Freaky as...
So after managing to create a chicken, leek and feta pie, and going for a run and then finally winning the battle with my computer to actually upload pictures onto this blog, I feel kinda ready to just...collapse.
Isn't it peculiar how when you bake something, you always end up feeling way full afterwards?
Do you know once when I was staying at Brisbane for one reason or another...(hmhm, mysterious much Scarlett?) I found this really old and seemingly gigantic bookshop. Some of the shelves were so high that I couldn't even reach the books up there, and it had that extraordinary smell that is just-present when you smell a book, only this time it was multiplied by a thousand. Every book one could think of too.
It makes you think though, that so many books have been published - I mean there's millions! - that either in all normal realities you'd think it would be easy to get a book into print. It's probably just targeting the right areas and, yes, taking it all one step at a time.
I also wondered if the reason so many of us know so many 'big' people, or at least those who are significant in Australia, is because it's such a small country, that we're the country people of the world. It also seems to be the case that author's keep getting thrown at me, or at least ones that are published or about to be published. Just a few days ago I ran into an old friend of the family who is about to have his book published, and he's written most of his life like I have. (So far, being that my life hasn't been that long in comparison) But these seeming coincidences keep making me think that maybe I will be published and it's just...meant to be. :]
You all must think I'm mad by the way :D (though really I've believed that since I was a little girl, or more heehee, reflecting on how I was as a child)
I mean telling whoever cares to read about my life as a recluse:
Constantly having internal or external conversation about all the deep issues with the embodiment of my conscience and villain, talking to mirrors, and...my gosh I don't know what else, but...yeah, anyway.
Ahm.
But surely it's almost attractive to be mad now...I mean to be mad like the character Sherlock Holmes in the latest movies, that's a mad that makes you want to be that mad. Maybe we put too much emphases on all of these sorts of things but...we're bored right?
(Ah and by the way Mr. White and S. I did complete something. Aka, the chicken, leek and feta pie :D)
You know I think it's a problem, and I've discovered that other people I know sometimes have the same problem. This problem being that when we tell people something we're going to do out loud, we end up not doing it. For me, if I tell others something, it loses all its' edge and glamour and then the more I think about the more people could be expecting me to do this thing I've told them about, the less I want to do it, until I don't.
So better still to keep things to yourself and then surprise everyone. However, I can never seem to keep my mouth shut, even though I know how it will turn out for me. It's almost as though even though I know I won't end up doing whatever it is because I've told people, I still do tell people as if I'm testing myself, to see if there's a different outcome coming.
Benefit of the doubt, is the greatest treasure we have I think, and that's how I live my days mostly.
If you're faced by a tough decision, don't decide. Let events play out and see what path lunges at you: aka, benefit of the doubt. :]
So mind, at any day or time in the indefinite future I may still end up dressing up and going to Nerang to write, but don't count on it and don't expect it :D.
Here's a simple poem to finish off...
Miss CLScarlett xx
Games: Little Bird
Who feels fractured....
the hearts
the hearts,
When we follow trails that have no end, that lead us about in the same old spot,
Why play games with me....
You feel like a drug, the way your tides turn me on, stop my heart...turn it on again,
Where is your magic....]
Oh angel guardian of mine,
Like those creatures you have no ties, to me or anyone this earthly side,
Who storms the nights.....
With your lonely reminiscence,
Following your tales with the same old tunes, a way to block out what your using to protect you,
Oh noble heart, where is your reason....
You try to do right by all but in the end it's yourself who breaks,
You fail to see that you're the one with the wings and that the angels you chase are waiting to punch holes in your sky,
Who feels fractured....
the hearts
the hearts,
You are torn from your home, that all your life you took for granted,
the people you love you fear the hand that waits to take them,
Are you a chaos of broken science...or a being haunted by demons?
do you fear more your own beliefs or the result if they fall from reality,
Little angel, little bird,
you sew on your wings of yellow again and again...hoping that colours will bring life where sun is needed....not pastel,
You fight one evil...accept one wrong, to allow yourself the illusion that you are strong,
You wait to feel vulnerable, yet won't let anyone in,
the secrets you hold so long to express...are broken to bits by the hand you entrust,
Oh little one, little cat...sunshine heart,
Your fading away, by tormenting yourself through wishes of reliance - when there's none to rely on but oneself,
This is what results of giving up your heart don't you know....
You cannot live, you cannot laugh, you cannot love...
without losing a part of yourself,
For there will always be people to disappoint, and always yourself to condemn,
A tormented spirit lies in this little bird,
a pale face that gives up freedom to be free.
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