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i am going to wait
slumber and envision

lick moisture from your
fatigued neck
cup you in the palm of my
innocent hands
 trail your scent though my daydreams
etch the hollow below your lip into my
starving mind
construct geographical maps of you callouses

tenderize the knuckles
make nice the bed

I sip
disappointing tea
from a chipped
blue china cup

you were never here

though i may taste the salinity
hold the weight
clutch at the scent
trace the hollow
recite the capitals

take note, the elasticity
tug the sheet

and taste the tea

you were but a
whisper


(Written 25/12/09. Dedicated to H. C.)

Hark

 




Woke to the sound of my little siblings piercing cries of joy, Christmas morning has a tangible feeling to it, unlike any other morning that we spend together. We started with opening our stockings and then some presents, had a brekky of Wife Saver and Bucks Fizz, then finished off the presents.  I'm preparing my stomach for the dinner tonight.

   My new Christmas Eve pajamas were amazingly comfortable to sleep in last night.
I love little holiday traditions, pajamas on Christmas Eve, Bucks [Fizz] in the morning, reading and walking time in the middle of the day, calling all the relatives time in the early afternoon.

   Have laughter filled holiday everyone!

Scintilation

   Last night, as I padded around my room, rearranging odds and ends and generally contemplating the newness of my insomnia*, I noticed the quality of the light spilling from my window**. I peered out, almost pressing my nose against the chilly glass like some excited little child peering out the window, trying with all her might to catch a glimpse of the ever elusive flying reindeer. The sight of the snow, falling thick and fluffy, blanketing the trees and houses and lights, muffling the noises and stifling the stark brilliance's of the ice were far better than witnessing the mythological  flight of a reindeer. Indeed seeing this was better than sleeping, better than dreaming of you***, better than the first sips of orange juice in the morning, better than the sense of pride when I pass I really hard exam, better than crying to music. Some how this view from my window seemed so private, so intricate that I felt the need to turn my head and politely stair at my wall. Instead I opened my window; the freezing air hit me hard in the face, the hairs on my arms instantly rising, and reached my hand out. A snowflake landed on the tip of my middle finger; quickly I drew my hand in. Looking at this insignificant micro-fleck of frozen water slowly dissolving in the warmth from my tingling flesh a memory came flooding up to my consciousness. On the first day of high school Drama and Theatre Art Class+ my drama teacher Ms. R came bounding into the room. It was the first time I had ever seen her for I had just transferred schools. She had on a long blue skirt, black boots, a white almost dressy shirt and a light blue cardie. She also wore large, white, snowflake earrings that were mingling with her slightly unruly, gray-flecked hair. She made us take a good look at her earrings and then told us a story of how she'd worn them on this, our first day, to illustrate that we were each as unique and amazing as a snowflake. At the time I  thought it was slightly ironic that her earrings were identical, mind you, I have never seen a set of earrings in a store that weren't identical, and I also thought that it was a slightly cheesy analogy. It was a cute try though and since then Ms R. has become my favorite and most human teacher.
   To remember all this took only about a second and, after the vivid memory faded I closed my window and sat down on my bed, all the while still looking at my rapidly melting snowflake. I'm not really sure if Ms R's metaphor did anything for anyone, possibly it only succeeded in breaking the tension of a first day, but right then, in that moment, I felt her looking at me, demanding that I be me, that I be unique, insisting that to be successful on stage you had to learn the art of being present in every single moment. Living solely for that moment.
   Without warning I felt the immense pressure in my chest, the betraying welling of tears, the bitter pain of a cry ripping its way up my throat. I wondered at the sudden urgency of my emotions. The force of one silly memory. I realized I was sad for myself. I had been waiting for you, H. to come make me happy, I'd been living in my dream world, caught up in the fascination of the barren lands of sleeplessness.
  On impulse I licked the melted snowflake from my finger, wrapped myself in my duvet and fell into one of the most restful sleeps I've had in a long while. I woke with the taste of snowflake on my tongue and the tingling of Christmas in my bones.
Merry Christmas Eve everyone.

Songs of a Girl:
Samskeyti by Sigur Ros

Mornings Fascination:
Gorilla Art



*I don't actually think I'm an insomniac, or not in the long-suffering-don't-sleep-at-ALL sense of the word, I view my recent predicament as a slow spiral into beginner insomnia.

**I've started noticing things such as the way light creeps into and diffuses a dark room, the pitch of drunken teenagers as they stumble below my window, the reverberating hum of my kittens contentment, and, most acutely, the piercing silence after I have unplugged all the lights, radios, phones etc. from my room and the high almost tintinnabulic sound of the dormant electricity is extinguished.

***Lately I have been dreaming-that is when I fall asleep, which is becoming less and less frequent-about you, H. I don't dream dirty things, or angelic wedding type things, really all I dream are everyday things. Small occurrences, little blips of life, but with one very large difference. You, H. are there. You will hold me, or laugh with me, touch my cheek or start the car. In some ways I find this dreams a lot more saddening than if I was simply dreaming of very naughty encounters or extremely pleasing foreplay, see the dreams I'm dreaming are exposing a much deeper need and dread.

+Oh that was a decent amount of time ago.

Dance

Dance, when your broken open.

Dance, if you've torn the bandage off.

Dance in the middle of the fighting.

Dance in your blood.

Dance, when you're perfectly free.

Adoration

I can break off from anyone,

except the presence within.

All I know of spirit

is this love.

Sæglópur

I'm still waiting for you.

Discovering the Strikethrough

   I have agreed to memorize, three long Jose Rivera monologues in a ridiculously short amount of time. Ms. R. and my fellow students are expecting great things, and my family is tired of hearing me practicing so I've been banished from the general living space. I'm currently huddled in my bed wearing practically every sweater I own because our heating isn't working and it's a ridiculous -20something Celsius.

   At the library the other day I picked up a book of poems quite randomly, I was to bring a poem for class and I'd forgot to bring along my much read Rumi. I believe the book is called City in All Directions: an Anthology of Modern Poems, only it was published in 1967 so modern is slightly relative. Anyways, I'm really enjoying it. Another random-find book I'm enjoying is MicroFiction. It's a compilation of some of the stories that were sent into the Very Short Story contest, max words is 250. I can't remember who put it together, for I haven't actually bought it, just stashed it behind a book on Sea Kayaking and hoped no one would find it and buy it before I got the money together to purchase it. A measly $9.95 might I add, ah the woes of an impoverished, over-achiever procrastinator!
    To explain the picture above you only have to look at my stocking collection and my wish list and put two and two together. I love the little girl meets deep colors and beautifully crafted pieces look that this picture embodies.
New Thing of the day:
A hair cut! (Thanks to my connections at the gay-staffed, snazzily furnished hair salon. I love going there, they're all such a riot)
Song of the day:
Stellify by Ian Brown
Food of the day:
Left-over peach, plum and apple crisp
Feeling of the day:
Thoroughly chilled

Battle the [Plastic] Bag

Today I watched a very informational documentary, now before you get your knickers in a twist or fall asleep hear me out. It was called "Battle of the Bag" Basically it made me appalled at our use of plastic bags. One of my New Years Resolutions will be to not use any more plastic bags. Yes I know it’s not that close to new years but I'll be rebellious and start now. I've already stopped getting to-go cups, if I've forgotten my coffee mug I can't get a drink, this has proved very problematic on hectic mornings when I really need a jolt before class and I've forgot my cup. But I've managed to stay strong and keep my vow. So it shall be with the plastic bags, I'll always carry I funkaly decorated cloth bag with me.
Feeling of a Girl:
Wistful
Song of a Girl:
Rue Des Cascades By Yann Tiersen
Research done by a Girl:
Sufism, Buddhism, Wiccan, all done for my Language Arts class

A Lose of Power

School has been very overwhelming lately, perhaps that's why I'm turning to this blog, I'm a very fantastic procrastinator. Physics and Maths have been particularly demanding, although we are learning fascinatingly interesting things in Physics. Formulas for work, power, efficiency and such. "Energy cannot be created or destroyed." That doesn't seem quite right does it? I supposed I must remember deciding factors such as "closed, isolated systems." It makes me think of every day words with new meanings. "Work is only done if the object to which the force is being applied moves." Shut up brain!
I've been daydreaming of traveling. Unpacking traveling books and hanging my beautiful word map is not helping at all. For now though they will have to do.
Song being listened to by a Girl:
The Alcohol Dairy by Deathcab for Cutie.
Book being read by a Girl:
The Suckers Kiss by Alan Parker.
Desires of a Girl:
A glass of deep, red wine and sleep.

In The Beginning

In the beginning there was a man and a woman. They didn't fall in love, per say, we shall call it lust. From this melting pot came a baby. A baby girl. This girl grew up, she became me.
I've never done anything like this before, I mean I'm on Facebook, but really, who isn't? Apart from people who don't have regular computer access, are to old, or disinterested, or are basically just well rooted in their sense of being and don't need the reassurance of a friends "LOL, I <3 u. u beautiful girl!" comment blatantly hanging below every pursed-lipped picture. So if I stumble, don't laugh to hard as I brush off my bruised knees, if I break some un-written Blogger rule, gently let me in on the secret. Most importantly, if I bore you, stop reading this shit and GO MAKE SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL!

Soundtrack of a Girl:
Blood Bank by Bon Iver.
Word from a Girl:
Onomatopoeia.