Deep purple puddles of mud,
hop, squelch and melt...
The colour was what attracted me first. It is my favourite. I think it disguised the bog. Or maybe, the bog was always there and I wanted to jump into it anyway. Stupid stupid stupid.
30 January 2009
21 January 2009
Silver Rings and Smoke...Small Things and Hope...
It was dark in the room, and cold too. There was the street light pouring in with the cold and fog like last minute additions to an exclusive guest list. I realised then that she was smart. In a very non-apparent way.
It was the quiet expression and the big eyes. Aloof. The smoke coming out of her mouth was like swirls of wisdom. Her words though...I wouldn't exactly call them pearls...
The shadows all seemed intimidated by her and her face in match stick flame light did not glow.
Then it became like my dreams. The ones that sort of turn into nightmares and end with becoming dreams again. Some sort of an abstract script for a neverending saga.
Mutilated thoughts curled up into an aura around her head in a fetal position. Then there was the microscopic perspective to think about. Impressionist dots on a large canvas.
Knees to chest with a chin propped up on one knee. Elbows fit snugly into the palms made only for those joints...
In sleep we're all the same...
17 January 2009
Wishing Lemons
With her glasses perched at the tip of her nose she breathed patches of steam on the tram window. She felt very conscious of the fact that this was the night she was running away. She had passed a frozen river on the way. Had contemplated jumping in, but realised just in time that she couldn't swim. Just in times weren't supposed to save her. It always was for others.
She thought about the man with the wishing lemons. Rows and rows of lemon trees in that beautiful orchard. A beautiful sunset in the background and a summer dress blowing around her knees. She had wondered if her legs looked as nice as people said they did and was glad it was warm enough.
All those lemons - all those wishes. Of course there was the possibility that the mass conversion of all those fruits into jams, marmalade, lemonade, pudding, cake, pies etc. would leave a person feeling quite wretched. A wish would cancel out another just as the taste of one lemon dish would cancel out the taste of another. The lemons left on the trees (those that were meant for others) rotted and fell onto the ground and were a pulpy mass squelching under her feet. They were trees of endless possibilities. It was wishes growing in abundance. A lemon in itself was no good. She thought that man was stupid. He was stupid enough to want to look after an orchard like that all by himself. It was stupid how all his wishes failed to take account of others before them. It was stupid how he didn't try making money off of that never ending source of happiness. When she had told him that he had laughed and kissed her for her stupidity. He told her he'd make her a wish dish. Whatever she liked. He couldn't let her do it for herself. There was always the possibility of her stupidity leading to her wishing the orchard away from him. Even in terms of wish dishing, or dish wishing no one knew what they wanted. If they ever did realise it in their dreams (they equated these with wishes sometimes), it was elusive after they woke up.
So, I'm going home. I think I am. She felt very old. Extremely young and very old at the same time. I think it was the coat. The long black coat, boots, the cold outside with the steam patches on the windows and those eyes with the glasses perched on the nose. She adjusted them and everything fell into focus. My wish dishes would be made of rotten lemons.
She thought about the man with the wishing lemons. Rows and rows of lemon trees in that beautiful orchard. A beautiful sunset in the background and a summer dress blowing around her knees. She had wondered if her legs looked as nice as people said they did and was glad it was warm enough.
All those lemons - all those wishes. Of course there was the possibility that the mass conversion of all those fruits into jams, marmalade, lemonade, pudding, cake, pies etc. would leave a person feeling quite wretched. A wish would cancel out another just as the taste of one lemon dish would cancel out the taste of another. The lemons left on the trees (those that were meant for others) rotted and fell onto the ground and were a pulpy mass squelching under her feet. They were trees of endless possibilities. It was wishes growing in abundance. A lemon in itself was no good. She thought that man was stupid. He was stupid enough to want to look after an orchard like that all by himself. It was stupid how all his wishes failed to take account of others before them. It was stupid how he didn't try making money off of that never ending source of happiness. When she had told him that he had laughed and kissed her for her stupidity. He told her he'd make her a wish dish. Whatever she liked. He couldn't let her do it for herself. There was always the possibility of her stupidity leading to her wishing the orchard away from him. Even in terms of wish dishing, or dish wishing no one knew what they wanted. If they ever did realise it in their dreams (they equated these with wishes sometimes), it was elusive after they woke up.
So, I'm going home. I think I am. She felt very old. Extremely young and very old at the same time. I think it was the coat. The long black coat, boots, the cold outside with the steam patches on the windows and those eyes with the glasses perched on the nose. She adjusted them and everything fell into focus. My wish dishes would be made of rotten lemons.
08 January 2009
Winter Favourites!
1. Wet tangled hair at the nape of my neck and a steamy bathroom.
2. Endless cups of foaming coffee.
3. Wearing three layers and still feeling exquisite shivers of cold.
4. Pretty blankets
5. Sunlight
6. Johnson and Johnson's baby cream! Lots of it!
7. All alone on the 7th floor with fog outside which makes it feel like I'm living on a cloud.
8. Mufflers!
9. Cold hands all the time! And a cold pink nose too!
10. My Papa's sweater which smells of smoke and boss...
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