murk
An aversion to turning lights on in the morning which often results in an odd gloominess stretching through every corner of the house.
By way of sunlight there isn't much, and the darkness that engulfs the day percolates through windows, seeping past curtains, flowing seamlessly in a river of ink, sweeping across each room.
No shadows are cast until a light is switched on making interiors look like a part of history long forgotten.
A bit like those empty houses one sees in movies; thick with curtains, crepuscular in mood, unlived with somber tones of rayless darkness, oft haunted and mostly creaky.
There isn't much in the way of ghosts and creaks here, if you omit the silent screams and churning of veins that is.
The stillness that comes with morning dimness, as gloomy as it might look, can render the kind of solitude no sunshine can.
By way of sunlight there isn't much, and the darkness that engulfs the day percolates through windows, seeping past curtains, flowing seamlessly in a river of ink, sweeping across each room.
No shadows are cast until a light is switched on making interiors look like a part of history long forgotten.
A bit like those empty houses one sees in movies; thick with curtains, crepuscular in mood, unlived with somber tones of rayless darkness, oft haunted and mostly creaky.
There isn't much in the way of ghosts and creaks here, if you omit the silent screams and churning of veins that is.
The stillness that comes with morning dimness, as gloomy as it might look, can render the kind of solitude no sunshine can.
:;
somewhere between cold sanity and burning dementia lies a string of wishes unfulfilled, behaviour impulsive, baroque yearnings.
Closed shut in a chest of drawers, four chambered and pumping scarlet.
Closed shut in a chest of drawers, four chambered and pumping scarlet.
No to naps
Those rare morning decisions when resolute will gets in the way of second napping.
But my eyes..they burn from the residual sleep that I shan't let them have..for what am I if not a rare masochist.
But my eyes..they burn from the residual sleep that I shan't let them have..for what am I if not a rare masochist.
Thursday, 16 February 2017
a wall a wall I love
A wall of text is probably my favorite wall to scale.
I mean what can ever be wrong with a wall of words? Like a convergence of thoughts with no gaps whatsoever meant to be relished while buried under the pleasant weight of ambrosial words.
What am I if not a glutton? Imagine a festive table creaking under the weight of exquisite dishes. Nectarous in coherence and scrumptiously fluent, laid out luxuriously lavish and unrestrained; there I stay, sprawled amongst the lettering, imbued, soaking wet in a wall like tsunami of generous words, that keep washing over me, in waves, back and forth.
Straddling each titillating line, wallowing in its unending piquancy, bewitched by its sorcerous spell of effortless eloquence, letting it enter me softly, slowly, every which way, every which where.
Hearts.
I mean what can ever be wrong with a wall of words? Like a convergence of thoughts with no gaps whatsoever meant to be relished while buried under the pleasant weight of ambrosial words.
What am I if not a glutton? Imagine a festive table creaking under the weight of exquisite dishes. Nectarous in coherence and scrumptiously fluent, laid out luxuriously lavish and unrestrained; there I stay, sprawled amongst the lettering, imbued, soaking wet in a wall like tsunami of generous words, that keep washing over me, in waves, back and forth.
Straddling each titillating line, wallowing in its unending piquancy, bewitched by its sorcerous spell of effortless eloquence, letting it enter me softly, slowly, every which way, every which where.
Hearts.
Terra cotta gold
On my second mug of hot chocolate, but in my defense I never drank more than a half full mug each time.
Using less than half the required dosage of hot chocolate to water ratio, which means this is probably just one mug of hot chocolate. Excuses I tell you.
Sigh, but why am I drinking it?
I just feel like it.
I know I shouldn't. What be the point of all my exercises and workouts if I'm going to put all the calories lost in liquid form.
Body starts in the kitchen and I've been a bit reckless.
Sigh, I've got to be better at this.
Will power. Where are you?
Using less than half the required dosage of hot chocolate to water ratio, which means this is probably just one mug of hot chocolate. Excuses I tell you.
Sigh, but why am I drinking it?
I just feel like it.
I know I shouldn't. What be the point of all my exercises and workouts if I'm going to put all the calories lost in liquid form.
Body starts in the kitchen and I've been a bit reckless.
Sigh, I've got to be better at this.
Will power. Where are you?
nothing and still..nothing
The nicest perks about being lazy is.. well doing nothing.
But how does one actually do nothing?
fold hands and sit on a couch or better, sleep?
I was resolved to do nothing by way of one hour pilates and then nursing my aching thighs.
A bit of nothing in the way of buying choicest cat food for my darling and picking up dry cleaning, buying eggs and other odds and ends when you're out ready to do absolutely nothing.
A bit of damper on things considering this is caffeine purge week and the aroma of fresh coffee wafting from a doughnut shop held on to my senses, seizing me into a caffeine fix need, which took me all my willpower to get rid of.
One of my favourite things to do when doing nothing is to get lost in isles of strange foods sections and lustily eyeball strange bottles of condiments and pots of pastes.
For example japanese food sections.
So many sauces. Bottles and bottles of shiny obsidian liquid, that might to the general eye just be soy sauce, which it is not.
They have a billion sauces for everything. Teriyaki sauce, sushi dipping sauce, takoyaki seasoning sauce, ramen sauce and so on an on. The tastes are different too. Some are slightly sweet with a tint of sourness, some sour with a melody of sweetness, some salty with a twang of sourness. The differences are subtle, true, but they are there..
And the cheese section.
I kind of lose my marbles when rubbernecking an array of cheeses.
From creamy soft ones to bone hard ones. Smelly and rank ones to pleasantly fruity ones.
Camembert and Brie are almost always on shopping list, cream cheese and gorgonzola always knocking about in my fridge and a big wodge of parmesan a permanent resident in my food larder, and yet staring at big wheels of exotic cheese makes my heart explode into a thousand little heartlets.
The point to this post? Nothing.
Just another way of prolonging nothing activities.
But how does one actually do nothing?
fold hands and sit on a couch or better, sleep?
I was resolved to do nothing by way of one hour pilates and then nursing my aching thighs.
A bit of nothing in the way of buying choicest cat food for my darling and picking up dry cleaning, buying eggs and other odds and ends when you're out ready to do absolutely nothing.
A bit of damper on things considering this is caffeine purge week and the aroma of fresh coffee wafting from a doughnut shop held on to my senses, seizing me into a caffeine fix need, which took me all my willpower to get rid of.
One of my favourite things to do when doing nothing is to get lost in isles of strange foods sections and lustily eyeball strange bottles of condiments and pots of pastes.
For example japanese food sections.
So many sauces. Bottles and bottles of shiny obsidian liquid, that might to the general eye just be soy sauce, which it is not.
They have a billion sauces for everything. Teriyaki sauce, sushi dipping sauce, takoyaki seasoning sauce, ramen sauce and so on an on. The tastes are different too. Some are slightly sweet with a tint of sourness, some sour with a melody of sweetness, some salty with a twang of sourness. The differences are subtle, true, but they are there..
And the cheese section.
I kind of lose my marbles when rubbernecking an array of cheeses.
From creamy soft ones to bone hard ones. Smelly and rank ones to pleasantly fruity ones.
Camembert and Brie are almost always on shopping list, cream cheese and gorgonzola always knocking about in my fridge and a big wodge of parmesan a permanent resident in my food larder, and yet staring at big wheels of exotic cheese makes my heart explode into a thousand little heartlets.
The point to this post? Nothing.
Just another way of prolonging nothing activities.
Stick a finger in it
Ah, well, what?
Today feels a little off.
There's no rush nor urgency.
My drawing is now complete and there's a big hole in this day, seeping hours of nothing.
Listless too. A week of caffeine purge, and without a morning tea I feel half done.
What is wrong with caffeine? Why must it be addictive so? It's not cocaine. It's simply caffeine..courtesy coffee and tea, and yet. Sigh.
I've things to do and much to take care of and not just, there are a couple blogs that need updating.
Things fall out of place in pieces most oddly so when you take a small break that in turn becomes a long break and thus a gaping interval with a maw so large it could swallow you whole.
Keep my eyes on goals today. This and that and feel accomplished and fulfilled.
I want to get things out of the way because next week I want to start on another drawing..more like finish the third audiobook..and also do another drawing, but you gotta look at the incentives every now and then.
Today feels a little off.
There's no rush nor urgency.
My drawing is now complete and there's a big hole in this day, seeping hours of nothing.
Listless too. A week of caffeine purge, and without a morning tea I feel half done.
What is wrong with caffeine? Why must it be addictive so? It's not cocaine. It's simply caffeine..courtesy coffee and tea, and yet. Sigh.
I've things to do and much to take care of and not just, there are a couple blogs that need updating.
Things fall out of place in pieces most oddly so when you take a small break that in turn becomes a long break and thus a gaping interval with a maw so large it could swallow you whole.
Keep my eyes on goals today. This and that and feel accomplished and fulfilled.
I want to get things out of the way because next week I want to start on another drawing..more like finish the third audiobook..and also do another drawing, but you gotta look at the incentives every now and then.
Wednesday, 15 February 2017
Time monster
From memoirs of an image stuck in a gorgeous head.
Drowned demigod, wasn't it?
I'll put better close ups of this image too, only the lighting wasn't good, what with night and all.
Almost a half bottle of ink, 2.5 Dresden files audiobooks and two pens later this drawing finally came to fruition.
Am I happy? I think I am.
It looks decent I guess.
The edges in the picture are cut off because I was trying to click a pic without letting any shadows fall on it.
Tomorrow will be a better pic.
Hearts.
Now and then and some more
Sunny side up with a side serving of brazen tundra wind.
Slowly easing back into the routine that was, that will be.
It feels like trespassing into something long forgotten.
Small breakfast, workout, work, food, work and so it goes.
The fridge is largely empty which means it needs a veggie refill, and that can only happen when and if I venture out.
That might have to happen.
When is the real question.
Work to add to more work.
Do I like this? Not a bit, but in each life some rain must fall, and small activities like these feel like a heavy downpour resulting in floods.
Oh bother.
Sometimes I wish I'd the power to manage mental images of vegetables and things I need and they materialize into my fridge.
The whole process of donning proper clothes and shoes just for a vegetable run makes me want to stick my head in sand.
Slowly easing back into the routine that was, that will be.
It feels like trespassing into something long forgotten.
Small breakfast, workout, work, food, work and so it goes.
The fridge is largely empty which means it needs a veggie refill, and that can only happen when and if I venture out.
That might have to happen.
When is the real question.
Work to add to more work.
Do I like this? Not a bit, but in each life some rain must fall, and small activities like these feel like a heavy downpour resulting in floods.
Oh bother.
Sometimes I wish I'd the power to manage mental images of vegetables and things I need and they materialize into my fridge.
The whole process of donning proper clothes and shoes just for a vegetable run makes me want to stick my head in sand.
Tuesday, 14 February 2017
Updates lovah
Almost midnight and I'm left assuaging wounds that today has left.
A day that began with a sonorous bang, a day that reached its crescendo this morning, a day that couldn't better itself anytime after.. here still, waiting to pass.
As glorious as its beginning was, today left in its wake a string of productive outcomes- not least since it was supposedly strewn with hearts, what with Valentine's Day and all.
I wonder what the world had been up to, what was my city up to?
Valentine's Day..a mouthful enough to make you gag. Its implications full of double entendres.
I was resolved to not leave my house, it's cold out and I don't need the chill to permeate me any further.
The cat is out somewhere, just as his nocturnal little soul demands of him, not least because he napped through the whole day.
Cat napping as they say is a term most casually, somewhat inaccurately used to describe comatose slumber. The little furball slept 9 hours straight and dove into his food bowl like a starving tapeworm only to sleep a little more, after which he ate again and left home like he meant it. No doubt feline business to attend to.
The new drawing progresses rapidly, in a rather slow manner. Contradictory, yes. But that's how it is. The progression though fast for me might appear rather slow paced to the general eye because the detailings are many, and there's a good bit of pointillism and stippling in this drawing. More than most, and although it can stretch your patience to its absolute limits and make you want to start stabbing things with the point of your pen, it strangely, slowly, pulls you into a relaxing stance of mind numbing repetition that though initially irritating becomes soothing.
Odd, yes.
Patience is the key they say, and I'm an extremely patient person. Extremely.
Of course my fingers are fatigued with today's hard labour and hopefully in a day or two at most I'll be done with this baby.
Ah, what else?
This post that began as something of a poetic ode to today has spiraled into an update of rather vivid quality and I've hearts alone to thank for that.
💋❤️
A day that began with a sonorous bang, a day that reached its crescendo this morning, a day that couldn't better itself anytime after.. here still, waiting to pass.
As glorious as its beginning was, today left in its wake a string of productive outcomes- not least since it was supposedly strewn with hearts, what with Valentine's Day and all.
I wonder what the world had been up to, what was my city up to?
Valentine's Day..a mouthful enough to make you gag. Its implications full of double entendres.
I was resolved to not leave my house, it's cold out and I don't need the chill to permeate me any further.
The cat is out somewhere, just as his nocturnal little soul demands of him, not least because he napped through the whole day.
Cat napping as they say is a term most casually, somewhat inaccurately used to describe comatose slumber. The little furball slept 9 hours straight and dove into his food bowl like a starving tapeworm only to sleep a little more, after which he ate again and left home like he meant it. No doubt feline business to attend to.
The new drawing progresses rapidly, in a rather slow manner. Contradictory, yes. But that's how it is. The progression though fast for me might appear rather slow paced to the general eye because the detailings are many, and there's a good bit of pointillism and stippling in this drawing. More than most, and although it can stretch your patience to its absolute limits and make you want to start stabbing things with the point of your pen, it strangely, slowly, pulls you into a relaxing stance of mind numbing repetition that though initially irritating becomes soothing.
Odd, yes.
Patience is the key they say, and I'm an extremely patient person. Extremely.
Of course my fingers are fatigued with today's hard labour and hopefully in a day or two at most I'll be done with this baby.
Ah, what else?
This post that began as something of a poetic ode to today has spiraled into an update of rather vivid quality and I've hearts alone to thank for that.
💋❤️
Whaled again
I'd a lot more time today, and finished with almost 3/4th drawing and started with 3rd 'Harry Dresden' audiobook.
What can I say, it's captivating; the process of stippling and the listening .
Many thanks.
Through the window
Among the many mundane oddities that I find my day sprinkled through with there is one that stands out as a more entertaining pastime, which I find myself sometimes thoroughly absorbed in, that is gazing through my living room window.
There isn't much in the form of vista I suppose, what with a couple parked cars and more villaesque buildings in this rather zen area I live called 'Vernal Gardens', but there is life.
Life in the form of a hundred cats prowling around, people out with their dogs, solitary smokers, housekeepers making house calls, children coming from schools, joggers, elders exchanging wisdom, construction workers, garbage trucks, courier companies delivering packages, so on and so forth.. — though there is nothing particularly Hitchcockian about this hobby, I do feel a shiver of Rear Window's James Stewart come about me.
I'm no witness to murders yet but there's a considerably large number of things I've begun to notice and know.
For example the walk timings of lady Labrador (I don't know her name but that's the breed of her dog), miscellaneous cat owners and residents who know little about parking cars.
What I've also noticed are the neighbors from the building opposite who are madly in love with gardening and have taken to growing, composting and creating a sort of amazon in their backyard.
Their backyard which is little more than a junkyard is quite a wonder to me, because just a few weeks earlier it looked like a vineyard, and for whatever reason they took it all off to reveal shambles underneath.
Well, it's aright, it's their yard after all and did I mention about their pets?
They have three pets. All in the way of natural enemies, but there it is. A dog, a cat and a mynah that speaks greetings, says hello and does a good bit of whistling throughout the day.
Their orange cat is also friends with my darling Gogi, and it was while I was looking out the window watching the cats scamper about in playful feline frenzy that I noticed a large white shape in their backyard.
It was large, probably as large as a small dog, and suddenly it began to flutter about. It had wings and a flat beak.
It opened its wings to reveal the span of it and I realized with no less astonishment that it was a duck.
Knowing Chinese fondness for ducks I figured it'll be slaughtered in a day or two and be fed to a large gathering or party. It's pretty common here to gift ducks, chickens and sometimes even piglets for meals and I figured they probably have some relatives in the country, or maybe they just went and bought a large duck to cook.
I Kept my eyes peeled and it's been almost two weeks and the duck still lives.
Which means they are either fattening to cook it for some festival (but which one. New Year's gone) or they're keeping it for fresh eggs.
I hope the latter to be true, because the duck is magnificent. It's beautiful, whiter than white and rather big.
I had to zoom rather hard through my window and the wire mesh protecting.
(Excuse the fonts on this post)
Sweets
Among the blunt edged jagged duvet hillocks of my unmade languorous bed, I woke to a morning already made into a phenomenon.
When the rustling wind carried with it from virtual plateaus a voice tinged with copper smoked in ooze of amber syrup, it did so in a wave of caramel tides, settling ever so gently in a breath of velvet utterance on my person.
Besieging a morning aura of stoic pessimism, it managed to jackknife into satiny slashes of infinite sighs.
Ah, morning. Why don't you come to me like so every day.
Hearts 💕
When the rustling wind carried with it from virtual plateaus a voice tinged with copper smoked in ooze of amber syrup, it did so in a wave of caramel tides, settling ever so gently in a breath of velvet utterance on my person.
Besieging a morning aura of stoic pessimism, it managed to jackknife into satiny slashes of infinite sighs.
Ah, morning. Why don't you come to me like so every day.
Hearts 💕
Monday, 13 February 2017
Wha t?
One whole hour.
Where did my day go?
This drawing is nowhere near completion and I'm almost nearing the end of second 'Harry Dresden' audiobook.
Yikes. Over almost 20 hours and nothing to show for it yet, except this whale.
Much too many sighs.
Imma Instagram this baby.. add a few filters, feel good about this day lost in the annals of little known history.
Sunday, 12 February 2017
Drip by drop
I want to read something convoluted, crazy, confusing.
Something out of the sphere of anything I've ever read; the need to spiral into a mania of irrational irritability and madness, wanting to fling the book outside my window along with its words and then running back to pick it up, collect desiccated pieces of every punctuation, letter, alphabet and words and bite into them until teeth grate against my lips, tear into bleeding lumps of neurosis.
I want a bit of unreasonable lunacy in the state of paragraphs, mad words and letterings.
~
Some words flung at me from deeper parts of the abyss that spell voids with a black hole, that make me want to scratch at my heart and rip my soul out; stapling it to the very nape of virtual soils that I oh so love.. it's these words that drive me to an edge where from diving looks like an option most luridly inviting.
Hearts.
Something out of the sphere of anything I've ever read; the need to spiral into a mania of irrational irritability and madness, wanting to fling the book outside my window along with its words and then running back to pick it up, collect desiccated pieces of every punctuation, letter, alphabet and words and bite into them until teeth grate against my lips, tear into bleeding lumps of neurosis.
I want a bit of unreasonable lunacy in the state of paragraphs, mad words and letterings.
~
Some words flung at me from deeper parts of the abyss that spell voids with a black hole, that make me want to scratch at my heart and rip my soul out; stapling it to the very nape of virtual soils that I oh so love.. it's these words that drive me to an edge where from diving looks like an option most luridly inviting.
Hearts.
February 12, 2017 at 06:38PM
Ok, now let's see. The here is a widget that I'm currently writing through. The main question though begs to be resolved, that however where in earth is the title space. Where shall I write the name of this post?
via http://ift.tt/2lCrX0a
via http://ift.tt/2lCrX0a
Now what?
Why do I have so many applets running?
What can I do to remove all these running applets? What are applets even? Som poss as java code or program?
I'm going a bit insane with impatience with this thing.
Arghhh.
Problems
Hmmm..
Nope it's not working.
I get this ifttt thing, but blogging through it is like climbing a mountain by digging a tunnel.
It's not clean nor easy.
Like what if I want to write along with photos. Now that's something that won't even work through emails.
If I've to write below photos in a succession of captions or word bodies below pictures it just won't happen. It'll publish only the one piece of writing that's written on top and everything other than that below every photo ceases to exist.
Now with ifttt, let's see if plain body of text works just as good.
I'll try posting some more.
Of course I couldn't get a widget or anything such, because that option just didn't appear ok screen.
Maybe I didn't understand that well.
Perhaps I'll check it out once more.
Nope it's not working.
I get this ifttt thing, but blogging through it is like climbing a mountain by digging a tunnel.
It's not clean nor easy.
Like what if I want to write along with photos. Now that's something that won't even work through emails.
If I've to write below photos in a succession of captions or word bodies below pictures it just won't happen. It'll publish only the one piece of writing that's written on top and everything other than that below every photo ceases to exist.
Now with ifttt, let's see if plain body of text works just as good.
I'll try posting some more.
Of course I couldn't get a widget or anything such, because that option just didn't appear ok screen.
Maybe I didn't understand that well.
Perhaps I'll check it out once more.
If this then what the fuck?
Something went totally off with this ifttttt thing.
I didn't even get the options mentioned so I did whatever I thought I should do and now I don't know what to do.
How do I send this post?
Saturday, 11 February 2017
L'orange and other ehs
one of the things on today's agenda was buying uhh..pens.
I've run out of 0.05 Unipin (Mitsubishi) fine liners. The last one that I have is on its final breath and it's an essential part of my pen cache; my drawing inventory so to say.. not least because my new drawing makes excessive use of the same.
Also, need a new rotring 10.0 pen which is actually a 0.01 fine nib pen mainly used for architectural drawings. The point is so fine that it tears through papers of low integrity.
Something's off with my rotring. It needs a bit of servicing.
I'll have to give it a thorough cleansing with lukewarm water.
So yeah, must needs pens and today that one task got mired in a hundred other tasks and lost out in the priority race.
Bank work, phone work, grocery work and no pen work:(
Sads. Perhaps tomorrow might be the day.
Friday, 10 February 2017
garble garble
My drawing's not nearing completion and weekend is already here. God knows I can't get nothing done during a weekend. Sigh.
The rendering is only just begin, with only 2/3rds done and that too just the basic rendering. I'm not even talking about detailing.
Dinner? I don't even feel like looking at the kitchen today.
I don't know what to cook. Maybe something quick, easy and pasta types?
Well pasta it will be then.
Sigh, where is the darling cat? I let him off sometime during late afternoon and now it's already evening and no sign of him.
It's cold out and I feel lonely without him. :(
The rendering is only just begin, with only 2/3rds done and that too just the basic rendering. I'm not even talking about detailing.
Dinner? I don't even feel like looking at the kitchen today.
I don't know what to cook. Maybe something quick, easy and pasta types?
Well pasta it will be then.
Sigh, where is the darling cat? I let him off sometime during late afternoon and now it's already evening and no sign of him.
It's cold out and I feel lonely without him. :(
Easy fixings
The table is littered with tissues sodden with ink, ink bottles and pens.. and uh, a packet of almonds, cuz the need to munch is strong always.
Two kinds of lights overhead and a laptop that plays second book of Dresden Files.
I'm listening to 'full moon' now.
Of the morning come and slowly going
Say one thing about me, say I love a morning nap.
A morning nap? One might ask. A prudent question too.. but as you are aware, for I haven't failed to mention it, in fact I've mentioned it several times in one too many morning posts that I have a filthy habit of going back to sleep after waking up in the wee dark cold hours of morning to pack lunch and fix breakfast.
A habit I had steadily begun to avoid only to relapse into. A falling off the wagon you see.
At the beginning of this week I had in fact stopped waking up altogether, as I was in the vengeful grips of an enraged allergy which has now thankfully abated to a restful recuperative stance.
I'm not a 100%, and it'll be a few days until I'll be my happy prancing self again, but until then this will suffice.
Of course with the getting healthier aspect came the loud clang of piled up chores that were lurking around the corner, waiting to bash my head in, and bashed in it did get; which brings me to the main point, that of a morning nap.
After the dutiful completion of dusk coloured twilight chores, one is resigned to a state of emptiness, a sort of void that usually comes as an added tumour to severely cold mornings and these are just the kind of moments I'd rather ignore, thus initiating a prompt retreat into still warm folds of my bedding, where I embed myself like a termite inside a wooden wall and do a bit of eye lid shutting.
Sometimes I sleep deep, sometimes I just lie down refusing to acknowledge wakefulness and usually get up when morning is officially announced.
Now this is a habit I was trying to break and one in which I find myself mired like an addict.
Apart from whatever perks of an elongated day that a dismissal of morning nap could provide I see few reasons to cancel this habit, but cancel I must, because an elongated day, one that starts from before 6:00am can be rather beneficial (or so I suppose)
Imagine all the fun chores I could squeeze in. The laundry, the vacuuming, the dusting, the dozen deaths wrought on by a mindless murder spree. Ah, how fun.
Next week I say, and let's see if I can keep up to these alleged promises.
Now hunting for my will power.
A morning nap? One might ask. A prudent question too.. but as you are aware, for I haven't failed to mention it, in fact I've mentioned it several times in one too many morning posts that I have a filthy habit of going back to sleep after waking up in the wee dark cold hours of morning to pack lunch and fix breakfast.
A habit I had steadily begun to avoid only to relapse into. A falling off the wagon you see.
At the beginning of this week I had in fact stopped waking up altogether, as I was in the vengeful grips of an enraged allergy which has now thankfully abated to a restful recuperative stance.
I'm not a 100%, and it'll be a few days until I'll be my happy prancing self again, but until then this will suffice.
Of course with the getting healthier aspect came the loud clang of piled up chores that were lurking around the corner, waiting to bash my head in, and bashed in it did get; which brings me to the main point, that of a morning nap.
After the dutiful completion of dusk coloured twilight chores, one is resigned to a state of emptiness, a sort of void that usually comes as an added tumour to severely cold mornings and these are just the kind of moments I'd rather ignore, thus initiating a prompt retreat into still warm folds of my bedding, where I embed myself like a termite inside a wooden wall and do a bit of eye lid shutting.
Sometimes I sleep deep, sometimes I just lie down refusing to acknowledge wakefulness and usually get up when morning is officially announced.
Now this is a habit I was trying to break and one in which I find myself mired like an addict.
Apart from whatever perks of an elongated day that a dismissal of morning nap could provide I see few reasons to cancel this habit, but cancel I must, because an elongated day, one that starts from before 6:00am can be rather beneficial (or so I suppose)
Imagine all the fun chores I could squeeze in. The laundry, the vacuuming, the dusting, the dozen deaths wrought on by a mindless murder spree. Ah, how fun.
Next week I say, and let's see if I can keep up to these alleged promises.
Now hunting for my will power.
Thursday, 9 February 2017
Not so Sherlock
Well, whaddya know. The 4th season for Sherlock has been out for a while and I had not as much as a whiff of it.
Already on the second episode of the three very long episodes that each season encompasses and I cannot help thinking that this is probably going to be the last Sherlock season I'll be watching.
One has only to dip in my archives with some well suited key search words to find out what I really think of Sherlock Holmes in media.
As far as I'm concerned the only pivotal Sherlock Holmes that can never be topped, as hard as anyone might try is the one called 'Adventures of Sherlock Holmes' of 'Granada television' wherein the astute detective was portrayed by the genius that was 'Jeremy Brett', and that my darlings is a series and acting and everything that it encapsulated unmatched.
Then why on earth am I watching the new bastardised version of this century, gadget savvy, social media friendly Sherlock? Well, because it's Sherlock and I like watching anything detective plus this started off as a rather promising series, intelligently casting a 200 year old character into a new world setting and the adaptation came off as flawless.
Alas, it has now fallen a victim to its own greatness. Unable to top its own superb start ..
it has begun to deteriorate into a sort of caricature of itself.
This phenomenon began 3rd season onwards when Sherlock Holmes turned into Sherlock man, a sort of super hero of detective world with his side stooge Watson.
The world, entire universe began to center around him; he turned into the most important man ever come in existence with his every move being tracked more closely than the prime minister.
And Watson, what about dear Dr. Watson who was not only a friend but an esteemed colleague of Holmes, well, he is a glorified nothing. Just a sidekick of sorts, a sort of comic relief who is a little more than his babysitter.
Not just that, there are characters oddly added blown into needless importance that makes you want to cringe.
Sherlock wasn't a man known to such strange emotions, bereaving the loss of ones lost and claiming himself a protector of his loved ones.
This one is a bit askew.
As far as modernisation goes it's all good but the spirit is now lost and so is this viewer.
Already on the second episode of the three very long episodes that each season encompasses and I cannot help thinking that this is probably going to be the last Sherlock season I'll be watching.
One has only to dip in my archives with some well suited key search words to find out what I really think of Sherlock Holmes in media.
As far as I'm concerned the only pivotal Sherlock Holmes that can never be topped, as hard as anyone might try is the one called 'Adventures of Sherlock Holmes' of 'Granada television' wherein the astute detective was portrayed by the genius that was 'Jeremy Brett', and that my darlings is a series and acting and everything that it encapsulated unmatched.
Then why on earth am I watching the new bastardised version of this century, gadget savvy, social media friendly Sherlock? Well, because it's Sherlock and I like watching anything detective plus this started off as a rather promising series, intelligently casting a 200 year old character into a new world setting and the adaptation came off as flawless.
Alas, it has now fallen a victim to its own greatness. Unable to top its own superb start ..
it has begun to deteriorate into a sort of caricature of itself.
This phenomenon began 3rd season onwards when Sherlock Holmes turned into Sherlock man, a sort of super hero of detective world with his side stooge Watson.
The world, entire universe began to center around him; he turned into the most important man ever come in existence with his every move being tracked more closely than the prime minister.
And Watson, what about dear Dr. Watson who was not only a friend but an esteemed colleague of Holmes, well, he is a glorified nothing. Just a sidekick of sorts, a sort of comic relief who is a little more than his babysitter.
Not just that, there are characters oddly added blown into needless importance that makes you want to cringe.
Sherlock wasn't a man known to such strange emotions, bereaving the loss of ones lost and claiming himself a protector of his loved ones.
This one is a bit askew.
As far as modernisation goes it's all good but the spirit is now lost and so is this viewer.
chop chop
Wake up,
grab a broom and do a bit of sweep up
grab a mop and do a lot of clean up
why'd you leave your socks upon the table?
why is a shoe sitting on a charging cable?
You wanted to
leave your jacket lying on the floor
you wanted to
leave a slipper stuck near the door
you wanted to
I don't think you know,
much, about, my wholesome paradise
I, clean, this house, from morning to Niiight
grab a broom and do a bit of sweep up
grab a mop and do a lot of clean up
why'd you leave your socks upon the table?
why is a shoe sitting on a charging cable?
You wanted to
leave your jacket lying on the floor
you wanted to
leave a slipper stuck near the door
you wanted to
I don't think you know,
much, about, my wholesome paradise
I, clean, this house, from morning to Niiight
Wednesday, 8 February 2017
Ear Easygasms
Listening to Jim Butchers 'storm front' read by (?) I don't remember, but I will find out and write about it and make it a point to mention with all the emphasis at my disposal that it is read most brilliantly.
No, the narrator doesn't manufacture a different voice for every character and mercifully there aren't many characters either.
The narrator speaks in an even baritone most comforting and with a clarity so astounding so as to make the whole audiobook an easy affair to both understand and imbibe.
The story is written in most non-complicated manner without too many intersecting sub plots and undertones that makes it an absolute guilty pleasure; that it's not a lengthy tale adds to the efficiency of the narration and story.
What I absolutely love about this book and probably what is also a reflection on this entire series is that it isn't too long.
Ok, I've had my share of extremely long audiobooks what with GoT and first law series and a good few many more, including graphic novels of DC universe and I'm not the one to complain about long, never ending audiobooks. Gimme more I'd say, for it only adds to ease of not having to continuously find new audiobooks to listen to and I can go on about intensely detailed drawings for days on and on.
What was I saying? Ah, that I love that these books are not long, which means that neither are the audiobooks.
I've barely finished with the exoskeleton of my drawing and the first book of the series 'storm front' as I mentioned before is almost nearing end.
What does that mean? Just that I'd be on my second book by the time I begin rendering and how is that not a good thing?
Oh sigh, I can't thank enough for this pretty recco.
It really is guilty aural pleasure.
Hearts.
No, the narrator doesn't manufacture a different voice for every character and mercifully there aren't many characters either.
The narrator speaks in an even baritone most comforting and with a clarity so astounding so as to make the whole audiobook an easy affair to both understand and imbibe.
The story is written in most non-complicated manner without too many intersecting sub plots and undertones that makes it an absolute guilty pleasure; that it's not a lengthy tale adds to the efficiency of the narration and story.
What I absolutely love about this book and probably what is also a reflection on this entire series is that it isn't too long.
Ok, I've had my share of extremely long audiobooks what with GoT and first law series and a good few many more, including graphic novels of DC universe and I'm not the one to complain about long, never ending audiobooks. Gimme more I'd say, for it only adds to ease of not having to continuously find new audiobooks to listen to and I can go on about intensely detailed drawings for days on and on.
What was I saying? Ah, that I love that these books are not long, which means that neither are the audiobooks.
I've barely finished with the exoskeleton of my drawing and the first book of the series 'storm front' as I mentioned before is almost nearing end.
What does that mean? Just that I'd be on my second book by the time I begin rendering and how is that not a good thing?
Oh sigh, I can't thank enough for this pretty recco.
It really is guilty aural pleasure.
Hearts.
Brrr
T'was harsh and full of loathing.
..biting wind frozen in crevices of warm face, setting expressions into a paralytic stupor.
'Tis spring they say. The kind of spring that waits for the annual thaw to uncover bodies long dead in the unapologetic cold.
Spring may have sprung, albeit in thoughts alone, for its icier than a glacier and if you think tears streaming down a face could leave track marks of molten warmth then know this that tears would simply fall down in silvery crinkles of frozen dew drops, making tiny noise as they hit the ground.
Set yourself ablaze then or find the nearest volcano and maybe that might bring some respite from feeling like a mummified ice cube.
..biting wind frozen in crevices of warm face, setting expressions into a paralytic stupor.
'Tis spring they say. The kind of spring that waits for the annual thaw to uncover bodies long dead in the unapologetic cold.
Spring may have sprung, albeit in thoughts alone, for its icier than a glacier and if you think tears streaming down a face could leave track marks of molten warmth then know this that tears would simply fall down in silvery crinkles of frozen dew drops, making tiny noise as they hit the ground.
Set yourself ablaze then or find the nearest volcano and maybe that might bring some respite from feeling like a mummified ice cube.
Tuesday, 7 February 2017
Good god night
How many times, darling night, must I traverse the same road?.. of forced sleep and broken dreams.
Same path, similar destinations.. night in, day out.
Copy paste of the tangible kinds—
leading easily to an existential dread, if you let yourself think much.
One must now fashion a weapon out of ignorance to obfuscate the murky depths of sad realities.
Keep the knowledge at bay, so to say and lead a happy wholesome life.
Tearing away a fabric from night
to stick inside my eyes
that surely you'd wish to pry
with your inky talons
I shan't though give in without a fight
gouge as you must, as you might
Same path, similar destinations.. night in, day out.
Copy paste of the tangible kinds—
leading easily to an existential dread, if you let yourself think much.
One must now fashion a weapon out of ignorance to obfuscate the murky depths of sad realities.
Keep the knowledge at bay, so to say and lead a happy wholesome life.
Tearing away a fabric from night
to stick inside my eyes
that surely you'd wish to pry
with your inky talons
I shan't though give in without a fight
gouge as you must, as you might
Goddamn it
Arghh. Just my luck to find out about Joe Satriani's sold out concert on 14th.
No tickets available any bloody where.
Sobs.
I'm a sad panda
No tickets available any bloody where.
Sobs.
I'm a sad panda
Steaming alleys
This rather endearing habit where I drink almost scalding water and recoil away from existence for a fraction of second, delving deep into all manners of fears, sorrows and regrets; cowering in a blank black inhospitable negative mind space which is nothing if not jaundiced by inimical malevolence.
Yes, all this with just a heaving swig of extremely hot water. It does something to your senses. Takes a momentary trip into an isle of depression you never wish to trudge.
Yes, all this with just a heaving swig of extremely hot water. It does something to your senses. Takes a momentary trip into an isle of depression you never wish to trudge.
fusion love
Anand Shankar's 'snow flower'. Music that is most music in every sense of the word. To wash over every grief, negativity and hate.
It's impossible to sound so piously pure and enthusiastically full of life and zeal at the same time. This does it all so beautifully.
Broken rituals
A spanner in Sisyphean gears.
When something most unwelcome works in alleviating certain mundane activities while working at impairing most regular activities.
As vile and irksome as this allergic reaction to god knows what resulting in an odd variety of fever less cold is, it has kept me from waking up early to fix breakfast and pack lunch, not just, I suffer from long hours of guiltless sleep in the morning, waking up at such vulgar times that'd have me hang my head in shame during healthier moments..but not these days they don't.
This might sound a bit like being happy about broken legs, just so you won't have to walk, and I'm not labelling this curse as a boon in disguise.
Something about looking at silver lining in every dark cloud, and here I am, scraping away grimy clouds layer by layer; fleecing my fingernails to bloody nubs, just so I could find a smear of a silver lining, so to say.
Rest, rest and more rest is the key to recovery that might take anything between few days to one week, and I'm not complaining. No sir.
My body does feel like it's being weighed down by ghost weight, and I'm wracked with unending sniffles, but let's look at the silver lining: chores are kept to a minimum. Physical activity is forbidden, and lying down is mostly encouraged. Basically I have to imitate a sluggish sloth and how does one complaint to such persuasions?
Not me. Sometimes your body needs a holiday, and when you pay no mind to their requests they tend to aggressively react.
I think I tend to often overwork. Myself and my body. Both in mind and spirit and my system
doesn't appreciate it.
Ah well, let's try and be lazy then. (As if)
When something most unwelcome works in alleviating certain mundane activities while working at impairing most regular activities.
As vile and irksome as this allergic reaction to god knows what resulting in an odd variety of fever less cold is, it has kept me from waking up early to fix breakfast and pack lunch, not just, I suffer from long hours of guiltless sleep in the morning, waking up at such vulgar times that'd have me hang my head in shame during healthier moments..but not these days they don't.
This might sound a bit like being happy about broken legs, just so you won't have to walk, and I'm not labelling this curse as a boon in disguise.
Something about looking at silver lining in every dark cloud, and here I am, scraping away grimy clouds layer by layer; fleecing my fingernails to bloody nubs, just so I could find a smear of a silver lining, so to say.
Rest, rest and more rest is the key to recovery that might take anything between few days to one week, and I'm not complaining. No sir.
My body does feel like it's being weighed down by ghost weight, and I'm wracked with unending sniffles, but let's look at the silver lining: chores are kept to a minimum. Physical activity is forbidden, and lying down is mostly encouraged. Basically I have to imitate a sluggish sloth and how does one complaint to such persuasions?
Not me. Sometimes your body needs a holiday, and when you pay no mind to their requests they tend to aggressively react.
I think I tend to often overwork. Myself and my body. Both in mind and spirit and my system
doesn't appreciate it.
Ah well, let's try and be lazy then. (As if)
Monday, 6 February 2017
audiolove
30 minutes of Jim Butcher's 'storm front' audiobook in and I'm absolutely loving the fast paced, unapologetic plot.
This I am most certainly going to enjoy.. with my new drawing that is.
What is a sick gal gonna do? with options so few.
Working out is not going to happen until such time as I'm fully recovered and in this illness wrought laziness immersing myself into a rigorously engaging activity with the added perks of not being strenuous on the body helps.
So yes. I think I'll be writing more on this after hearing more of it.
This I am most certainly going to enjoy.. with my new drawing that is.
What is a sick gal gonna do? with options so few.
Working out is not going to happen until such time as I'm fully recovered and in this illness wrought laziness immersing myself into a rigorously engaging activity with the added perks of not being strenuous on the body helps.
So yes. I think I'll be writing more on this after hearing more of it.
heavens above
An unscalable hill of clothes that has slowly terraformed into that of a mountain–full of life. A dense jungle of jackets growing in a fertile soil of shirts and tees. Intermingled are the roots of sweaters and underwear with a light sprinkling of snowy socks on the peak.
One could sit at a distance and watch the flora and fauna thrive on a lone bed or act quick and take to lumbering the overgrowth and begin folding, ironing, stacking.
Will, where art thou? did you disappear with my well being?
Amidst the cough and sniffles of an allergy having a field day, the clothes pile up fresh, hot and eager to be taken care of.
Sigh. Soon. perhaps in an hour. maybe two. or tomorrow? tomorrows never come, do they? sigh.
Things need to be done, and I have not the energy nor the inclination to do them. There are moments when I wished I could wave a wand in someone's face or conjure a fabric spell. wishes
One could sit at a distance and watch the flora and fauna thrive on a lone bed or act quick and take to lumbering the overgrowth and begin folding, ironing, stacking.
Will, where art thou? did you disappear with my well being?
Amidst the cough and sniffles of an allergy having a field day, the clothes pile up fresh, hot and eager to be taken care of.
Sigh. Soon. perhaps in an hour. maybe two. or tomorrow? tomorrows never come, do they? sigh.
Things need to be done, and I have not the energy nor the inclination to do them. There are moments when I wished I could wave a wand in someone's face or conjure a fabric spell. wishes
sniff sniff
Most uncommon this, me falling sick for no reason, suddenly ill.
It started on the day of travel, with a few hundred sneezes.
dust allergy I gathered, for what else does one expect from that city?
just one of those ailments that come with a little discomfort and go
three days its' been, maybe four
there's no fever none at all, yet still the cold lingers
in pockets of sneezes and itchy throat
watering eyes, did I mention those?
a strip of sand inscribed in my gullet
my eyes a permanent watering hole, or well?
an odd discomfort aid to laziness
face plumed in a blooming red welt
Today I feel I have to say
the most important discovery or invention to this date
is probably tissues.
It started on the day of travel, with a few hundred sneezes.
dust allergy I gathered, for what else does one expect from that city?
just one of those ailments that come with a little discomfort and go
three days its' been, maybe four
there's no fever none at all, yet still the cold lingers
in pockets of sneezes and itchy throat
watering eyes, did I mention those?
a strip of sand inscribed in my gullet
my eyes a permanent watering hole, or well?
an odd discomfort aid to laziness
face plumed in a blooming red welt
Today I feel I have to say
the most important discovery or invention to this date
is probably tissues.
slowly
White curtains lit to a sunshine glow that beguile a marrow freezing gale with a tendency to soak through an unwilling chest and settle in unsuspecting lungs.
Fingertips on an almost alien keyboard terrain after what feels like months of not prodding on backlit little squares of black and silver.
Finger tips that glide uncertainly on digital topography; a gentle reminder on absence, of habits slowly breaking or broken; a souvenir perhaps from times that little in the way of being lifeless was known.
A paltry interval of a mere two weeks abundant with plenteous 'this' and 'that', 'here' and 'there'.
A comma that doesn't warrant nostalgia, instead which evokes sad memories of inorganic time wastage.
a few days hence these will become a part of daily cycle and lo, readily absorbed.
Fingertips on an almost alien keyboard terrain after what feels like months of not prodding on backlit little squares of black and silver.
Finger tips that glide uncertainly on digital topography; a gentle reminder on absence, of habits slowly breaking or broken; a souvenir perhaps from times that little in the way of being lifeless was known.
A paltry interval of a mere two weeks abundant with plenteous 'this' and 'that', 'here' and 'there'.
A comma that doesn't warrant nostalgia, instead which evokes sad memories of inorganic time wastage.
a few days hence these will become a part of daily cycle and lo, readily absorbed.
Sunday, 5 February 2017
New learnings
Today (sigh) I ordered a soy milk latte (gasp) at Starbucks (crap)
I almost always only ever order an Americano or a single espresso, but in a fit of festive foolishness I ventured to the side of audacious adventurism and took a plunge of faith (most misplaced) and found myself holding a small soy latte.
One sip and I knew there were few things so ghastly in existence.
It tastes like soy milk on an autopsy table. I don't know how and why this came into existence. Probably to appease vegans and lactose intolerants but this is probably what is flushed down satans toilet each morning.
Most idiotic mistake that shall never be repeated no matter how many times I'm reincarnated as whatever.
I almost always only ever order an Americano or a single espresso, but in a fit of festive foolishness I ventured to the side of audacious adventurism and took a plunge of faith (most misplaced) and found myself holding a small soy latte.
One sip and I knew there were few things so ghastly in existence.
It tastes like soy milk on an autopsy table. I don't know how and why this came into existence. Probably to appease vegans and lactose intolerants but this is probably what is flushed down satans toilet each morning.
Most idiotic mistake that shall never be repeated no matter how many times I'm reincarnated as whatever.
Saturday, 4 February 2017
Important things
Anything crusty, crunchy, crumbly should Always be eaten on a plate. Please!
There's a reason why the witch wanted to eat those bothersome siblings Hansel and Gretel. I mean leaving a crumb trail..how bloody annoying
There's a reason why the witch wanted to eat those bothersome siblings Hansel and Gretel. I mean leaving a crumb trail..how bloody annoying
Decepticons, mobilize
Of course I'm going to watch Transformers 5. I mean d-uh
No, not for the stunning plot line or flabbergasting star cast. Of course not.
I watch it for the impeccable sound effects and the awesome experience it delivers in a movie theatre.
No, not for the action sequences either. They're botched, fast paced and edited at a blitzkrieg speed that makes it feel like I'm addled in the brains with a Nile full of caffeine.
Also, I've never missed a single transformers movie and watched each in a movie hall. No way am I ever going to break that streak.
No, not for the stunning plot line or flabbergasting star cast. Of course not.
I watch it for the impeccable sound effects and the awesome experience it delivers in a movie theatre.
No, not for the action sequences either. They're botched, fast paced and edited at a blitzkrieg speed that makes it feel like I'm addled in the brains with a Nile full of caffeine.
Also, I've never missed a single transformers movie and watched each in a movie hall. No way am I ever going to break that streak.
Of cabbages and men
Cabbages confound me.
What's their deal?
They're literally made up of layers. Layers upon layers upon layers.
A mille feuille of vegetables. Nor are the layers nearly as thick as onion. They're paper thin.
Once you get through the outer layers, discarding ones that you believe are outer layers that is, because the moment you begin tearing out the leafage it feels like you might not be able to stop.
Right so once you're in, the question is how does one chop it right? Should I stand it or lie it down. Vertical or horizontal? Across the grain or with the grain? Does cabbage even have a grain?
And once it's chopped, the layers coming undone so to say- it seems to fly everywhere. Overflowing on chopping board, falling on the floors, spread across the sink, stuck in the meshes of washing implements.
Gah!!
Cabbages are confusing.
What's their deal?
They're literally made up of layers. Layers upon layers upon layers.
A mille feuille of vegetables. Nor are the layers nearly as thick as onion. They're paper thin.
Once you get through the outer layers, discarding ones that you believe are outer layers that is, because the moment you begin tearing out the leafage it feels like you might not be able to stop.
Right so once you're in, the question is how does one chop it right? Should I stand it or lie it down. Vertical or horizontal? Across the grain or with the grain? Does cabbage even have a grain?
And once it's chopped, the layers coming undone so to say- it seems to fly everywhere. Overflowing on chopping board, falling on the floors, spread across the sink, stuck in the meshes of washing implements.
Gah!!
Cabbages are confusing.
Dead light dying right
Midnight distresses in triplicate.
Night devoid of sleep, reassuringly dull dreams with a hit of morning amnesia
The passing of moon, a sickle of silver plume and skies almost as dark if not nearly as poetry on chaos pages; bookmarked for eternity, hidden under a stain that eclipses my heart with ritual heartbeat on that veined curve where yearning rages.
Curled into a ring of repetitive timings masked as new day that stretches into a malleable line, an exhausted tinge of shattered clay.
Thusly dented and scarred musts go by the hours.
minutes and seconds used to a pulp and moments ground to fine powder.
Insured would be dreams sutured to sleepscape inseams and ceilings affixed with sleepless stars
Night devoid of sleep, reassuringly dull dreams with a hit of morning amnesia
The passing of moon, a sickle of silver plume and skies almost as dark if not nearly as poetry on chaos pages; bookmarked for eternity, hidden under a stain that eclipses my heart with ritual heartbeat on that veined curve where yearning rages.
Curled into a ring of repetitive timings masked as new day that stretches into a malleable line, an exhausted tinge of shattered clay.
Thusly dented and scarred musts go by the hours.
minutes and seconds used to a pulp and moments ground to fine powder.
Insured would be dreams sutured to sleepscape inseams and ceilings affixed with sleepless stars
Friday, 3 February 2017
The story of woe
Over two dozen sneezes and a pulsing throb in temples later I've resigned myself to the folds of an unassuming couch that seems a rather temptress at this moment, given my feverish disposition.
In this vituperated state of febrile assault I might be given to sickened rantings and unnecessarily angry banter, but isn't that what ailments expect of ones they so mercilessly abuse.
On the story of how I got myself in this position begins with the rather tragic tale of affection, love and devotion.
Tragic because only love and longing have the power to tug at your heart with such vigorous force as to mutilate it to strips of gouged out wounded flesh.
As inconsolable and broken-hearted as I was upon arriving here last night from my short stint home, there was but a streak of silver in my blackened grey distant clouds and that was the reunion with my darling cat, whom I'd left two weeks past.
My burgeoning grief upon leaving him and been doubly overburdened with the guilt that he'd be all alone. The thought of abandonment is a frightening one and i wondered if he'd felt abandoned all this time too.
So imagine my anguish when upon my arrival I could discern not a trace of my civilized feline.
I'd fashioned a small cardboard box into a cozy apartment and lined it with his favourite towel outside of my door to serve as his little cocoon and I fully expected to find him there, waiting to plunge into my arms. That did not happen. Not by a long shot.
The box was empty but lived in and yet the furry tenant was nowhere in sight.
I searched for him for almost an hour. Whistling near his favorite haunts and calling out his name near all the trees he patronizes.
No luck and this began to worry me.
I let myself come up with the oddest reasons for his absence. 'Perhaps he left this area because he felt abandoned. Maybe he crossed the road and had an accident'
I came up with a million reasons so ghastly and negative that for a moment I worried myself into a state of uncontrollable sobs.
I wasn't in a great frame of mind yesterday and all these events played into a negativity sphere so vast that I broke down into a feverish sleep.
But that's not how I got sick today.
Sometime around 4:30 am I heard a cat sadly meowing downstairs and to that dolorous song I woke up with a start and without thinking for a second ran out of the house, climbed downstairs and did an Usain Bolt gallop into the world frozen to a deadened silence, only to come across a tangerine cat who was trying to make conversation with another black and orange animal.
Not my darling Gogi that, and I slowly trudged upstairs, holding myself into a bundle of shivers, clasping my arms around me in a huddle. Wearing nothing save a t shirt and underwear I realized I'd been idiotically foolish and temerarious.
I dived back in my layers of warmth but the damage was done.
The cat greeted me with all the love at his disposal this morning and I lavished everything I had and together we slept until I woke up with a feverish headache and creaking body ache.
I knew something was off and the reason for it too.. and thusly ends this tale.
Time to raid the medicine cabinet or find a suitable handgun.
Hearts
In this vituperated state of febrile assault I might be given to sickened rantings and unnecessarily angry banter, but isn't that what ailments expect of ones they so mercilessly abuse.
On the story of how I got myself in this position begins with the rather tragic tale of affection, love and devotion.
Tragic because only love and longing have the power to tug at your heart with such vigorous force as to mutilate it to strips of gouged out wounded flesh.
As inconsolable and broken-hearted as I was upon arriving here last night from my short stint home, there was but a streak of silver in my blackened grey distant clouds and that was the reunion with my darling cat, whom I'd left two weeks past.
My burgeoning grief upon leaving him and been doubly overburdened with the guilt that he'd be all alone. The thought of abandonment is a frightening one and i wondered if he'd felt abandoned all this time too.
So imagine my anguish when upon my arrival I could discern not a trace of my civilized feline.
I'd fashioned a small cardboard box into a cozy apartment and lined it with his favourite towel outside of my door to serve as his little cocoon and I fully expected to find him there, waiting to plunge into my arms. That did not happen. Not by a long shot.
The box was empty but lived in and yet the furry tenant was nowhere in sight.
I searched for him for almost an hour. Whistling near his favorite haunts and calling out his name near all the trees he patronizes.
No luck and this began to worry me.
I let myself come up with the oddest reasons for his absence. 'Perhaps he left this area because he felt abandoned. Maybe he crossed the road and had an accident'
I came up with a million reasons so ghastly and negative that for a moment I worried myself into a state of uncontrollable sobs.
I wasn't in a great frame of mind yesterday and all these events played into a negativity sphere so vast that I broke down into a feverish sleep.
But that's not how I got sick today.
Sometime around 4:30 am I heard a cat sadly meowing downstairs and to that dolorous song I woke up with a start and without thinking for a second ran out of the house, climbed downstairs and did an Usain Bolt gallop into the world frozen to a deadened silence, only to come across a tangerine cat who was trying to make conversation with another black and orange animal.
Not my darling Gogi that, and I slowly trudged upstairs, holding myself into a bundle of shivers, clasping my arms around me in a huddle. Wearing nothing save a t shirt and underwear I realized I'd been idiotically foolish and temerarious.
I dived back in my layers of warmth but the damage was done.
The cat greeted me with all the love at his disposal this morning and I lavished everything I had and together we slept until I woke up with a feverish headache and creaking body ache.
I knew something was off and the reason for it too.. and thusly ends this tale.
Time to raid the medicine cabinet or find a suitable handgun.
Hearts
Here I cometh
A hearty afternoon from this side of the time zone that suffers much in the set chill that promises to never leave.
Reaching at night into an icicle house that seemed sequestered from every earthly desires, with the most becoming tan that is mandatory this time of the year..my tan not the house.
A long sigh of something that was meant to denote that ho-hum here we are again, in the Sisyphean cycle where surely I'll find myself mangled and embedded into with not the slightest surcease.
So cold was it that it'd frozen every sound in place and in that noiseless aura of a hushed edifice I found myself huddling near the radiator that was just switched on.
Awash with fresh despondency and gloom my silent detachment was most audible and indescribable how miserable I'd been feeling.
I'd not had my fill of homestay and most of this so called holiday was besieged with endless personal work related travels.
Into this jigsaw of tight scheduling I tried jabbing blocks of I'll fitting pieces that allowed for a few prolonged hours of acting upon wishful thinking and even that most hurriedly.
No, I've not had my fill and thirst still to spend time home. There were a million unfinished things to take care of, and before I could stretch my smile into an ever encompassing gratitude to this universe for keeping me alive to fly paper aeroplanes from rooftops; the trip was over and I was waving away flight food.
Since my arrival not twelve hours past, I've been ceaselessly assailed by cryptic winter. Not a drop of sunlight nor moments breather from biting winds.
This morning could've been worse had the cat not woken me up with a welcome purr followed by burying himself inside my duvet, where together we slept until it was morning it is said.
Now? Now I stare in the face of my living room that's savagely conquered by what appears to be travel demons with open maws that stretch into infinity and are lined with cotton fangs of clothes and jagged hills of rare grocery items. Threatening with spillage if not unpacked at the earliest.
Sisyphus, devour me whole.
Reaching at night into an icicle house that seemed sequestered from every earthly desires, with the most becoming tan that is mandatory this time of the year..my tan not the house.
A long sigh of something that was meant to denote that ho-hum here we are again, in the Sisyphean cycle where surely I'll find myself mangled and embedded into with not the slightest surcease.
So cold was it that it'd frozen every sound in place and in that noiseless aura of a hushed edifice I found myself huddling near the radiator that was just switched on.
Awash with fresh despondency and gloom my silent detachment was most audible and indescribable how miserable I'd been feeling.
I'd not had my fill of homestay and most of this so called holiday was besieged with endless personal work related travels.
Into this jigsaw of tight scheduling I tried jabbing blocks of I'll fitting pieces that allowed for a few prolonged hours of acting upon wishful thinking and even that most hurriedly.
No, I've not had my fill and thirst still to spend time home. There were a million unfinished things to take care of, and before I could stretch my smile into an ever encompassing gratitude to this universe for keeping me alive to fly paper aeroplanes from rooftops; the trip was over and I was waving away flight food.
Since my arrival not twelve hours past, I've been ceaselessly assailed by cryptic winter. Not a drop of sunlight nor moments breather from biting winds.
This morning could've been worse had the cat not woken me up with a welcome purr followed by burying himself inside my duvet, where together we slept until it was morning it is said.
Now? Now I stare in the face of my living room that's savagely conquered by what appears to be travel demons with open maws that stretch into infinity and are lined with cotton fangs of clothes and jagged hills of rare grocery items. Threatening with spillage if not unpacked at the earliest.
Sisyphus, devour me whole.
Thursday, 2 February 2017
Au revoir
It's a deja vu.
The repeated unfastening of heart strings pulled taught by strange bindings.
The unwilling yet necessary trudge to another piece of world where naught lies my heart yet travel one must for that's where a house is; for I leave my home each time to go back into a temporary residence that seems inscribed in my fate to slowly turn into a permanent blot of perfection.
Bittersweet perhaps, and painful extremely - this splitting of my core to go back over and over and tediously immerse into another life.
If there were a detour I'd gladly take one..
Sigh.
Heart.
The repeated unfastening of heart strings pulled taught by strange bindings.
The unwilling yet necessary trudge to another piece of world where naught lies my heart yet travel one must for that's where a house is; for I leave my home each time to go back into a temporary residence that seems inscribed in my fate to slowly turn into a permanent blot of perfection.
Bittersweet perhaps, and painful extremely - this splitting of my core to go back over and over and tediously immerse into another life.
If there were a detour I'd gladly take one..
Sigh.
Heart.
Wednesday, 1 February 2017
catstorm
I ask him to love and he sits and stares
at everything that isn't me
and goes meow suddenly and bleats to be fed
marble my heart isn't, it oh bled
and I fed him scoops and scoops and scoops
of his delicious meal
purring at my side, rubbing fur on my feet
and then he's fed and full and burp
He'd look at me and get a small pet
and that's all he said
for I'm done and fed
and fat and fatter
my warrior spirit in tatters
for I get into fights of practiced orchestra
come back home with rashes and despairs
gashes lacerations
torn skin, cottony hair caked in blood
oh, I listen
and hasten to forget
that my once cuddly pussy
is now a warrior cat
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