Friday, February 24, 2012

perpetually sorry, perpetually having feelings





Tonight I feel really alone and missing because it's Friday and I don't remember the last time I had a hug and I am in perpetual need of a hug
and one can only say all that so much before it doesn't mean anything despite the fact that one still has not received a hug.
I want to blossom and feel something tangible in my soul but it seems all I am is empty, empty, empty.
Also, I cry in the car a lot and touch my hair a lot and eat a lot, for future reference.

Friday, February 17, 2012

skirmish attempts at creativity

While watching the first half of Duet for Cannibals tonight, I made a little book out of graphing paper, so here is a sampling (three out of four) of my rather amateur (possibly unfinished) collages.



yup.

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

boys with flowers




It is cold and rainy out, and I am in bed with lots of research and reading,
finding solace in the form of blues and pinks and flower crowns,
 reminders that someday there will be blues and pinks and flower crowns for real




1. Lizzy Stewart  2. Boy with a Pipe, 1905, Pablo Picasso

Monday, February 13, 2012

speaking in silence




(holding onto all the magic)

This blog really doesn't seem to know which way it wants to go, so updates may continue to be sparse, as reasons for updating are somehow growing to be few as my other pages become more active. I am considering side-stepping Flickr and creating a haven here for my little ol' photos, but then there is the issue of spaces in time between developing rolls and the spaces in my fuzzy ol' brain and the need for privacy, which I suppose is ironically offered in this corner I've been slowly carving. I want to tell everything somewhere, but I tell everything all over the place and in doing so, feel as though I still don't tell anything. Mostly I am missing, but also continuing to feel better than I have in a while, with lapses of sadness and self-doubt growing to be somewhat fewer and farther between. I want to peel away the layers and find the core of whatever being I've been for all this time, I want to cultivate the exposure of truth and nothing but. 
Earlier I stumbled upon a two-year-old post on my Tumblr, regarding the inability to trust after heartbreak. That I post personal feelings on the internet, without care, seems to be following a general, modern rule rather than shaping myself into an anomaly. We are all ever-more capable of finding solace in the knowledge that others are feeling or thinking the same sorts of feelings and thoughts that we are, but we are also more isolated than ever. My day after work was spent in my room, in my bed, sleeping or staring at a screen. I do have trust issues, I do have love issues, but it seems that I am both too trusting and not trusting at all, both contentedly in love and yet unable to find it. Even now, this is maybe the makings of an intimate conversation better to be had with friends, but it is going to be quietly public because I don't have the energy to confide to someone in person, or to a single soul rather than many. Expression is a wary part of my life, as so much can be said, both good and bad, by way of printed word which might never, ever properly leave my lips. I tend to fumble, tend to grope around, sifting through the whats and the whys, but in the end, most important is that I remember I am small and not the center of it all, and that is really a very good thing.

Saturday, February 4, 2012

young folks

 

“I am still so na├»ve; I know pretty much what I like and dislike; but please, don’t ask me who I am. A passionate, fragmentary girl, maybe?” 

This weekend has been a lot of lying in bed and reading, putting off homework while thinking of Sylvia's words; they stay close to me because Lord knows I don't know who I am, Lord knows I am nothing if not fragmentary, Lord knows I dislike conflict and insincerity, Lord knows I like nature and people and collecting whatever bits, particles, and pieces of themselves they'd like to give me.




photo c/o milkshakenhoney