Found old scribblings
Cleaning my writing folder I found weird writings I did while in Dublin last year. As I don't want them to take up any more space there, I'll just save them here. No need to read... very strange, stream of consciousness stuff, with no real point. ^^° Seems so long ago now.
Text 1:
All those little silences are my own canary birds but silent. If my thoughts were any more strange I would be laughing with a crazy glint in my eyes. Tragic, really. Dark things go bump in the night. Yes they do.
All sweet thoughts left the dark and took a rid down the strip leaving all what wasn't behind there is something to be said about this we are sure. Of all things done and over with this is the first. Somehow. See now, I need a plot line. Arriving in a new, old city seems like a good idea. She is returning. That makes for a good start. She left as a teenager. Because she and her father could never see eye to eye. He died a few years ago but she never came back. Now she returns. Why? At first not mentioned. That creates a bit of suspense. But we need to know now. Otherwise the planning is not going to work. So: She meet an old acquaintance in a big city, by chance, and he told her that her father is dead and her mother is having trouble with someone. Her uncle. He is pressuring her into doing something she does not want to do. So her daughter comes and helps without saying it outright.
Floating light of snow and winds and clouds. A white light of early spring mornings and winter days. Not my favorite but close enough most of the time. Not actually it is one of my favorites, just one of them but enough. Jeez, what should I do now I have no idea and this is very strange and the thoughts are a jumbled mess within my head. What is there to do? And then there is nothing left to do but wonder and be as you are and nothing more.
Text 2:
He watched, regarded, measured from the shadows. If either of them ever felt his heavy stare on their naked skin they never let it on. Perhaps he would later come out of the dark, take the wide room in just a few sweeping steps and stand beside the bed. Later perhaps but not now, now he (watched) from his (watch out) beside the (closed/verhängt) window. Did they life up to his expectations? He could not tell yet. She let out a soft murmur before she cuddled even deeper into her husbands arms. The sheets lay chalky white and satin soft on her skin, while the man beside her had none anymore. The boy in the shadows watched them now with even more interest.
What is there to do? She is lost in the thoughts. There are no others. Her mind is free, while her body is bound by life and society. Sometimes only dark thoughts can penetrate the heavy blanket of panic and discomfort. Who ever knew, what to do. What where when how. My mind is not clear but helpless. All these notions are a storm behind my forehead and I desperately for shelter. What kind of hate is this? That I'm caught in this world? Leave me with my books and my happiness. Not, that is not possible. I'm shoved into real life. No regard for fears. No understanding of the difficulty. What kind of person does this? The world does? Life is not cruel. Life just is. People make it what it is. If I could escape I would. This is pretty much a stream of consciousness. How quaint. Or not? I wish I knew what to write. I wish I were not me. I wish I were someone else. Someone able to deal with this. Love is the cruel master of life. With no love I would be gone already. Ashes scattered in the wind. But no. There are people to love me. For them I have to stay. What kind of gruesome logic is that?
I'm stature. Silent, calm and serene. There is no passion within me. No anger. No hate. There is no love, no friendship. I just am. Like a rock on a river bank. Or the silent air.
Face of stone.
Silent, sweet, serene.
No tears for the sad.
No passion for the wronged.
No love for the kind.
A rock on a river bank.
The dead night air.
Wish that was true,
There were no feeling
But that of freedom
Unbound, wild, free.
All rational things left the air leaving. What what what. My head is empty, may I sleep until all is over. No, this is not tired this is exhausted. A whole new level of mental pain. My own fault? Probably.
What kind of life is this? And how can this be? Yesterday was perfect. And today I am at my end. Where did it go wrong? Where did I make the wrong turn? I would like to curl up in someones arms and just stay there until it was over. Over and done with. But no, I have to sit here and but on a nice front, even though I am about to murder something. Or not. I am too tired, too finished, too exhausted for that. How sad. Not even that works anymore.
Talked to Mom. Am better now. Geez, what kind of drama am I creating?
I'm feeling a bit wicked. Rebellious. Let's see if I get burned shall we?
Four minutes four minutes four minutes four minutes four minutes four minutes four minutes four minute sfour minutes four minutes four minutes four minutes four minutes four minute sfour minute sfour mi
Text 3:
Hands on chilled skin
„You’re my darling songbird even though you never sung.“
No answer, just silence and a frantically beating heart.
Text 4:
If there is something to be said... what a sentence. I can not seem to loose it. It is stuck to me like chewing gum.
Wind within the mind a breezing, a rustling, a satin smooth grin there is a freedom here standing upon the cliff and I dance to the melody of the waves below while the wind tangles and whispers through my hair a laugh is caught within my throat my eyes release it into the world as my mouth just smiles forming silent songs about freedom and happiness far beneath there are flocks of birds
| girls just want to have fun |
as free and as wild as me soaring and savage | I'm going to be like you dad , the cats the cradle and the silver spoon we will get together then | sometimes it is a wild thing a thin king a solvent surly sun day who could live through this as if is a dreary night and day of this business I liken you to dark and sinister thoughts and I will not be deceived and that is not what you want | Dublin tickets | if there was something savage in your speech and you will not laugh at soft smiles oscillates
Always in style at the beach are those huge beach bags made of cloth, plastic or anything in between. Bright colors, like the trend color yellow for example, and wild patterns are the way to go. Swimsuits and bikinis are both very 2010. Either one can be worn to the beach without any fretting.
− swimsuit / bikini underneath light summer wear
− don't bring anything you mind getting wet or full of sand
Text 1:
All those little silences are my own canary birds but silent. If my thoughts were any more strange I would be laughing with a crazy glint in my eyes. Tragic, really. Dark things go bump in the night. Yes they do.
All sweet thoughts left the dark and took a rid down the strip leaving all what wasn't behind there is something to be said about this we are sure. Of all things done and over with this is the first. Somehow. See now, I need a plot line. Arriving in a new, old city seems like a good idea. She is returning. That makes for a good start. She left as a teenager. Because she and her father could never see eye to eye. He died a few years ago but she never came back. Now she returns. Why? At first not mentioned. That creates a bit of suspense. But we need to know now. Otherwise the planning is not going to work. So: She meet an old acquaintance in a big city, by chance, and he told her that her father is dead and her mother is having trouble with someone. Her uncle. He is pressuring her into doing something she does not want to do. So her daughter comes and helps without saying it outright.
Floating light of snow and winds and clouds. A white light of early spring mornings and winter days. Not my favorite but close enough most of the time. Not actually it is one of my favorites, just one of them but enough. Jeez, what should I do now I have no idea and this is very strange and the thoughts are a jumbled mess within my head. What is there to do? And then there is nothing left to do but wonder and be as you are and nothing more.
Text 2:
He watched, regarded, measured from the shadows. If either of them ever felt his heavy stare on their naked skin they never let it on. Perhaps he would later come out of the dark, take the wide room in just a few sweeping steps and stand beside the bed. Later perhaps but not now, now he (watched) from his (watch out) beside the (closed/verhängt) window. Did they life up to his expectations? He could not tell yet. She let out a soft murmur before she cuddled even deeper into her husbands arms. The sheets lay chalky white and satin soft on her skin, while the man beside her had none anymore. The boy in the shadows watched them now with even more interest.
What is there to do? She is lost in the thoughts. There are no others. Her mind is free, while her body is bound by life and society. Sometimes only dark thoughts can penetrate the heavy blanket of panic and discomfort. Who ever knew, what to do. What where when how. My mind is not clear but helpless. All these notions are a storm behind my forehead and I desperately for shelter. What kind of hate is this? That I'm caught in this world? Leave me with my books and my happiness. Not, that is not possible. I'm shoved into real life. No regard for fears. No understanding of the difficulty. What kind of person does this? The world does? Life is not cruel. Life just is. People make it what it is. If I could escape I would. This is pretty much a stream of consciousness. How quaint. Or not? I wish I knew what to write. I wish I were not me. I wish I were someone else. Someone able to deal with this. Love is the cruel master of life. With no love I would be gone already. Ashes scattered in the wind. But no. There are people to love me. For them I have to stay. What kind of gruesome logic is that?
I'm stature. Silent, calm and serene. There is no passion within me. No anger. No hate. There is no love, no friendship. I just am. Like a rock on a river bank. Or the silent air.
Face of stone.
Silent, sweet, serene.
No tears for the sad.
No passion for the wronged.
No love for the kind.
A rock on a river bank.
The dead night air.
Wish that was true,
There were no feeling
But that of freedom
Unbound, wild, free.
All rational things left the air leaving. What what what. My head is empty, may I sleep until all is over. No, this is not tired this is exhausted. A whole new level of mental pain. My own fault? Probably.
What kind of life is this? And how can this be? Yesterday was perfect. And today I am at my end. Where did it go wrong? Where did I make the wrong turn? I would like to curl up in someones arms and just stay there until it was over. Over and done with. But no, I have to sit here and but on a nice front, even though I am about to murder something. Or not. I am too tired, too finished, too exhausted for that. How sad. Not even that works anymore.
Talked to Mom. Am better now. Geez, what kind of drama am I creating?
I'm feeling a bit wicked. Rebellious. Let's see if I get burned shall we?
Four minutes four minutes four minutes four minutes four minutes four minutes four minutes four minute sfour minutes four minutes four minutes four minutes four minutes four minute sfour minute sfour mi
Text 3:
Hands on chilled skin
„You’re my darling songbird even though you never sung.“
No answer, just silence and a frantically beating heart.
Text 4:
If there is something to be said... what a sentence. I can not seem to loose it. It is stuck to me like chewing gum.
Wind within the mind a breezing, a rustling, a satin smooth grin there is a freedom here standing upon the cliff and I dance to the melody of the waves below while the wind tangles and whispers through my hair a laugh is caught within my throat my eyes release it into the world as my mouth just smiles forming silent songs about freedom and happiness far beneath there are flocks of birds
| girls just want to have fun |
as free and as wild as me soaring and savage | I'm going to be like you dad , the cats the cradle and the silver spoon we will get together then | sometimes it is a wild thing a thin king a solvent surly sun day who could live through this as if is a dreary night and day of this business I liken you to dark and sinister thoughts and I will not be deceived and that is not what you want | Dublin tickets | if there was something savage in your speech and you will not laugh at soft smiles oscillates
Always in style at the beach are those huge beach bags made of cloth, plastic or anything in between. Bright colors, like the trend color yellow for example, and wild patterns are the way to go. Swimsuits and bikinis are both very 2010. Either one can be worn to the beach without any fretting.
− swimsuit / bikini underneath light summer wear
− don't bring anything you mind getting wet or full of sand