Monday, February 8, 2010
I should get up and restore myself. I am parched. I am spent, as panic attacks, moments of mania, times when frenzy dominates my body and mind are bound to do.
But I don't want to. I want to rest, I don't want to sleep. I just want to sit in silence until the sun emerges and remind me that I have obligations that will now be near impossible to fulfill.
And I want to knit- a useless skill, I know. How frequently I take the time to learn what is 'useless' and forget what is 'important'.
And I don't care.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
For a long time, I sat wallowing in my own filthy depression (I realise now that I had childhood depression- not fun when no one believed such a thing was possible). It has only been within a short while that the darkened haze has moved away from my eyes.
Lately, a shift has happened, now I would have to say that my favorite colour is violet- and its shades, tints and tones. The brightness and beauty of this colour draws me to it. The fact that its beauty rests in its inherit spirituality means so much more.
And I notice something new: 'hot' colours hold sway over me now. Where before they burned my eyes (and I'm not kidding. I've been tested and have extremely sensitive eyes to colour) now they are a delight.
I like red. What does that say?
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Did he know he was (almost) perfect? The pretty perfection of his face? No... he couldn't have.
I was suprised- quite honestly- by the fullness of his lips. He was white- as white as new fallen snow- he was a he, yet he had the mouth of some gorgeous Mexican boy.
Cheek bones like steel- hard jawed and strong chined... really a sculptor's dream.
A cushion- cut sapphire- wrapped in mouldy newspaper. I think his eyes were pale sapphire.
He was intent on his reading- never knowing he was perfect- never knowing that he was hardly flawed... I guess that was his flaw.