Favorite Colours

It has been many years where my favorite colour was blue. And I don't mean the primary, mix-with-the-other-two-to-make -secondary-colours, blue. More like misty blue, fade into smoke blue, mystic blue, purple and blue, black and blue- even greenish blue.
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?

Necessary Words

The previous is something that has been floating around in the synaptic connection of my laptop for the last three years. I see that I haven't changed and have changed infinitely. I suppose, at everyone's core we have that pure being inside that can never be completely covered. And that is a good thing.

Glimpse on a Subway

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.

The delicate, silvery frames of his lenses- planted on the perfect slope of his nose.

All wrapped-

In the dullest of clothes: plain, scruffed, blue jeans; simple, faded tee. Over the firm slimness of gorgeous, young male.

A cushion- cut sapphire- wrapped in mouldy newspaper. I think his eyes were pale sapphire.

I saw the book clenched in his hands- a slab of a book. The coarse hunch of his back and awkward placement of his feet- bent funny, bent awkwardly- he never really learned the stance of the 'cool' person.

He was intent on his reading- never knowing he was perfect- never knowing that he was hardly flawed... I guess that was his flaw.

A Reason for the Insanity

There's a reason I want some diagnoses: if you don't know where the cliff is, how do you know where to jump off from?

Page in a journal

Random acts of God? Freewill? Random nothingness in a meaningless world? Absolute determination? What is true and real in this world? Can it truly be said that there is a creator? Is God just a construct of man? Or, is God something that resides in each of us? What does it mean to know God? To touch God? Is there a heaven? Have I been living by choice- or, have I been following a predetermined path? A destiny ?Why do I feel like I've been a Hero on a long journey home? Maybe I can only follow what I feel, what they feel, and pray with all my might. Fight with all my might. Maybe it is my destiny to defy prophecy- defy destiny... now that is quite a conundrum.

Enchant

The Moth Girl is crying-
"It has been too long to succeed!"
"We are all failures now and it's too scary to proceed!"

"Shut up, Shut Up, SHUT UP!"
Angry is yelling to her in my head.
"I swear I'll do it!
"Don't think I won't"

"Let's run from here-
Hide away-
Become a Warrior, a Knight, a Pirate, a Sorcerer."
Of course, The Black Prince has to have his say.
"Let's find somewhere fun to be!"

"Cut-cut-cut-cut-cut-cut-cut!"
Crazy's point is a point- of a blade.

The Red Queen is silent.
As I wish her to be.
But sometimes...
I want her to come out
I want her to play with me-
Nobody understands what it means to crave nothing!
Nobody wants nothing!
And is it me who is saying this-
Or The Red Queen?

Vigilante

The Brave One is this odd movie. Where it has a quiet, self-reflective quality while also having the loud action- because it is a vigilante movie. And there are moments where you see utter love played out physically, contrasted with violent, beating death.
Why write this? Because there is a moment within the first hour, where the heroine(?) reflects on discovering that other person within. And I realise that for some, it takes a single dramatic climax, to change how you think of yourself. Where you know you are not by yourself inside. And for others, it is lots of smaller events, compounded upon each other, that breaks open that wall inside. And for a smaller amount of people... that wall never existed.