Small things..

Sometimes it takes a few days to find your own thoughts in another persons wordscape..

''It is always the small details that make the biggest differences.'' - Brooke Shaden

(http://www.flickr.com/photos/brookeshaden/6846751835/in/photostream/)

The curious case of Something..

You are an amazing piece of Something.. and I represent you.. flesh and bone.. and the word goes both ways.. I am a representation of You and a mediator.. yet I am talking to you as if or exactly to myself.. Nothing I say about you is enough, not even what I've just said.. You are sifting yourself through endless amounts of filters.. the sifted.. the sifter.. the poetry of both.. the blind filters inoculated into bewilderment .. the semi-seers.. the seers.. the sages.. Those that know every word they speak is just a filter that filters you out.. The art of finer and finer filters.. the ones who disappear de-filtering their perception into Something.. And even now you are filtering what you just said about yourself.. as if something could be ''wrong''?! Redundant or missing? So an extra filter get's placed to filter the filtered.. and I am it.. here with my phospholipids.. Perhaps someone might do a keyword search for phospholipids and find it in a very unorthodox place talking about someone who is talking to herself in the mirror via the keyboard..

The dream dreaming a dream...

..the seed of all things.. come from a dream of nature.. natures dream dreams a dream ..goes back to where the dream came from.. and so again..

Message deliverers..

Days, moons and ecliptic's away, blinking messages from strangers were like chariots for something unknown .. You anticipate someone you don't know, by a fiber of unfathomable desire, to entice things inside you that you never knew were there.. Something happens that you never knew was possible.. A few days, moons and ecliptic's later you gather enough of these Unknowns to have chiseled out a person.. somebody you didn't really know.. You.

Title redundant...

Something impossible is about to happen...

 
....

The inventory of atmosphere..

by: http://photographyflower.deviantart.com/

Something in common

by: http://benheine.deviantart.com

Reading between the lines

by: http://felidae84.deviantart.com/

Jarred life

There has never been a strive

Quite like the one in the jarred life..

You have all these scapes scattered around

But somehow you feel terribly bound..

Never has There been so endlessly near

Nor the thought to reach it endlessly dear..

You reach for the light but hit a wall

Though it seems you're divided by nothing at all  

''And so..'', said There with the wind in his hair,

''..Do you plan to just sit there and stare..?

.. And after all in here you do nothing at all

But sit around playing a thrall ..''

''There!'' yelled the one who is jarred

In surprise upon hitting the ground..

Creating a stir at the edge of sight

There disappeared into the tattered light..

Looking so frail, looking so lost

The jarred soul wished to follow at any cost..

Still not knowing much about the in and out

But feeling such a need to find out what its about..

Lights would come nights would go

But There somehow would never show ..

Sorrow grew, rains would fall

Still nothing would come to melt the wall..

Piles and piles of scholarly lies

Could not help at all to solve or devise..

The sheer grandeur of what was lost

Turned the soul to stone and frost

Until...

by: me

...

 

http://www.etsy.com/listing/40412247/irish-landscape-with-wee-wool-sheep 

I caught its breath inside of me..

Close Enough is close enough..

..for a moment I forget who I am (who I'm ''supposed to be'') and I remember who I am.. this person seems to go well with anything fleeting and refracting.. including knowing exactly what I want to say but not knowing how to do that.. fumbling for words out loud until this cumbersome mass hits around against the walls of thoughts and feelings and things long enough to leak into something close enough..  

Shimmercolours...

by: http://petiteartiste666.deviantart.com/

Heart clay..

by: http://berkozturk.deviantart.com/

Get bored, quick !

..haven't you just sat there a million times over.. pondering over wanting to move in an authentic direction.. looking back at the most faithful mirror and lamenting in silence about him procrastinating every hesitant move .. get deeply bored so much that you move just anyhow, even fake.. here he is still reflecting back at you ..and you'll trip on his (your) refraction enough to get un-fake along the way..

Mind undressed...

by: http://oer-wout.deviantart.com/

Cells and ''Sticky Keys''

There is this option on the keyboard called sticky keys.. it makes for an easier use of the shift key.. don't have to hold multiple keys simultaneously.. instead you press shift once and then any other upper-case key wanted.. There is also an option in the universe.. synonymous in its easiness.. yet, they both seem to have one thing in common that so easily defies this ease.. I still fumble for the multiple-keys-simultaneously.. I forget about the easier way.. too involved in my though-pour-out to ever give even 5 per cent of my awareness to a shortcut on my keyboard.. why would it ever surprise me that the universe makes it hard for me in all its guises considering that I still reach for the hardest way to use the shift key.. I detour the shortcut.. the hardest way to approach life.. I look at my ''(miss)deed'' aggravated and surprised of how I just successfully managed to make it harder.. that one tiny example of a momentum that is ''easier'' than real ease.. My skin, my cells.. all in that momentum on a daily basis in general life.. doing things from the point of momentum, rather than a point of desire and choice.. finding it ''easier'' to do things (think things) the hard way even though right there are the ''sticky keys''..

Catharsis...

Catharsis by Zabiegly

The High in Disguise..

...what happens when the only high you know of is the high you get from a strange mixture of envy and pain.. the high of feeling robbed.. gushing in its puddle.. the particular ''sweet'' smell of victimization and the slime climbing up your pores.. How unmistakable you gravitate to it.. to this magnetically alluring replacement for a high that is originally equally emotionally engaging if not unimaginably more so.. How surgically precise do you veer from catching the fleeting glimpse of a thought that chiseled to matter, making your life a sculpture.. grown out of second hand puddle baths that dry your clay to dust..

The world of ''Saying nothing at all''

by brookeshaden