Wednesday, December 29, 2010

coffee with love

i love coffee. and found things make me happy.


I'll love you dear. I'll love you till China and Africa meet.
And the river jumps over the mountain.
And the salmon sings in the street.
I'll love you till the ocean is folded and hung up to dry.
And the seven stars go squawking.
Like geese about the sky.


i found this in TopSupermarket on Willis street.
the text is sweet and amusing. i am in love.

Saturday, December 25, 2010

happiness

i think there are many things to be grateful for. so with a lot of inspiration from one of my favorite blogs http://taza-and-husband.blogspot.com/


here are ten things that make me terribly happy...

1. the lovely smell of manderines and the citrus oil on
    my fingers as i peel them
2. trains that toot as they travel by people with waving
    hands
3. unexpected messages that make me smile
4. playing badminton, pool and pingpong all in one
    beautiful sunny day
5. scarecrows in Spotswood that dress up as Santa
6. goodbye hugs
7. looking forward to welcome home hugs
8. rain falling on the pavement on hot days
9. jandals (my new favorite footwear)
10. late night coffee with christmas mince pies

here's to happiness!

Monday, December 20, 2010

in the land of nod

i sleep deeply at night... and in the day. i love the warmth of my bed. i don't dream often and sometimes i feel as though no time has passed.
is it time to wake up now?
all i think of is home. and sleep. all day.

i want rest. and you. all to myself.

Wednesday, December 08, 2010

humming

They exchanged glances, trying to recognise the emotions of the day before. For a moment each seemed unreal to the other - then the slow warm hum of love began again.


from Tender is the Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald

Saturday, December 04, 2010

silence with you

remember when we lay down in the road together. holding hands. either side of the centre line with our heads just touching. watching the sky. a slight wind brushing across our faces. and we stayed. quietly. whispering. until we grew cold.


Wednesday, November 24, 2010

does a blank page scare you?

sometimes i find this blog a bit like opening a new journal. it's perfect. just by itself.

i feel guilty for forgetting to post. what shall i write? i worry. i don't want to ruin it with all my untidy handwriting. and it scares me. a lot.


but maybe that's exactly what it needs. for me to find a blank page somewhere lost in the middle. to scribble. and draw all over it. imperfection.

Monday, November 15, 2010

hundreds of tiny words

you have a pile of books next to your bed. a little shelf all its own. and i love you for it.

salt

No lips, don't make a sound
Don't let him hear the break in your voice
Hand, let go of his with ease and grace
Don't let him bleed under your nails


from Hold Heart by Emiliana Torrini

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

my dear

i listened to these beautiful words in the morning. then again. and again. and again.


i've been outside. invited in. but I couldn't abide. i wouldn't miss it again. burning every bridge that i cross. to find some beautiful place to get lost.
i had true love. i made it die. i pushed her away. she said please stay. burning every bridge that i cross. to find some beautiful place to get lost.
i don't know where I'll go now. and I don't really care who follows me there. but I'll burn every bridge that I cross. and find some beautiful place to get lost.



from Let's get lost by Elliott Smith

Wednesday, November 03, 2010

oh summer!

dear sunshine,

i felt you on my skin today. and you left a mark. i have dreamt of you. for sometime now.



i want to feel your burning heat on my shoulders. my sweat. your dry wind. and the too cold salty water against my skin.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

out here's too cold and i don't want to walk it alone

when i was lost, you thought me a beautiful find.
sometimes i think of you sleeping, so sleep for awhile.


from Beggar's Prayer by Emiliana Torrini

she was still as still.

This was because she knew few words and believed in none, and in the world she was rather silent, contributing just her share of urbane humor with a precision that approached meagerness. But at the moment when strangers tended to grow uncomfortable in the presence of this economy she would seize the topic and rush off with it, feverishly surprised with herself - then bring it back and relinquish it abruptly, almost timidly, like an obedient retriever, having been adequate and something more.


from Tender is the Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald

Monday, September 27, 2010

monday

Abandoned Dome


I leaked.
And my ceilings went on forever. You could lose your head and kite. You could fall in love with distance and grow lonely at the same time.
I could never be divided. I wanted you wholly. I wanted to lick your open spaces, your paranoia, and the damp salt behind each knee.
Come, let me charm you in my whisper gallery where I can hear you breathe from the other side of the moon and when you moan, each window moans too. My sounds once delighted - triangle, pentagon, icosahedron, ding-dong, I miss you.
The front door, so difficult to open, meant please and stay, love insulating our private balloon.


from Fields, Ribbons, Folds: Somatic Landscapes for Zaha Hadid by Hadara bar-Nada

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

bones

What reconciles me to my own death more than anything else is the image of a place: a place where your bones and mine are buried, thrown, uncovered, together. They are strewn there pell-mell. One of your ribs leans against my skull. A metacarpal of my left hand lies inside your pelvis. (Against my broken ribs your breast like a flower.) The hundred bones of our feet are scattered like gravel. It is strange that this image of our proximity, concerning as it does mere phosphate of calcium, should bestow a sense of peace. Yet it does. With you I can imagine a place where to be phosphate of calcium is enough.



from And our faces, my heart, brief as photos by John Berger

Friday, September 10, 2010

moths and rain

i still love weather like this. somehow the rain makes me feel warm inside. i love to hear the sound of it falling on leaves as i walk home. there is a moth fluttering around my lampshade and i wonder if it's escaping.

Tuesday, September 07, 2010

my sewing homework

sometimes i'm not very good... so here are some little things that need mending. with any luck this will at least stop me sleeping in til the afternoon as often as i would like to.

i'd love to wake up by 8.30am at the very latest. no matter what day of the week it is. except for very occasional Sunday sleep-ins. if i'm sitting in front of my university work, i'll get started. and begin limiting my coffee drinking, from several, to five cups a day. with less sugar. one teaspoon in one cup per day. i will make an effort to stop eating like a boy... then i can have one sweet treat a day.

that's my sewing. all mended and neatly folded x

goodbye

goodbye winter. i will miss your rain on my tongue. your biting wind in my face. and the way the slightest glance of the sun makes me smile. i will miss the bare trees and my cold hands tucked inside his warm woollen pockets.


i will miss you. but... i want this.



i want the dry cracked earth. i want burning feet as i run down to the water. i want to feel the sun tickling my skin. sunhats. and sticky fingers from my dripping iceblock. and to be so thirsty that i can't think of anything else.

Monday, September 06, 2010

Monday, August 30, 2010

sleeping too deep

sometimes i sleep when i should not. i hear your voice in my head. but still i wake to find you are not there.

Friday, August 27, 2010

waiting

I will tell her...she sighs and stirs, sweeps her unbrushed hair clear of her watery eyes, goes to rise but remains sitting, cups her hands around a jug - a junk shop present to herself. In her eyes the window makes small bright squares, under her eyes cusps of blue twin-moon her white face. She pushes her hair clear, sighs and stirs.



from In between the sheets by Ian McEwan

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

hold tight, it's just beginning.

she struggled and drew in a shallow breath.
"i am afraid," she said.
"of what?" he asked.
she let her breath go.
and underneath it softly murmured, "of failure."