On Girlishness

She looks like dark faded denim stitched straight through, with creased leather and belt buckles lacing their way around.

She looks like tea circles left on paper notes, camoflaged in lacy wording above and below the bars and staffs.

She looks like flowers neglected on the window sill, with the morning sunlight flooding into the messy living room.

She looks like a coffee table left out on the porch, paint stripping off and the cat asleep on top of it.

She looks like white bedsheets crumpled on the parquet floor, and mismatched coloured frames on the wall.

She looks like black and white photos of days on the beach, and the Cross of Christ crucified that I've had since I was a boy.


And a Glass of Wine

I've been thinking recently about experiences. If you take a look around you there are things eveyrwhere that reflect one aspect or another of life back to you. The music on your ipod, the series on tv, the book on your bedside table. They're all products of people's experience of life and everything around them, relayed back to you in one form or another.

Artists, musicians, poets, writers, dancers, actors; all of these people, these roles, have one thing in common. That they do precisely this. They observe the world around them, and not only around them but in them. Seeing how life affects us and moulds us, and in doing so becomes part of us. They take part of that life in them and try portray it in a way they find they're able to. A person may play a few notes or write a few lines, but there comes a point where it's not about what's in front of the creator or audience, but what it does to them. What feeling, drive or thought there is behind the action. That's the beauty of the arts; they go beyond themselves and the meagre means they have, to change those on the receiving end. To evoke emotion, thought, life.

There is another side to this picture. Who knows how many beautiful works are out there, unseen and unknown, made by people who have no need to show them to others, or perhaps don't have the opportunity to do so. But still they go on. Still they create, even if they know no one will see it. Still there is this urge to take nothing and make it into something, something that's an extension of ourselves. Looking at life and everything in it prompts us to take a journey into ourselves - how we relate to the world, and how that world reacts when we do. And afer coming out the other end of this journey, with whatever new observation we have, with the slightest hint of an epiphany, what do we do? We share it. Because after all, what use is it being an explorer of life if you don't tell of your discoveries?


Serious Business

"Where'd he go?"
"Down the alley, look."
"Oh right, now I see him. He can move pretty quickly when he wants to"
"Looks that way. Well, he's got the motivation to now. All he needed really."

The air tasted dank. It didn't smell of anything in particular, maybe a hint of tobacco flowing out of some old store. He licked his lips as the bitter steam washed across his face. He was moving fast now. Wall to pillar. Shadow to shadow. There wasn't any real need to hide, there wasn't anyone to see him. Not yet. There'd be noise. Lots of noise. That's what you remember after it's happened - the shouts, the confusion, the looks of surprise, quickly followed by intense, focused, anger. Keep moving, don't slow down. Keep going.

"D'you reckon he'll actually make it?"
"Not sure."
"Hang on, there they are! Look! There's about... twenty of them I think."
"Twenty two."
"Great. I was hoping it'd be more of a fair fight. It's hardly entertaining like this."
"Tell me about it. I've got a fiver that says he'll get through them in three."
"One and a half."
"You're on."


Fluorescent yellow

People commented! You're such sports, have a gold star :)

I've been sitting here in this very spot for.... carry the 4..... 8 hours now. I have read... one chapter of anaesthesia. Doesn't sound too productive does it? Then again the entire book only contains 6 chapters. My ass hurts a little bit now. And I think I've developed restless leg syndrome....

There's a certain beauty in being home alone though. Being in a familiar place, quietly going about whatever it is you're occupied with while the rest of the world goes about it's crazy business outside. The news goes on in the background (cause for some reason all the other channels won't come in tonight). The mug of tea gently warms my hands in between bouts of fidgeting with the highlighter. Some foreign students from the residence across the street burst out laughing very, very loudly. Just an ordinary night in. Lovely.

I leave you to potter about with my guitar and possibly attempt writing a song, but first...


Oh harsh!

I haven't blogged in quite a while. I've been really busy and, well, one of my new year's resolutions makes it harder to so. I'll explain in a bit, maybe. But I'm making excuses. And I'm making excuses to myself, because no one else really cares that much. Everyone's been busy. You know, Christmas, New Year's, and now exams. You would have said something if it bothered you. But you didn't. In any case I sit here with that urge to write a blog and yet have to needlessly justify the recent lack of one. So I try and bend my head around something random that can occupy some desperate minutes of your life and come up with naught but the lint from the inside-out pockets of my mind. So, here's some random facts:

1. I'm currently listening to Onehundredhours. Just two songs of theirs that are on a CD I got from Soul Survivor. I forgot that I actually really like their sound, and it's funny how listening to Tre sing brings flashes of his talks to mind. Though these songs remind me of Soul Survivor. More specifically their last gig. Mmm.

2. I was just looking at people's profile pages, thought about things, laughed, and said 'You know, sometimes I just give up'.

3. I just took a sip from my third cup of tea today, and you know, the stuff really makes me feel good.

4. Caring very deeply about something doesn't mean you have to be very good about it. Caring, and doing, is enough. More than that, it's amazing.

New Year's resolutions! I have three of them. I think I'll keep them up, I have done so in the past years, though I've never had more than just one. But hopefully I will, because I really want to. You know, maybe I won't tell you what they are after all. *suspense-disappointment-disinterest*

Ok, here's a twist. I propose a small "challenge": if you read this blog, comment. It doesn't matter what you say, that's not important. Just comment. And if you don't, well then no one will know, except you. Only you will know that really, when you get down to it, you're just not that much fun.