That shizz I wear on my wrists.

I always got a ganja necklace.
Always.

I give them to people I love.

My wrists always have something,
at least one bracelet.

I give them to people I love.




These sentimental objects, I wear them and they're a part off me,
they remind me of people who matter, and the places I belong.
taking them off and giving them away, is like a part of my soul I just hand out.

I'm not always in Thailand, but its my home too. I get all these bracelets from there, so I never forget where I'm from, so I remember.

My colour phases come and go, but you can tell my current colour schemes from my wrists.

I always wore my Daddy's watch, cause he's the most important male in my life.
Until I wore one I got with Derell, so we matched.
I don't think people realise what it means.

If you pass them onto someone else, or don't wear them, I'll resent you, deep down.
Cause you disregard my heart.

Sometimes, I.

Sometimes I have suspicions.
And then I think, I want to know.
But then I realise, if I knew, I wouldnt understand, I'd be confused and scared, and a multitude of things,
Then I'd think, I never wanted to know.
Ignorance is bliss.

People do lots of things and don't have nice thoughts all the time.
If we were always honest, life would be too simple, I don't want that.
I don't like lying or pretending, but maybe it's for the best, to an extent.
If we knew, it wouldnt be fun when we found out.
And I know I do things that people wouldnt like or understand, and they don't want to know,
and if they knew all of me, completely exposed, it might be the deepest intimacy, but what if you got hurt?


Just, humbug.

I'm growing up too fast!

On the last summer I have with my friends, I wanna throw my shoes into a tree (:

love or money?

does it matter?
both bring pleasure, and both bring about a sense of loss when you lose them. if you've never had either, you might envy those who have it, or never worry about it.
it just depends on which brings you more pleasure.

I'll always say love

Scents

Paladin said black people don't smell noice.

But I think he's wrong, they smell of baking earth and sunshine, as the base, then theres their signature scent (:
White people usually smell of wind.
Thai people smell of steamed rice and warm rain.

But the base smell varies, and everyone always has particular pheromones and I like people who appeal to my nostrils, not in the way that people smell, but some smell just really nice. Noice.

Mufasa smells of cocoa, and skin, and baking earth, and sunshine, and something sweet... maybe sugar cane
Axel used to smell of vanilla, and wind, and sometimes water, and chlorine.
Giacomo smells of blood, and everything primal.
Lala smells of flowers, and soft fabrics, and washed hair <3
Pyra, of the coast, and fresh grassy air, and cold winds. (:
Paladin of hair, flowers and sulphur and heat.

There are too many to list, but I remember them all by power of nostrils.

popop.

all of your dirty flirty faces,
and your lack of social graces,
and all the strawberry laces
that we eat, at all the places that we go.

all the dark marks round your eyes,
and the way you stroke my thighs?
the emotions you disguise
I was so surprised when you said, that you loved me.

I first thought you were gay,
and you said its cliche,
but you think of me everyday,
now I need you to stay, by my side.

10 things

This is "for bloggers who put their heart on display as they write from the depths of their soul." You write 10 honest things about yourself that are not common knowledge and then you pass it on to 6 fellow bloggers that touch your heart by the honesty and sincerity they give with each post.

It's almost hard to think of something that people don't already know from me telling them, or have guessed.

1. At times you may think I'm a kind person, that I can see the good in people. That I believe in love and optimism. And yet at other times, I can be so callous and uncaring, and I'm so goddamn selfish, and manipulative and use people. I wonder, if it's the primal beast in me that makes me this way, or if its just a sliver of darkness. What's more, I enjoy it.

2. Um, I'm in love and it's forever. Like true love.

3. It does hurt me when people say I'm a slut and an attention whore, that I'm ugly, podgy, and useless, a failure, and such. I love myself all the same, but it does cause me to question who I am at times, if I should love myself.

4. Yeah, I'm kind of bisexual, I like to do stuff. I haven't gone out with a girl though, and why? Because I don't think I could fall in love with one, in fact I'd probably end up abusing them, and using them.

5. I'm not half as brave or strong as I make out to be. I don't want to have to rely on others but I do. My parents don't think I'm anything special, so I absorb admiration from other people, if I lost that, perhaps I'd stop seeing it in myself. Which scares me. Also, everyone breaks my heart. I probably push them away, but regardless, they promise forever but it never happens, so I don't believe anyones promises anymore, I want to.

6. You'd be surprised. I actually care for so few people, I'm fickle. I wouldn't care if a lot if people died, I wouldn't like it, but meh....

7. Everytime I say something serious to you, and you think I'm joking, I'm probably double bluffing.


8. I like cooking. And sex. I'd be an amazing wife.

9. Ummmm... Any suspicions you have .. probably correct. PROBABLY.

10.  I take it out on people when I'm upset/feel rage. I'm egoistical and selfish. Cruel etc.

Bah those are rubbish, 'cause I tell most people them anyways.

The nightingales curse.

'She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses,' cried the young Student; 'but in all my garden there is no red rose.'


From her nest in the holm-oak tree the Nightingale heard him, and she looked out through the leaves, and wondered.

'No red rose in all my garden!' he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled with tears. 'Ah, on what little things does happiness depend! I have read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of philosophy are mine, yet for want of a red rose is my life made wretched.'

'Here at last is a true lover,' said the Nightingale. 'Night after night have I sung of him, though I knew him not: night after night have I told his story to the stars, and now I see him. His hair is dark as the hyacinth-blossom, and his lips are red as the rose of his desire; but passion has made his lace like pale Ivory, and sorrow has set her seal upon his brow.'

'The Prince gives a ball to-morrow night,' murmured the young Student, 'and my love will be of the company. If I bring her a red rose she will dance with me till dawn. If I bring her a red rose, I shall hold her in my arms, and she will lean her head upon my shoulder, and her hand will be clasped in mine. But there is no red rose in my garden, so I shall sit lonely, and she will pass me by. She will have no heed of me, and my heart will break.'

'Here indeed is the true lover,' said the Nightingale. 'What I sing of he suffers: what is joy to me, to him is pain. Surely Love is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds, and dearer than fine opals. Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set forth in the market-place. it may not be purchased of the merchants, 'or can it be weighed out in the balance for gold.'

'The musicians will sit in their gallery,' said the young Student, 'and play upon their stringed instruments, and my love will dance to the sound of the harp and the violin. She will dance so lightly that her feet will not touch the floor, and the courtiers in their gay dresses will throng round her. But with me she will not dance, for I have no red rose to give her;' and he flung himself down on the grass, and buried his face in his hands, and wept.






'Why is he weeping?' asked a little Green Lizard, as he ran past him with his tail in the air.

'Why, indeed?' said a Butterfly, who was fluttering about after a sunbeam.

'Why, indeed?' whispered a Daisy to his neighbour, in a soft, low voice.

'He is weeping for a red rose,' said the Nightingale.

'For a red rose!' they cried; 'how very ridiculous!' and the little Lizard, who was something of a cynic, laughed outright.

But the Nightingale understood the secret of the Student's sorrow, and she sat silent in the oak-tree, and thought about the mystery of Love.

Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She passed through the grove like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed across the garden.

In the centre of the grass-plot was standing a beautiful Rose-tree, and when she saw it, she flew over to it, and lit upon a spray.

'Give me a red rose,' she cried, 'and I will sing you my sweetest song.'

But the Tree shook its head.

'My roses are white,' it answered; 'as white as the foam of the sea, and whiter than the snow upon the mountain. But go to my brother who grows round the old sun-dial, and perhaps he will give you what you want.'

So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing round the old sun-dial.

'Give me a red rose,' she cried, 'and I will sing you my sweetest song.'

But the Tree shook its head.

'My roses are yellow,' it answered; 'as yellow as the hair of the mermaiden who sits upon an amber throne, and yellower than the daffodil that blooms in the meadow before the mower comes with his scythe. But go to my brother who grows beneath the Student's window, and perhaps he will give you what you want.'

So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing beneath the Student's window.

'Give me a red rose,' she cried, 'and I will sing you my sweetest song.'

But the Tree shook its head.

'My roses are red,' it answered, 'as red as the feet of the dove, and redder than the great fans of coral that wave and wave in the ocean-cavern. But the winter has chilled my veins, and the frost has nipped my buds, and the storm has broken my branches, and I shall have no roses at all this year.'





'One red rose is all I want,' cried the Nightingale, 'only one red rose! Is there no way by which I can get it?'

'There is a way,' answered the Tree; 'but it is so terrible that I dare not tell it to you.'

'Tell it to me,' said the Nightingale, 'I am not afraid.'

'If you want a red rose,' said the Tree, 'you must build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart's-blood. You must sing to me with your breast against a thorn. All night long you must sing to me, and the thorn must pierce your heart, and your life-blood must flow into my veins, and become mine.'

'Death is a great price to pay for a red rose,' cried the Nightingale, 'and Life is very dear to all. It is pleasant to sit in the green wood, and to watch the Sun in his chariot of gold, and the Moon in her chariot of pearl. Sweet is the scent of the hawthorn, and sweet are the bluebells that hide in the valley, and the heather that blows on the hill. Yet Love is better than Life, and what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man?'

So she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She swept over the garden like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed through the grove.

The young Student was still lying on the grass, where she had left him, and the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes.

'Be happy,' cried the Nightingale, 'be happy; you shall have your red rose. I will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with my own heart's-blood. All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a true lover, for Love is wiser than Philosophy, though she is wise, and mightier than Power, though he is mighty. Flame-coloured are his wings, and coloured like flame is his body. His lips are sweet as honey, and his breath is like frankincense.'

The Student looked up from the grass, and listened, but he could not understand what the Nightingale was saying to him, for he only knew the things that are written down in books.






But the Oak-tree understood, and felt sad, for he was very fond of the little Nightingale who had built her nest in his branches.

'Sing me one last song,' he whispered; 'I shall feel very lonely when you are gone.'

So the Nightingale sang to the Oak-tree, and her voice was like water bubbling from a silver jar.

When she had finished her song the Student got lip, and pulled a note-book and a lead-pencil out of his pocket.

'She has form,' he said to himself, as he walked away through the grove - 'that cannot be denied to her; but has she got feeling? I am afraid not. In fact, she is like most artists; she is all style, without any sincerity. She would not sacrifice herself for others. She thinks merely of music, and everybody knows that the arts are selfish. Still, it must be admitted that she has some beautiful notes in her voice. What a pity it is that they do not mean anything, or do any practical good.' And he went into his room, and lay down on his little pallet-bed, and began to think of his love; and, after a time, he fell asleep.

And when the Moon shone in the heavens the Nightingale flew to the Rose-tree, and set her breast against the thorn. All night long she sang with her breast against the thorn, and the cold crystal Moon leaned down and listened. All night long she sang, and the thorn went deeper and deeper into her breast, and her life-blood ebbed away from her.

She sang first of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a girl. And on the topmost spray of the Rose-tree there blossomed a marvellous rose, petal following petal, as song followed song. Yale was it, at first, as the mist that hangs over the river - pale as the feet of the morning, and silver as the wings of the dawn. As the shadow of a rose in a mirror of silver, as the shadow of a rose in a water-pool, so was the rose that blossomed on the topmost spray of the Tree.

But the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. 'Press closer, little Nightingale,' cried the Tree, 'or the Day will come before the rose is finished.'






So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and louder and louder grew her song, for she sang of the birth of passion in the soul of a man and a maid.

And a delicate flush of pink came into the leaves of the rose, like the flush in the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the lips of the bride. But the thorn had not yet reached her heart, so the rose's heart remained white, for only a Nightingale's heart's-blood can crimson the heart of a rose.

And the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. 'Press closer, little Nightingale,' cried the Tree, 'or the Day will come before the rose is finished.'

So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn touched her heart, and a fierce pang of pain shot through her. Bitter, bitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, for she sang of the Love that is perfected by Death, of the Love that dies not in the tomb.

And the marvellous rose became crimson, like the rose of the eastern sky. Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as a ruby was the heart.

But the Nightingale's voice grew fainter, and her little wings began to beat, and a film came over her eyes. Fainter and fainter grew her song, and she felt something choking her in her throat.

Then she gave one last burst of music. The white Moon heard it, and she forgot the dawn, and lingered on in the sky. The red rose heard it, and it trembled all over with ecstasy, and opened its petals to the cold morning air. Echo bore it to her purple cavern in the hills, and woke the sleeping shepherds from their dreams. It floated through the reeds of the river, and they carried its message to the sea.

'Look, look!' cried the Tree, 'the rose is finished now;' but the Nightingale made no answer, for she was lying dead in the long grass, with the thorn in her heart.

And at noon the Student opened his window and looked out.

'Why, what a wonderful piece of luck! he cried; 'here is a red rose! I have never seen any rose like it in all my life. It is so beautiful that I am sure it has a long Latin name;' and he leaned down and plucked it.





Then he put on his hat, and ran up to the Professor's house with the rose in his hand.

The daughter of the Professor was sitting in the doorway winding blue silk on a reel, and her little dog was lying at her feet.

'You said that you would dance with me if I brought you a red rose,' cried the Student. Here is the reddest rose in all the world. You will wear it to-night next your heart, and as we dance together it will tell you how I love you.'

But the girl frowned.

'I am afraid it will not go with my dress,' she answered; 'and, besides, the Chamberlain's nephew has sent me some real jewels, and everybody knows that jewels cost far more than flowers.'

'Well, upon my word, you are very ungrateful,' said the Student angrily; and he threw the rose into the street, where it fell into the gutter, and a cart-wheel went over it.

'Ungrateful!' said the girl. 'I tell you what, you are very rude; and, after all, who are you? Only a Student. Why, I don't believe you have even got silver buckles to your shoes as the Chamberlain's nephew has;' and she got up from her chair and went into the house.

'What a silly thing Love is,' said the Student as he walked away. 'It is not half as useful as Logic, for it does not prove anything, and it is always telling one of things that are not going to happen, and making one believe things that are not true. In fact, it is quite unpractical, and, as in this age to be practical is everything, I shall go back to Philosophy and study Metaphysics.'

So he returned to his room and pulled out a great dusty book, and began to read.




The nightingale inspired me to love with all my heart. Fidelis ad mortem.
To be a true lover. And it does feel as though we are in a world with few true lovers, where so many would throw down their roses, for worthless things. Like jewels.

I'm losing faith in humanity

Paladin, doesn't love make a difference?

No.

Why?

Because there's never a happy ending :)

no matter how much love there is
bad shit happens
and you can't stop it
people are bad
love doesn't make a person better
it makes then foolish
it makes them irrational.


I used to believe in so much good, and it's like all of a sudden, I can see everything dark. Why?
It's like all those times people picked on me, or ganged up on innocent people, or were too harsh, and hurt someone I love, I put them behind me.
It's like I never saw cheating happen before...

I always believed love mattered, and there was good in everything, and there was always a chance,
of a happy ending.

Basic behaviour.

Surely when you love someone, you don't flirt with their friends?
In fact, aside from as a joke, you don't at all?

:/

When you love someone, you don't cheat on them? Surely it hurts you just as much as it would hurt them, knowing you had. That you had knowingly, in a rational state of mind?

And even if you were drunk, you still have some choice.

I'm all for doing things, as long as I don't get caught.
But fidelity? That's different.. whether you get caught or not, just. There must be something wrong with you, if you would?

Don't you hate it when you're trying to be sad and someone makes you laugh?

There is one person in the world who always knows knows how to cheer me up.
Paladin gets that I'm ridiculously fickle. Showering me with flattery and praise ALWAYS works.

And if it doesn't... you could always pick up a guitar.
;D

There are people in the world who bring out our most poetic voice.

Far far away, there is a blue eyed boy, who lives in the darkest world. The cruellest of places, where every day is a fight. And the stars should stop shining and turn their heads away for our ugliness.

And in the world opposite that, is a world which is just as dark. But in this world, there are love songs, and as long as there are love songs, people believe in love, and the illusions continue. For love songs capture peoples minds, and that is all needed, for love to work its 'magic'
In this illusion world, there are people with endless optimism, and the capability to love - people so bright they can't be snuffed out easily as candles, they light up their world, and only death can take them, and it's proud to do so.

But the blue eyed boy, for all his fucking stubborn light who is not deaf to the songs, hides from it, in another world. I'd mark him a coward, but we know he's strong, we know he has the light, he's just too afraid to let it shine.

I love Mufasaaaaaaaaaaaaa

Remember, who you are.

I had to quote him somewhere.

Anywaays, I'm in love with Mufasa, I think, I love him quite substantially.
Isn't he lovely? And fluffy? With a big nose, and hayooooge paws and such :)
<333333333

My mum says Im cool..

My mummy hated that when I was little, I refused to wear dresses, I hated pink for about 5 years.
She often tells me I'm fat.
That I should get the next size up, stop eating so much, and exercise more.

But it never mattered because, she loves me anyways, and I love me anyway.

A lot of my life, i've been excluded cause of it. I didn't fit in with girls when I was little. I made friends with boys instead, because they arent as harsh and judgemental, which is where my trust in them as a whole stems.

I asked Paladin
"Dyou think I'm weird?"

"In what sense?"

"Every sense.."

"Why do you ask?"

"People are mean to me because of it"

""I'm afraid so. You're entirely bonkers. But I'll tell you a secret. All the best people are.""

"Where's that from?"

"Alice in wonderland. :)"

":)"

Mummy said, sometimes it's better to follow the crowd. I think people in this country are sad and harsh and bitches. If you're happy the way you are, don't change. But you have to be stronger, because there's a lot of them, and one of you.

And Mufasa said, I love it. People who aren't weird are boring.

People are either charming or tedious.. je pense?

What is the measure of love?

Last night I was talking to Paladin.
And he says, he knows I love him, but he couldnt say how much, because I tell everyone so.

Then I thought, how can you measure love?

We tried percentages of a pie chart, but that means that, your heart has a limited capacity for love, and it just doesn't work.
Then, tried splitting love into different catagories. Family, friends, romantic. But you find that people overlap into the catagories, and there are so many different kinds of love. Like for your pets.
A list of most loved to least loved, can't work, because some loves are equal for different reasons, and it isnt a measure, so much as most to least. Also you can't love someone least, some people you just feel neutral about.
Then we moved onto the Sims2 theory. That everyone has a lifetime bar, and a short term bar. So, you can be pissed off at your best friend, or your parents, or your lover, but that doesn't mean you'll be apart forever. And some people have a love heart next to their bar, some people an infatuation heart etc..

I think the Sims clocked it quite well. You should have a love bar, a how you get on at the present time bar, and a lifetime bar. Maybe throw in an attractiveness bar?
But it still can't cover the complexities of it. You can hate someone with a passion and still be in love with them, and you can be half in love with two people at once.

We gave up on the subject, 'cause it'd take endless diagrams and catagories, and so many people we feel for.

Just wow.
Love is complicated, who came up with such a ridiculous idea?

Eye colour.

I know a boy with blue in his eyes,
A light blue-turquoise, like the sea, not the skies,
It's like being a bird looking down on a tropical beach,
And the deep prussian blue rocks are scattered over the reefs,

He said I have eyes, like pools of swiss chocolate,
Full of mystery and barely concealed intelligence,
I got lost in them.

I know a girl who has autumn in her eyes,
But they turn to emerald green, only when she cries.
(Yeah, you know who you are.)

And someone, with dark dark eyes,
They almost look black,
But in the sunshine, they shine, they shine with gold.

Popop.

When you look at someone, you do notice their eyes.
When you're in love you tend to gaze into them.
And when you love someone, you see things, beautiful things, that people otherwise, would think are not there.

Today, I went...

I went up a valley today.
To look at a reservior and a riverside.

You could see green , and straw coloured grass, speckled with purple heather that hadn't yet blossomed, because spring comes slower in the North.
Small farmhouses, and sheep everywhere, wandered close to the road.
And ever so small at the bottom of the valleys, you could see villages.

A sharp left turn off the road would be an easy suicide.
The thought thrilled me. I was scared, but I almost wanted to do it, because it'd be a fun way to die.

I got the greatest urge, to stop the car and just... play.
The steep slopes, and loose limestone rocks, would be amazing for playing on. Rolling around and down. Running. Finding overhangs, and sheltering under the rock.
I'd be afraid of falling into a bog, under the heather and never being seen again.
But It'd be fun.

Places like that,
forests, jungle, places full of nature, and hidden danger, theyre so much fun to just play on, and wander round.

Concrete is the only playground we are granted now. Rooftops and metal buidings.
But you aren't as free when you play there..

Sometimes you can't have your hearts desire.

" If only, if only, the woodpecker sighs,
The bark on the tree was as soft as the skies.
The wolf waits below, hungry and lonely,
And cries to the moon, if only, if only."

-Louis Sachar, Holes

hate.hate.hate.hate.hate.hate.hate.

If you never stand up for yourself, or what you believe in, you'll never have any ememies.

A really great person has people hate them who they've never even heard of.

It has occurred to me, there is so much hate around these days.
Also, I'm in my own little world, there are people in the year below me, and the year below that, who have been around me for a long time. In the same building every single day, and I never knew they existed. I wouldn't have recognised their faces if they were in town.
And now, I don't stop seeing them.
Like when you learn the meaning of a new word, I seem to see that word so many times in the next week.

But these people who I don't know exist, notice me.
Everyone seems to know who I am.
Even outside my school, random people know me as
 "the girl who dresses strangely and skips around town"

And I've never spoken to 90% of the people in my school. Never seen them, because I'm not looking.
Yet they hate me!
I'd be offended, if it wasn't funny and slightly pathetic, I'm almost flattered. To dislike someone with such vigour and never spoken to them, never looked deeper that what other people say, and how i'm weird :)


Whether they love you or hate you, they're still thinking about you.
And the only thing worse than being talked about, is not being talked about.

You sex beast, you.

Everyone seems to think sexsexsex is on my mind,
but on the contrary, it's lovelovelove.

I'm open to sex.
I'd try about anything.

But love comes first.
Sex doesn't matter.
I have needs, but I'm not a slave to them.
I joke about it, because it's just there.

Seriously, there's more to me than people think.
Mostly its a facade.

Oscar Wilde is a great inspiration

But as any inspiration, I think he has flaws in his thought. He is quite cynical.

In his character Lord Henry, he says


"I believe that if one man were to live out his life fully and completely, were to give form to every feeling, expression to every thought, reality to every dream -- I believe that the world would gain such a fresh impulse of joy that we would forget all the maladies of mediaevalism, and return to the Hellenic ideal-- to something finer, richer than the Hellenic ideal,it may be."
"But the bravest man amongst us is afraid of himself. The mutilation of the savage has its tragic survival in the self-denial that mars our lives. We are punished for our refusals. Every impulse that we strive to strangle broods in the mind and poisons us. The body sins once, and has done with its sin, for action is a mode of purification. Nothing remains then but the recollection of a pleasure, orthe luxury of a regret.

The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself, with desire for what its monstrous laws have made monstrous and unlawful. It has been said that the great events of the world take place in the brain.
It is in the brain, and the brain only, that the great sins of the world take place also. You, Mr. Gray, you yourself, with your rose-red youth and your rose-white boyhood, you have had passions that have made you afraid, thoughts that have fined you with terror, day-dreams and sleeping dreams whose mere memory might stain your cheek with shame --"
 
 
 
 
Imagine if you did everything you ever wanted, if you dared to.
It'd be glorious.
Surely the idea is valid, with someee hesitation.
I disagree with adultery and cheating.
 
Imagine if we gave action, like they do in the movies.
Declared our love beneath window balconies, stopped aeroplanes, sang a public love song.
 
If we loved with all our hearts with no fear of being hurt, or of anyones judgement!
 
I try and live like that, I'm scared as much as anyone else, but I try.
I wish to wear my heart on my sleeve, so I have no regrets, so I get hurt, so when I'm old, I'd make mistakes all over again just to feel youth!
 
 
Me and Leo, believe in being brave. We're afraid, make no mistake.
My mother told me never to rely on anyone but myself, to be independant and strong.
Leo is a lion, he ought to be brave and strong.
 
To be brave, I think everyone is afraid at first, and to overcome it, you must do things that scare you.
And so I shall..
 
 

Music

So Emily, I know you think in music.
Beasts think in feelings, instinct.

Most people think in words.
Kinda weird that people from different places think in different languages.

If you could read minds, could you read the mind of a Spaniard?
Would you hear spanish words?
At the same time, would you feel human feelings, and understand it anyway?

Words aren't as big as actions.
But we still need words to express ourselves, and words have always come to me.
I write poems in my spare time. They just flow like the peaceful streams, gliding over rocks, and falling in a pale curtain over cliff faces, into pools of more water.

I even tried to write a song the other day. When I love a special person, I write poetry, for lack of any other strong enough way to express my emotion.
Oscar Wilde says the poets with the best poetry, feel the least.
And the poets that feel the most, with vibrant lives, have awful poetry, because the poetry inside them goes into their life.

I don't think it's true, or I think, I'd have awful poetry.
But I agree, that when you live your poetry, there is less time to write down the feelings you capture.
Then again, the more feeling you feel in your life, the more inspiration for poetry
Oh the power in words.
I think a great name, can encourage the makings of a great person.
Like a book with a great name, you are drawn to it and want to know more. It may be an utter disappointment, but it still drew you in, and fascinated you, its the first step to revealing a great inside.

Anyway, I found myself, writing a song, and singing it's tune, but there's no background music that comes to me. Just the music in the voice.

Pop.

I say pop a lot.
It kinda means I had a thought. Like a metaphorical thought bubble.
So if I say it, I'm thinking, or I was, or I just moved from or onto a new thought.


Sometimes when I think about love, I think about how it's an illusion
but how it's so believable because of how it makes us feel.
How it hurts

Then if I'm in a deeper philosophical mood, I think about how life is exactly the same.
We're just matter, held together by atoms.
There's us, and life, and the world.
You'd think that this was all there is if we didn't know there's a universe outside of it.
But, we feel.
Pain and joy.


Then I had a really weird night, where I was tired and in the car, and I have my deeper moments while I'm driving (technically being driven)

I think about how, when I listen to music on my ipod, the feeling of the scenery outside changes. From sad, to happy, to hopeful, etc

How seasons change, and your mood with it. A cold winter morning is depressing, kinda hopeful and beautiful, but in a tragic way. And a summer afternoon its buttery relaxation, while the sun sinks, fizzing out.

How I'm in a metal cage, speeding past life.

How at night I can look up, in the middle of the countryside and see stars, millions, because there isnt any light pollution.
Stars are just like humans - they burn hot and bright, but theyre so small, and they'll burn out one day.
We have something so precious and fragile, and we'd throw it away, for love, for money, for folly.

Sometimes I see a sunset, and I stare, because I didnt realise that in real life, you could see such beautiful vivid colours, and in ENGLAND, where its all green and grey.

I thought about the prussian blue of the evening sky, and how, there was so much more outside.
If a greater creature had claws that could slice through reality if youd see the gashes in the sky, of white, or darkest black. Blacker or whiter than any of our colours.

I thought why are we here? What purpose do we serve? We're just like little bacteria, living our lives and reproducing without really knowing why.
Are we making something? And for what? Fuel? Energy? Drugs? Money?
Maybe a creature feeds off us.
Maybe if we were not here, the world would die, because we give it life, and without our hot burning life, the Earth would be a lonely empty slab of rock.

If we look at the animal world, it would seem the apex of our lives would be to reproduce.
But we humans do it different.
It's not all about new life anymore.
In fact, if I could say what humans lived for, now. I'd say pleasure.

School is so we can learn, so we can fend for ourselves in a tough world and have pleasure and safety when we're older.
People leave school for short term pleasure.
Hobbies, pleasure.
Sex, pleasure.
Shopping, pleasure

To me, love is the greatest pleasure. And I probably don't dedicate my life to love for the sake of love. It's for it's beauty and the pleasure it brings. Infinite paradise. And if love were to end, I carry on optimistic, for the hope of more love and more pleasure.

Pop.
I'm thinking too much.

Hide and seek.

So I was thinking bout the people in our lives.

There are the ones we know everything, perhaps too much about, and others that we can never figure out and we know hardly anything about.
The latter kinda intrigue us, cause we're curious
and the former kinda intrigue us, cause we don't know how they can bare so much.

Then I thought, the people who hide a lot, what they do show, is it more important/relevant?
And what the open people don't show, is that what's most important?

Everyone hides something, conceals something.

I show people lots, they know so much about me, but I think they have no idea - Cause I conceal something in every conversation I have.
I call it creative truth telling.

How can we know when we truly love?

Is love not love, in all forms?
Some loves are meant for a night and not a lifetime, but it's love just the same.
Is being in love, or true love, a different form?
Does fidelity make your love stronger, or more fickle?

Should you give up on ones you love? Perhaps if it for their benefit.
And which love is greater? The unselfish love, where you'd do anything for their happiness, even if it means you're apart. Or the selfish love, where you'd fight anything or anyone to have them, throw aside your morals, even if they don't want you back?

I think I'll spend my whole life wondering about love, and no one will ever be able to define it for everyone.





I tell everyone I love them, I fling the word about because it's true.
I just don't tell them the extent of my love.

Puppies.

I've been thinking about the puppy I wanna have.
I was watching 101 Dalmatians and I thought...

'All of the dog owners look like their dogs..'

Now, I would like an Irish Red Setter.
Their hair looks freakishly like mine O_O

I like them fat girls. I like them skinny girls.

I really hate all this pressure on girls to be skinny.
Yeah there's some on boys to, but only if theyre morbidly obese and then it's probably for their own good.

Yes, I make jokes about it. I've even been to the debate about it, and I laughed at the idea of a fat person having an alarm going off at the till if theyre overweight and try to buy fatty foods.

But really, I like them carrying a little bitty weight girls.
And everyone knows I love boys with chub <3

Thing is, it's girls that create this pressure. Magazines and such tell you that you should be a certain size and often show you a little too much, but girls and their snide comments enforce it.


I SAY I LIKE THEM FAT GIRLS.
Be a real girl.
Be proud :)

Don't get the wrong idea here.

I truly love this boy, and I know he's a bit shit.
If you hate him it's probably justified, but I love him like my own blood, forever :)
Few people love him at all.
And that's it.

I'm falling in love with Mufasa.

Not sure if it's good or bad.
I'm exposed here.

I love this girl :)

Gabbobsponge, I swear you hide everything from people, and you never tell me anything. But you're loveeely and you rarely ever say a bad word about anyone and everyone loves you :) (Even if you have voices in your head, I still think you're quiet and a great big contradiction )

This is my best friend. Just letting you all know.

(the one on the right is such a freak.) <3

This is quite possibly the most random blog post ever.

Fudgecaking pigeons are everywhere.

Seriously, in this country they're in every city, town and village.
Even in more remote countryside we have wood pigeons.

In Thailand, I see more pigeons.
Mostly in the cities, but yes, even in Cha-Am by the beach I can hear the coooooo coooooo of a flipping pigeon.

Never been to a country where I havent seen at least on pigeon.

It's kinda creepy how theyre always perched on rooftops, watching you pass by.

Makes you think, what saucy things has a pigeon seen?
Shady ball-licking activity.
People falling in love.
Someone being run over.
Women buying sandwiches for lunch.
Men buying burgers for lunch.

If you put cameras on pigeons, you might catch more criminals.
Cause theyre everywhere. Everywhere. Yes everywhere.
(Pigeons, not criminals. Though I suppose there are lots of them too)