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[30 Apr 2006|11:23pm]
I have always tried to express open views so that topics seen as controversial can hopefully be considered acceptable in the future. This is not to cause controversy, but rather to acknowledge reality. Not to become too uptight, but i often wonder why controversial issues are sometimes considered impolite or inappropriate. Knowing these topics do tilt towards argument, and therefore are offensive to some people, I see how argumentative responses often aren't desired. However, I cannot help but see a possible relationship between the removal of controversial issues and supression. In honesty I believe humanity and acceptance are achievable through risking negative opinion, in order for freedom of speech (and tolerance of this) to prevail. On another note, it is understandable that people may wish to portray opinions without argument and to be free from topics which develop into this - and therefore prohibiting content which proves to be controversial eases strain and stress on a short term basis. i do not morally agree that freedom of speech should ever be restricted, but it is understandable to prefer topics which are less debatable, or which do not risk bringing discomfort

All in all, i think the answers come in stating ones own beliefs whenever a desire to do so is felt. i know there are some wonderful viewpoints, and interesting thoughts which people should be able to portray at will. While i realise controversial topics increase the likelihood of insults or unreasonable aggression, i think it's worth taking the risk for freedom of speech, and understanding that while this is done, an aggressive response may well be recieved, but we should learn to accept annother person's right to be offended (and in turn to become offensive towards ourselves) I think a line can be morally drawn where freedom of speech transcends to behavior which is intended to harm a person rather than express a viewpoint. In showing tolerance in this, freedom of speech and humanity can prevail. I believe they are neccessary in this society.
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[30 Apr 2006|11:23pm]
“I Know You”

I know you
You were too short
You had bad skin
You couldn’t talk to them very well
Words didn’t seem to work
They lied when they came out of your mouth
You tried so hard to understand the others
You wanted to be part of what was happening
You saw them having fun
Seemed like such a mystery
Almost magic

You thought that there was something wrong with you
You would look in the mirror trying to find the flaw
You thought that you were ugly
And that everybody was looking at you
So you learned to be invisible
To look down
To avoid conversation

The hours, days, weekends
The weekend nights
Where were you,
The basement, the attic, your room?
Working some job?
Just to have something to do?
Just to have a place to put yourself?
Just to have a way to get away from them
Staying away from the ones
That made you feel so strange
And ill at ease inside yourself

Did you ever get invited to one of their parties
You sat & wondered if you would go or not
For hours you imagined what might transpire
If they would laugh at you
If you would know what to do
If you would have the right things on
If they would notice that you came from a different planet
Did you get all brave in your thoughts
Like you were going to be able to go in there
Deal with it & have a great time?
Did you think that you might be the “life of the party?”
That all these people were going to talk to you
And you would find out that you were wrong
And that you had a lot of friends
And you weren’t so strange after all?
Did you end up going?
Did they mess with you?
Did they single you out?
Did you find out that you got invited
Because they thought you were so weird?
I think I know you

You spent a lot of time full of hate
A hate that was as pure as sunshine
A hate that saw for miles
A hate that kept you up at night
A hate the filled your every waking moment
A hate that carried you for a long time
Yes, I think I know you

You couldn’t figure out what they saw in the way they lived
Home was not home
Your room was home
A corner was home
Anywhere they weren’t
That was home
I know you

You’re sensitive
You hide it
You fear getting stepped on one more time
It seems that when you show a part of yourself
That is the least bit vulnerable
Someone takes advantage of you
One of them steps on you
They mistake kindness for weakness
But you know the difference
You’ve been the brunt of their weakness for years
Strength is something you know a bit about
You had to be strong to keep yourself alive
You know yourself very well now
You don’t trust people
You know them too well
You try to find a special person
Someone you can be with
Someone you can touch
Someone you can talk to
Someone you won’t feel so strange around
You found that they don’t really exist
You feel closer to people on movie screens
Yea, I think I know you

You spend a lot of time daydreaming
People have made comment to that effect
Telling you that you’re self involved & self centered
But they don’t know, do they
About the long night shifts alone
About the years of keeping yourself company
All the nights you wrapped your arms around yourself
So you could imagine someone holding you
The hours of indecision
Self doubt
The intense depression
The blinding hate
The rage that made you stagger
The devastation of rejection
Well, maybe they do know
But if they do
They sure do a good job of hiding it

It astounds you how they can be so smooth
How they seem to pass thru life
As if life itself was some divine gift
It infuriates you to watch yourself
With your apparent skill in finding every way possible
To screw it up
For you life is a long trip
Terrifying & wonderful
Birds sing to you at night
The rain & the sun
The changing seasons are true friends
Solitude is a hard won ally
Faithful & patient
Yes I think I know you

By Henry Rollins from “Black Coffee Blues”
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[30 Apr 2006|11:22pm]
A friend's argument is that compassion for those in third world countries is futile. While this person supports some beliefs which empathize with minority groups, she critisizes most non-white and foreign exchange students. it seems odd to me to be against discrimination in certain cases then propel a similar predjudice towards another.

The statement, "it is pointless to care for anyone beside those you directly know. It's not our position to help anyone. They were born there so it's their fault and problem if they don't like their living conditions." shocked me. I feel the point of caring is so that those who are downtrodden can envision hope and perhaps believe that cruelty is not deserved. it would seem more effective (easier?) to only care for those a person knows, but generally speaking - i think apathy could be largely abolished if messages and changes were encouraged on an international level (ie the level of general globalised media.) It can be harder sometimes to choose discomfort over apathy, when faced with a need for change.

Some of the problems in third world countries include serious poverty, poor living conditions and sanitation, lack of jobs, food, water and education. A growing issue is the debt some third world countries owe to richer countries. Due to tumultuous conditions, many countries have borrowed money in order to improve living conditions, and have only become further in-debt. Unfortunately most richer countries participate in the great "power play" of global economy, so while some countries attempt to stock the latest top brands in new products, others struggle to gain enough food and water to survive. If debts were cancelled it would mean the start to improving living conditions for everyone. It is generally a part, or even responsibility of humanity to care. One quote is, "what was yesterdays ripple can become tomorrows tidal wave." To me this quote examplifies the effectiveness of caring, even on smaller details.

Sometimes world problems are thought to be the fault of those who suffer from them, and the victims of cruelty are considered the cause. i do not understand how a person can possibly be responsible for the conditions they are born into, nor why a person should be forced to restrict themselves if an environment causes harm. Many people who portray wrongs, or are proof of the existence of wrongness (victims of racism, predjudice, injustice, apathy) are often labelled the "problem." i think this is sometimes driven by a fear of the connection between a person's apathy or dominance, and the oppression another experiences.

at the end of our discussion I was asked, "why do you talk of injustice if you care so much? Why aren't you going ahead to change something?" i feel awareness is what leads to ideas, and ideas are potentially a cause for change. without realisation, changes can go unnoticed. solution comes from change. change comes from discovery.
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[30 Apr 2006|11:20pm]
If you raise awareness through creating an alternate peaceful vision rather than re-iterating a violent response, a stronger impact can be made. Focusing on the negative aspects of one issue only increases the power of that issue in comparison. Rather than working on "destruction" of what is considered injust, focus must be placed on awareness and understanding. It saddens me greatly to see violence justified as any response, including the response easiest to emphasise with - uprise against violence or injustice. Our own ethics are destroyed if we allow ourselves to break them for those who's ethics differ to our own. Even the most horrible violators of human rights have rationale and morality. It is the inability to emphasise with a person of diverse views which leads to dehumanisation and the justification of harm. The actions of a murderer and those of a pacifist are all connected in the sense human possibility is infinite, and our natures are transient. The mistakes of humanity are wounds each and every one of us carries - the murderer is no less human than the crying child who may later hold that gun. I am as much myself as I am a "terrorist," "soldier," "politican," "murderer," "member of the G8," "an anti-globalisation activist," "pacifist." Violence cannot be justified toward anyone. Look to understanding. No-one is less human than anyone else.
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[30 Apr 2006|11:18pm]
Such good intentions end up with consequences of the worst sort. I was recalling how obliged I was to smile. I owed it to him not to be the kind of girl to shy away. I had seen him perform during one swift moment of my life. But still I lowered my eyes to the floor, my mouth folded so tightly in the corners like a hospital bed sheet. Can you imagine?

When I returned from my lesson, I hid myself in a bathroom to write a letter which mirrored my tears. Oh, the anger. Isn't it beautiful?
Anger like a log split by fire. I didn't realise it, but my nerves gave me the apparent ability to appear disinterested and cold. His fingers wrapped his fist like a snake about to devour some poor creature. I heard the anger on his breath thunder enough to terrify me. I hoped he might notice how nerves wreck my playing, but he said to me, "You've hardly practised this at all have you?" I thought it odd, but I did not argue. Already my fingers shook enough for me to fill myself with disappointment. I had the manner of a wordless girl, as I always did; no matter how hard I tried to portray some other image.

"Give me the pencil. I'll write it on if you can't be bothered."

"Do you think you can TALK to me next lesson? There's no point me teaching you if you won't practice. Goodbye."

The line which hurt me most of all was, "I can see you're shy. There's a difference between shyness and rudeness. You're just rude."
I was so filled with this worthless feeling that even after he spoke to me, I couldn't help glancing to the floor again and again. I can't say I'd felt worthy to answer his questions.

"Last Sunday you said music was a part of the soul. There's no soul in you now."

Two bottles of wine made for magnificent conversation that day.
But fear... fear itself strikes me as a kind of painful drainer to the soul.
And it's burrying me.
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i never spoke to her.. [16 Feb 2006|08:02pm]
my bare hands, and my feet on the wooden floor were so cold i could not stand, could no longer cling to anything. i fell forwards. fearing the steps, i bent my hands around the post, intwined my fingers together. i appeared to be dreaming, and in time i regained full consciousness, opening my eyes to look at her whose mouth and lips were caked with dryness. her skin had been scorched and her fingernails were uncut. she kept pausing and staring into my eyes, as though willing me to speak before her. and always looming somewhere at the cliff of my mind was the photographic image of her skin, as if her wild, running body had inhabited my very spirit. the image was eternally out of reach, just slightly faded, madenning me in her refusal to answer my desires. was there a purpose in my lust? or did the swirling thoughts of night exist to torment me, to occupy the spaces of imagination, to, in a discontent way, comfort me, give some meaning to life?

i'm very socially anxious. all bodies around me seem to move in slow motion. i find myself almost completely still. i have a face, two arms, two legs, in a corner - this constant awareness of where i am standing is as present as my heart (which sounds rather like thunder) or my breathing (which is like lying by an ocean.) i think i outcasted myself, but in saying so.. i never believed i had a choice in the matter. i kept my head over paper so i would not feel my face flush upon trying to speak. i began to write of imaginary characters to make up for my lack of social interaction. full eight hour days of being unsettled, of either trying so hard it brought me to tears, or sitting in the background pretending i did not wish to talk. it's in human nature to say we never want our hearts most true desire out of fear it shall not come about. it takes bravery to speak of dreams.

you know, i don't really blame my alcoholic father, but in some sense i do not have the courage to answer him. my words lie in the corner of my mind, small scrappy words forcing their way into the maze of my throat between the rough and rusty uncertainty that tells me to keep silent. there is really nothing to say. except that i have let this bite on my skin grow, from not bringing words of anger to light. he always slept as though he was dead, a doll-like figure, snoring, a dribble of wine across his cheek.

it is as if i now know where i am. when i move, i do so with purpose and certainty. the stillness and silence was only an episode of my past. i sip this soft white tequila before work. my bubble of warm comfort which enables me to speak with a power years of therapy could not bring. i can meet the beautiful eyes of my customers and serve them with assurance.
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don't try to write at 3am [08 Feb 2006|08:04pm]
..the rain, a lull of faraway music, a symphony between the ribbons of dark sheets embellishing the land.. there's a conversation between the earth, growls which immitate thunder. my eyes have become peekholes, i gaze into a universe filled with indigo, and a darkness i cannot comprehend.. water splashes incoherently to the dance of a three year olds rhyme..

i am burried between blood and bone... faces swoosh, a magic carpet before a mirror until the reflection transforms, a vessel within an encasement of stars.. i have tried to emulate the shadows under your eyes, shook and quaked in the aurora of their lullaby, all i misunderstood... you were, after all, a stone, a gleaming emerald stone, in the case of my heart... my symphony of rhythms, of autumn wonder, froze into a statue..
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[03 Feb 2006|08:38pm]
i feel the corners of my mouth turning with hope and lust...a kind of hysteria rising inside me while these unstoppable useless reminders of my old life appear in the light and sleep like cold things from another place, another world... those words from that faraway dream casts me into deep reverie. who am i? a quiet rosemary fear that chants and sings and whispers..
the stillness and silence is only a memory in that strange weather at the end of the world. i know that tonight.. or tomorrow almost certainly there will again rise mounds of surface skin, oceans of moving, touching, burning skin, warm with a tingling edge..
only a dream..
there's this new university where i am commencing a course in music/education. they have a funny little college where i will be staying. meals provided, caring hands reaching out to strangers (for a price..)
there are parts of freedom i love and detest equally..silence has been my friend for eight hour days or more. i feel as though sometimes im missing the point....
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well, perhaps the sky is velvet.. [23 Jan 2006|11:24pm]
i was lying at the end of the bed. i've found the sprinkles of smoke fascinate me as they form spirals. the boards on the roof are a maze in which a chandelier fills the centre. i think i am a traveller seeking the warmth, the light the roof beams connect to as though confirming the chandeliers beauty. beauty... beauty is such an ugly word, yes i know.. (and so subjective..) each corner drinks from the celestial glow, but the four pillars...heavy...dull, disconnected..are a decoration alone where the sense of light is... far less prominent? yes, well.. i've found i exist on a part of those pillars. i help support the walls. with closed eyes i see myself rising from the pillar until i too... may bask beneath that light.

i wish i knew how to sacrifice.. (not in every sense of the word) i would like to exhume some sort of force. i would like to explain, to be honest and recieve honesty. words, i have no talent with spoken word..silly silent girl, oh, why don't you throw something at her? yes, you know, she won't say anything.. charming, isn't it? old memories..
oh don't you just love the association between a person not speaking, and one unable to hear?

there is always such a battle between what i want and what is right..

perhaps i represent all the wrecklessness of youth... whim based on sense, fact drawn from perception...... i feel so distracted today.

you tell me.. men, men are bastards... and women, women are psychotic.. what a funny thing to say..
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dream on me... [22 Jan 2006|10:12pm]
the wind sung that symphony which always precedes a storm..

family are connected like seaweed that lines the shores. the same sea water, weather, cloud, or turning wind or moment of rain always comes at the same time. dark waters flows between each of us, but i do believe in willpower. we are connected like seaweed, but it's always possible to sight the murky waves with a spot of light where the sun still laces the sea..

a world could be built on a dream, just like a sandcastle, but the waves could snatch and trample that idea back into the sand as quickly as it had come.

silence is a blank page - as infinite of possibility as a music score which lacks notes. silence is the glove of the artist, it appeals to the imagination, dreamer and idealist. it is the creation before creation begins. Portraying everything and nothing. like the curves of a chellow, low, moist, fragrant, silence dances in the darkness of the mind. It is the perpetuation of an eternal moment, a diver hovering, a paused rhythm, an enclosure between sunrise and sunset which remains as much a part of the present as the absense of it. silence is everything. silence is nothing.

..ive always found i've been more the person someone must make friends with, as opposed to the person who makes friends. i think i find self-preservation rather difficult because i defined myself alone (not metaphorically, in the bliss of solitude).. the ability to retain all elements of the self, in soul, in emotion and in being is a skill i still have to develop.
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Transcript of bin laden's speech [22 Jan 2006|10:33am]
[ mood | contemplative, controversial. ]

"My message to you is about the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan and how to end them. I did not intend to speak to you about this because this issue has already been decided. Only metal breaks metal, and our situation is only getting better and better, while your situation is the opposite.
But I plan to speak about the repeated errors your President Bush has committed in comments on the results of your polls that show an overwhelming majority of you want the withdrawal of American troops from Iraq. But he (Bush) has opposed this wish and said that withdrawing troops sends the wrong message to opponents, that it is better to fight them on their own land rather than their fighting us on our land.
I can reply to these errors by saying that war in Iraq is raging with no let-up, and operations in Afghanistan are escalating in our favour, and Pentagon figures show the number of your dead and wounded is increasing, not to mention the massive material losses, the destruction of the soldiers' morale there and the rise in cases of suicide among them.
You can imagine the state of psychological breakdown that afflicts a soldier as he gathers the remains of his colleagues after they stepped on land minds that tore them apart. After this situation the soldier is caught between two hard options. He either refuses to leave his military camp on patrols and is therefore dogged by ruthless punishments enacted by the US Army or he gets destroyed by the mines. THis puts him under psychological pressure, fear and humiliation while his nation is ignorant of what is going on. The soldier has no solution except to commit suicide. This is a strong message to you, written by his soul, blood and pain, to save what can be saved from this hell. The situation is in your hands if you care about them.
The news of our brother mujaheddin (holy warriors) is different from what the pentagon publishes. What deepends the doubt over the White House's information is the fact that it targets the media reporting the truth from the ground. And it has appeared lately, supported by documents, that the butcher of freedom in the world (Bush) has decided to bomb the headquarters of the al-Jazeera in Qatar after bombing its office in Kabul and Baghdad.
On another issue, Jihad continues, despite all the oppressive measures adopted by the US Army and its agents - which is to a point where there is no difference between this criminality and Sadam's criminality, as it has reached the degree of raping women and taking them as hostages instead of as husbands.
As for torturing men, they have used burning chemical acids and drills on their joints. And when they give up on interrogating them, they sometimes use the drills on their heads until they die.
Despite all their barbaric methods, they have not broken the fierceness of the resistance. The mujaheddin are increasing in number and strength - so much so that reports point to the ultimate failure and defeat of the unlucky quartet of Bush, Cheney, Rumsfeld and Wolfowitz. Declaring this defeat is just a matter of time, depending partly on how much the American people know of the size of this tragedy. The sensible people realise that Bush does not have a plan to make his alleged victory in Iraq come true.
And if you compare the small number of dead on the day that Bush announced the end of major operations in that fake ridiculous show aboard the aircraft carrier, with the tenfold number of dead and wounded who were killed in smaller operations, you would know the truth of what I say: that Bush and his administration do not have the will or ability to get out of Iraq for their own private, suspect reasons.
The reality shows that the war against America and its allies has not been limited to Iraq as he (Bush) claims. Iraq has become a point of attraction and restorer of our energies. At the same time, with mujaheddin, with God's grace, have managed repeatedly to penetrate all security measures adopted by the unjust allied countries. The proof is the explosions you have seen in the capitals of the European nations who are in this aggressive coalition. The delay in similar operations happening in America has not been because of failure to break through your security measures. The operations are under preperation and you will see them in your homes the minute they are through.
Based on what has been said, this shows the error of Bush's statement - the one that slipped from him - which is at the heart of polls calling for the withdrawing of the troops. It is better than we (Americans) fight Muslims on their lands than they fight us on ours.
We don't mind offering you a long term truce on fair conditions that we adhere to. We are a nation that God has forbidden to lie and cheat. So both sides can enjoy security and stability under this truce so we can build Iraq and Afghanistan, which have been destroyed in this war. There is no shame in this solution, which prevents the wasting of billions of dollars that have gone to those with influence and warmongers in America who have supported Bush's election campaign with billions of dollars - which explains the insistence by Bush and his gang to carry on with war.
If you are sincere in your desire for peace and security, we have answered you. And if Bush carries on with his lies oppression, then it would be useful for you to read the book 'Rogue State' (by William Blum), which states in his introduction: "If I were president, I would stop the attacks on the United States: First I would give an apology to all the widows and orphans and those who were tortured. Then I would announce that American interference in the nation sof the world has ended once and for all."
Finally, I say that war will go either in our favour yor yours. If it is the former, it means your loss and your shame forever, and it is headed in that direction IF it is the latter, read history! We are people who do not stand for injustice and we will seek revenge all our lives. The nights and days will not pass without us taking vengeance. Your minds will be troubled and your lives embittered. As for us, we have nothing to lose. A swimmer in the ocean does not fear the rain. You have occupied our lands, offended our honour and dignity and spilled our blood and stolen our money and destroyed our houses and played with our security and we will give you the same treatment.
You have tried to prevent us from leading a dignified life, but you will not be able to prevent us from a dignified death. Failing to carry out jihad, which is called for in our religion, is a sin. The best death to us is in the shadows of swords. Don't let your strength and modern arms fool you. Patience and steadfastness are much better. We were patient in fighting the Soviet Union with simple weapons for 10 years and we bled their economy and now they are nothing.
In that there is a lesson."

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Quite Lovely... [20 Jan 2006|05:37pm]

A lovely little conversation...Collapse )

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[16 Jan 2006|02:35pm]
it was delightful and comforting for me to open her gift. anticipation...is like the parting of air, i imagine, as sunlight opens along the mist to unveil what lies beneath. i see the bracelet in silver light and smile while i contemplate the edges which shimmer before me.
i have my strange smiling-hair-brushed-ready-to-serve cafe job. to be honest i can't say whether they shall continue training me, which is a pity.. monetary wise.
today i am dressed only in sheets, indulging in sips of caffiene with my chosen incense burning in the background. im walking to the beach tonight. this overwhelming lovely beach. at times it feels im not frequent enough to understand the voices of the waves. they murmur ever so sweetly. this lonely beach.
i find my room is cold. empty walls. one screen without a curtain. the craving of posters.. i am soon to buy some artwork prints. i want to follow them round my bedroom, i want to feel their eyes. it's like heat from a shadow, words from empty mouths.
more pages are written in novel format, my greatest desire. deliberately following strict format with a sentence or two scribbled out. i miss voices, sounds, people, faces, light. there are some things which can only be enjoyed in solitude that im afraid of losing.
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[09 Jan 2006|01:50pm]
..today i have this soulless sense of being a plate on an untouched tablecloth. my window opens into a silver night. i find myself repeating words piled at the edge of my throat (none of them are comming out quite right..)
rain is only a short sad memory of excstacy, an exstacy that could sitll a wave in flight. i do not really know why i sit here with no book, for surely i can still illuminate a page with my ramblings. how to banish the minds eye of uncertainty? how to forget?
nothing is self-explanitory to me.
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[04 Jan 2006|02:59pm]
sometimes i feel that in writing these stories i write as much about me, the author, as i do about her, the subject...
i wonder if write against loneliness or for it? there are parts of solitude i love and detest equally.

"cold worlds shake from the oar" and the oar stirs in the ocean, the body half buried in sand....

listening to the whispers of a shell, then trying to scrape out the story inside.

and myself? i am full of dreams..
pleasant dreams, white cotton dreams, dreams where light bounces from one wall to another...the place where the soul is collected

lights glimmers through the branches outside my window.

i gave birth again to this little story and this time i know she grows within me. for once i have certainty and reassurance that she shall continue to grow.
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[03 Jan 2006|11:00am]
...i was sitting at the end of a mountain, bruised and battered, while rocks fell around me in a barricade. each pebble was a memory, a secret, a sensation denied...until i discovered escape was only achievable by lifting and removing every pebble one by one.

i feel conversation and spoken word are a frightening switch from the comfort of this strange silence...it seems spoken word has died even as these sounds rise to escape..

sleeping with a fan keeps dreams afloat,
i have always feared stagnation.

the soft silver eye of night has melted and azure-white cusions rush to take their place...
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[02 Jan 2006|01:47pm]
the world moves round in a slow distant blur today. a collection of uni forms are on my desk, lingering, i hear them calling for me to fill them in.
a light is burning, a wind shifting...
and now i am awaiting night so i may walk beside the ocean.

the glare of street lamps sends the world into a terrific haze.

those eyes, the kind you could sail through in a storm and find yourself shipwrecked in coldness.
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Friends Only. Comment. [02 Jan 2006|10:30am]
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random for you.. [01 Jan 2006|05:58pm]
light crisscrosses the earth in strange brass patterns...the formation of a language I wish to one day uncover. sinse i was a little girl i have always loved those piano keys, conjured them up in faraway moments, moments of loneliness, solitude, bliss. as far as i know i am a wanderer with secrets, experiences, memories. i have dreams of music and words, a place of grey and lilac mist.

paint drops and scratches of a silver canvas

A breeze of moonlight and wine and new years strangers with sad stories in their eyes, violent stories.

i am a beer sort-of girl. recently i've found myself a fan of cream port, and how dramatic and swift my mind reels before the memories of those i have loved.. words on wine are a spiral staircase to the soul.

"my silent mouth can only kiss the air...." (carmel)

i write by candle light, incense of the moon and a black laced window..

in my heart i feel a need to cling to old security

concentrating on the strange task of day to day survival.

"what are you looking for? what have you found?"
i can never define what i've found. i look for calm seas, messengers of the soul, moments to capture.. Now sunshine, now storm - moments of intrigue and inspiration. i search to search. i love to love.

my conscience is lost, searching for her bed..

as a child i wrote little rhyme songs of animals in forests to capture the beat of the human heart, then my words became a softer, sadder melody in tune with the world around me. i watch faces for tradgedy and engrave my versions of their lives in diary form. two years ago when i attended highschool, during lunch i would write plans for my novel, and now she breathes herself, with me to guide and listen to her..
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[31 Dec 2005|12:19pm]
Just finished watching the movie The Cry. Definitely one of those rainy night, wine drinking, soft talking films.

A woman with post natal depression sees a mother attempt to smother her baby, and takes the child away from her mother's hands. The woman who stole the child is on medication and recieves help from psychiatrists for delusions. The case is taken to court where the judge favors the evidence marking the woman as delusional - she is let off and given psychiatric care.

The viewer is aware of each person's story, but the film is cleverly twisted to make sure it is not clear whether the woman is delusional or not. The woman then enters the hospital again, and this time picks up the baby and runs away with it. She begins digging up the past and discovers the real mother worked in care looking after children with breathing problems. Three children died in her care. She meets and interviews the woman's family, posing as a news reporter offering a large sum of money. She finds photos of the woman's first child who died because of an asthma attack. While dealing with her own grief of losing a son, she becomes very attached to this baby, however in the end resolves to give the baby to the woman's husband.
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