My Memorandums.


Whisper, don’t talk.
21/12/2008, 12:30 am
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Knowing you should not act out in any way which will cause harm to your being does not stop the process.  Backspace.  Backspace.  Backspace.   I’ve told people enough about me, given away enough, written long enough for everybody to read and then relate to.  The veins on my hands and the wrinkles at the middle of my fingers are only what I see now, aside from the varying nature of light and shade.  I feel tears which have slid from the top of my throat to the bottom; swallowed tears.  A chest which has on it too much pressure, and a mouth which does not want to open to breathe comfortably.  Reminded of Princess Diana who had everything and wanted to kill herself, I part my lips to take a deep breath.  A crying woman printed by my feet on a foggy window became my best friend, until she faded.  The first woman that was able to bring the tears out from my eyes was this foggy woman.  A tear dropped only when she disappeared.  In times of sadness, noise is unwanted and heavily unappreciated.  In times of sadness, quiet and stillness are very much needed.  Whisper, don’t talk.



Stolen
12/12/2008, 2:13 pm
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Alfred Lord Tennyson first said ‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all’.

What does this mean? How can one live a comparatively banal life, which undoubtedly would seem lacking, if not empty, after the loss of an emotion which tightly kept together every string of a heart stronger than ever before?   Every day would seem so meaningless, noticeably and painfully void of meaning.  It must be the Hercules’ of our world which would not fall, or stay in an abyss of despair.  Maybe time is responsible for releasing us from our own made prisons.  Though, I believe that more probably we are responsible, each individual.  With this thought and belief, I do nothing but sit in a body with an aching heart.

I hope everybody finds and obtains peace in their souls and their spirits.



Let your emotions Be.
08/12/2008, 7:28 am
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Let them flow from inside of you.

Let every speck pop from your skin, fizzle from your tongue

and slide out of your tomato coloured lips.

Let them travel to another’s world, and be free,

let go.

Start over.

I don’t know exactly where I’m headed.  Every day, every mood swing, every impression, every goddamn influence.  Who to be?  A question that continues to sit at my shoulder and incessantly bite my neck in small snippets.  What to write?  But, in order to have an answer to that question, I need to know who I am, who I want to be.  I honestly don’t feel like doing much at the moment, just letting the wind carry me in whatever direction it wishes.  I suppose that is a philosophy in itself; to not do much, to let life be, to let yourself be taken. Sure, there is always a point in time where you stop and want to take control, rather, feel like you should take control, and, once again, fool yourself in believing you actually have so much control.  Eventually though, I myself return to this state, a state in which I don’t do much, completely contradictory of all my childhood dreams.  To be honest, as of late I simply feel like listening to people, that is all.  If you have something to say, a story to share, a humerous moment, an interesting quote/excerpt/novel/poem/prose, a love story, a broken heart, a definition of any word, If you’ve dyed your hair an unusual colour, or experienced an erotic moment, let me know.  I’d love to hear about it.