it's temporary

i said.
i lied.

it's permanent. goodbye.

Goodbyes

She hates goodbyes.

So i said, well, cheers mate. It's been real. I pulled a funny face as she walked through the gate. We waved. She was gone.

I hate goodbyes.

I'll miss you

from a tuna hill

cracked

my heart
turned to ice
clattered through every storey of me
until it reached the soles of my feet
and cracked

now it lies
melting fragments
in front of me
i cannot piece it together again.

goodbye, dear heart.

fork in the road

choices. stupid annoying little things. and feelings. FUCK 'EM ALL.

i think it would be simply wonderful to spin into a million butterflies and flutter brightly away.

crystal tears

i have been left stutteringly wordless. language abandons me in my time of greatest need. i have noticed that i truly do live in a world of black and white. words surround me, lift me, push me on. and then, when i need them to create a smoke screen, to help me blind myself, they lose their power. and the mist clears and i am left shivering and alone on my pebble surrounded by a shifting mass of reality with which i simply find myself unable to cope.

if i could speak to him, i wouldn't know what to say, or do. i would only shiver.

i wish i had an emotion pensieve. if the emotion became too much to bear, we could drain it away, until we once again felt numb. instead, we have drugs - a colourful mirage to throw over our emotions, to stifle them. weed is great for pain, i've noticed. it gives one this effortless floating sensation, makes one go, 'pain? ha, what pain? i laugh in the face of pain!' Unfortunately, lack of feeling frightens me as much as pain does. without feeling, even if that feeling is pain, how do we know that we're alive. so i can only stumble forward through this pain, and hope that i make it through the dusk.

i have an inkling of what i might say to him now.
I miss the feel of your hair through my fingers, your arms around me, your eyes, the sound of your whisper. i miss your faith, your grace, you strength. i miss your hands, your smile. i miss dancing with you and driving with you. i miss talking to you, i miss your fingers in MY hair. i miss your hug. i miss your heart. i miss a piece of my heart, the piece i gave to you, where there is now nothing but a hole. i miss you.

singledom: the grass on the other side of the hill

well, so much for my higher brow blog. off it goes, sailing straight out of that window.
my boyfriend is back from the outer (political) reaches of asia. thank goodness. the lingering feeling of being someone's lost property has been banished.
but, in his absence, i did take cognisance of the fact that being single has its perks. now, don't be alarmed, baby, but really girls, have you ever tried to buy your guy a really nice christmas present? and drinking with a whole bunch of single guys? FUN. not like THAT! get your head out of the gutter. it's just fun, period. and dancing crazily with your girlfriends in a packed sweaty club? also fun! eish, to quote leo. EISH.
however, i must say, being in a great relationship has it's definite pro's. (i would know, i'm in a great relationship, ask anyone)
firstly, no third wheel syndrome/only-single-in-the-room syndrome
secondly, great prezzies:)
thirdly, arms of a loved one are a great place to be
fourthly (is that a word) well, i speak for myself here, but i couldn't wish for a sweeter, better, more caring guy.

despite all this, i miss my friends, i really do. not my boyfriend's friends, god knows i see enough of them:p (they're great though, really), but MY friends, that made all on my ownsome. and i want them back! hence my new years resolution:
FRIENDS DAY! so i get the best of both worlds, single with friends, but still in a happy relationship. if anyone tries to argue against the logistics of this, i will get someone (god knows who) to roundhouse kick them.

so yes, im a single girl in a relationship:p

infinite return

hello. i'm back. the silence has been deafening, i'm sure, but inspiration obeys no man's beckoning, least of all mine. especially when pieces of myself have broken free and are wandering this worn world. it is hard to write with holes in your soul.

tonight, i again borrow an idea from milan, simply because it is an idea that i have been turning round and round in the windmills of my mind until i think it may, finally, have unwound itself like a tight spool of thread unravelling.

the idea of infinite return is one that a certain philosopher muses over, and one that milan borrows.

the idea is essentially this. every event, every occurrence in history has weight (again this theme of weight) simply and only because it happens once. if world war two were to happen again and again, it would lose its horror. if the french revolution were to incessantly recur, year in year out, it would no long have any weight. who could revere robespierre if he persisted in beheading people for all eternity? the latter example is one i struggled with. how could an event so large, so important, with such consequences fail to be important? even if repeated? how could the loss of life in world war two fail to matter if it persisted in occurring again and again and again? and so i took it in smaller chunks.

why do we make such a fuss of the end of the week? can you explain that to me? because the end of the week will come again. 52 weeks in a year, on average about 70 years in a lifetime...so why the fuss? it happens again and again and again.
i suppose, if it were to be The Last Week, much like, The Last Supper, then yes, the fuss would be justified, but we are people rushing about in our scrambled lives, and not many of us stop to think that this could very well be the last week and therefore it is actually valuable. but why is it valuable? why is time money? because of the way we experience time. the perceptions and experiences packed like sardines into every second. its not the actual minutes that matter, it's what happens in those minutes. but if those experiences are repeated again and again, well, how valuable would they be? if you ate the same chocolate cake every day, you'd get sick of it. if you saw the same sunrise (cliched, i know) every single day, it would cease to take your breath away.

so, by looking at the smaller things, i think i now understand how an event as 'big' as the french revolution would cease to be so if it recurred every year in history. it would become old news, no one would care. and thus the idea of infinite return comes into play. infinite return robs an event, an experience, of its weight. it makes it light, ephemeral, meaningless. it is because something happens once, and only once, that it is heavy, has meaning. but does this mean i now equate the idea of burdens, or heaviness, with value? i don't know.

a poem for those missed

tears have been flooding from my soul;
a sweet poignant spring rain
that drowns my universe
unstoppable

a sweet release
a beautiful outpouring
of melodic melancholy;
of grief

i miss you