words

fortes fortuna adiuvat

Qui que tu sois, voici ton maitre;
Il l'est - le fut - ou le doit etre.

Song: New coat of paint

Arriving on the shores of origin
she comes from those yet to be

With an unperfect guide;
a fawlty compass,
she tries to find the path no eyes see

Waves crash onto high walls
tresses tangles up
she disappears with a fickle fella'

"Don't play with those who live by no rules."

Black hole

It tickles in my chest
when you say it's for me
Temperature rises in my cheeks
you turn me into a schoolgirl
by declarations

O, how can you play me so
Your melody makes me smile
like the fool
I am

You stick on my mind
my eyes drift to you
and my insides implode


I've got a black hole were my gut used to be.

Song: Running up that hill

I see rivers in my mirror,
a canvas painted red.
Which painter used
these colors on me?

Those books never
told of this illness.
The lacking of spark has
a madness-inducing quality.

I'm troubled and tired
of waiting for a fever.
Hey, doc, I'm on edge
slip me a pill
when no other can see.

---
and how come sometimes we act like we belong in institution?

Artist: Andreas Grega

Untitled

my cover is blank
I don't know who I am
or what I'm about

an ambivalent mind
residing in a dark corner
I'm all and nothing

overlooked and noticed
I'm an open book
that you can't read

what's my worth
temperate the hurt
what do I get for my all
label me before I fall
I'm untitled

circle of excuses
we're both blind and at fault
I raise my wall of sheets

finally,
the empty is too much to bare
and I head for new destinations
for all the time I spent solitaire
and in silent conversations
I'm quite uncertain
that I know my own person

Song: Breakdown More - Eric Hutchinson

the dam has a leak

and I construct ugly towers of sentances
built out of awkward words
in a city that reaks of insecurity

I fail to believe
(consistently)

- and I consequently hate myself for sounding like a whiny 14 year old girl

Playlist: On-the-Go 2

society/celestial canon
have you ever felt - like i feel?
choking on words, exhibitionistic tears
(a sideorder of sighs)
covered over with something unreal

because it's verboten
that we should show real emotion

Song: Bolero - Steve Sharples

black leather dragging behind
and she's leaving lines
as she saunters across the floor

piano man in the shadow
diddles out his soul
haunched over 88 strings

a room full of artists
trying to paint grey over with color
revelling in words of Decadence
among fairies, smiling skirts
and those enslaved

a set of arms starts the game
calling eachother within a circle
and both refuse to yield

eyes set on their dialogue
twists and turns and stomps
accompanying the wordless song

tension fills space
the floor starts burning hot
as the trio turns to an orchestra

partners change arms
to the next glistening with sweat
building up to the crescendo

heartbeats starts singing
flashes before an explosion
followed by staccato images

piano hands stills,
man has played himself empty
but she fills him up
with her gratefulness
-while others return to their default

Sounds: SR P3 99,30

She rages in a war against pollution,
while he makes an intrusion.
Hoping for a solution,
to stave off the fusion.
The world in collusion,
serving your retribution.
We've come to a resolution.
Nothing but an illusion,
guilty for delusion.
(this poem leads to confusion...)
Let's start the revolution!

Artist otD: Michael Jackson, Requiescat in Pace

spewing words

tired of all the Beautiful People,
whispering and winking from glossy pages.

sick of shrill voices,
shrieking after the next.
- from dance floor partner
to bed heater.

leave me be,
walk on by.
I don't want your eyes
or default smile.

sometimes I want to hit rewind...
would you be so kind?
help me unwind.

to redo, reset and begin anew.
but, where were you?

I have what I need,
and maybe more than I deserve.
Quick flashes of Verve,
but I want more as a reserve.
I want to do the grand of planting a seed.

---

and the otherside is the opposite but still fits in the same reality

Artist of the day: Atreyu

I sharpen my nails with my teeth
trying to carve out a new form
leaving skin shavings

I tie up roses with wire
amusing the thought of b

The smell of rain
shaking the foundation
I'm merely a breath away from living

Stems intertwining
thoughts shining with their abscence
-
"Stop trying so hard"
-
am I finished? I don't know..

Song at the mo': The (Shipped) Gold Standard

She paints me feathers so I can fly.
He hooks downturned corners
and drags out a smile.
And I'm sprinkled with sugar from their words.

Fuled by love I feel closer to my destination before I even taxied out.

Goddess... stop!
A number makes half a girl cry.
Overusing words,
I do not crackle nor spark.

Song of the day: Silver Springs

It's a frustrating feeling; feeling stuck. I hate it. Absolutely loathe it.

And I'm the greatest procrastinator known to man. I keep avoiding this massive pile of papers to write.. So I read things I enjoy to keep my mood lifted and spirit high. And listen to things that touch me, because I believe in catharsis. And imagine not being able to get that purification!

I want to at least cry, dammit!

I guess I will be doing my fair share of that in two weeks though... Maybe my body is saving up..

"Oh little doll,
keep smiling.
Look at the monkey,
dancing,
just for you."

Song of the day: Charleston

High on endorphines after the clownshow (more commedia dell'arte, less circus) I came up with the silliest little rhymes. But I will share it with this empty space just to brake this record I'm holding.


I take the road less traveled by,
won't settle for some apple pie.
That's how I go by,
in life.


xoxoxo,
haz.

Word of the day: Clandestine

So I've finally gotten somewhere with my writing... Thank the heavens for pirates! Or er... seas.

But it feels like I'm trying to push oatmeal through a linen cloth... it's that slow.
And I'm not anywhere near pleased. The only line I'm pleased with doesn't really fit anywhere at the moment.. gah! But at least I'm writing again, I will hopefully get better.

An extract from my sleep depriving work:

"You carry a hundered pounds on your back,
still you leave a steady track.
A compere yells:
Welcome to the picture show,
those old faces never telling; friend or foe?

Can no longer feel your legs, yet you feel every ounce,
as you keep wondering through these towns.
A warm sunrise begging
please take it slow,
you wore out your shoes 60 pounds ago."

I'll probably rewrite this a hundred more times. When I finish it, I'll probably "simplify" it. The cleaner the better...

And scratching your itches really do make it worse...

Goodnight!

xoxoxo

untitled/vagabond

You carry a hundered pounds on your back,
still you leave a steady track.
A 300 degree smirk:
Welcome to the picture show!
Those old faces never telling; friend or foe?

Those legs got more numb by every ounce,
as you keep wondering through these towns.
A warm sunrise begging "please take it slow,
you wore out your shoes 60 pounds ago."

do you see the rainbow and the pot of gold?

a devil's looking for a soul to be sold.

...
"Dead men tell no tales"
...

Just dried your ears, (and eyes shouting never)
but you've already been walking this road forever.
Quoting someone else's ashes at crossroads,
ignoring the work of man under your soles.

Daybirds and Timeflowers

Two whole months... the silence has set over this blog as a thick layer of dust.

I've never felt so tonguetied in my life, I have gone from empty to almost bursting and back again. But that damned wordproof wall has no cracks and refuses to budge.

So I've been silent for two months...

I keep thinking about the timeflowers in MOMO; these gorgeous, vibrant flowers that bud and wilter to be replaced by another, even more striking in it's beauty.
When I think about them I always feel the compelling need to put every flower, each falling petal to good use...

..but somehow I end up staring at this screen and doing nothing of importance, somethings does make me feel good like reading stories written by gifted Janes, watching movies by undiscovered talents and listening to music. And time takes off and flies away on outstretched wings; rushes past me like a interrail train heading for Paris.


I'm waiting for time to bring me sunshine peeking through the blinds in the morning; mediterranean winds gripping my clothes and blue, blue oceans.

I want a cristal ball showing myself walking the streets of Stratford; learning, developing and prospering.

Maybe I'll get something of substance in the near future... if I just keep on writing.

So long as men breathe

Have you ever felt like you had a song just itching to get out of your fingertips?
A story chained to your chest trying to break free?
The words glued to the tip of your tongue? So close to get past your lips, but not close enough.

That is me everyday.


This is going to be my attempt to scratch that itch, break those chains and unstick those words with acetone.



It might just be about me,

about my foiled attempt to capture the words between lines,

about life

or about nothing at all.

But if you find yourself here, I welcome you to take part of my journey in life and to give what matters most to me the most beautiful kind of immortality.

Immortality through words.

"in eternal lines thou grow'st"

(it might be narcissistic to try to find immortality, but don't we all want to leave a mark no matter how small?)