Idiosyncratic.

10/07/2010

I find, that when I am happy I stop writing in my diary, because I'm too happy to think about anything buy myself, and what has made me happy. The same goes for blogging.

Someone asked me the other day in the common room what I would change if I could create an ideal world. I said nothing. As in, I said the word nothing, not nothing at all.

The love and happiness in my life makes me selfish, maybe it makes me a bad person.
I dedicate my whole life to finding love and happiness, and doesn't that make me selfish, and bad?
I don't care if someone is hurt at the sake of my, and my close circle of people's happiness.

But then, the world wouldn't work, if we were all happy, or all sad.

8/10/2010

Sainsburys, try something new today.

"You know what I think it is? It's all about instincts. Everyone says 'trust your instincts' That's the mantra we're fed from day one. Trust your instincts. So I did. I'd see someone attractive, but my instinct was to do nothing, so I stayed in the corner. I didn't like my job, but my instinct was to stay comfortable, so I kept at it. Instincts are false messengers, they lead you astray. They're knee-jerk reactions like pulling your hand away from a hot stove. They keep you safe. What has safe gotten me? Maybe the pain is a good thing. Maybe it clears the head. Maybe the pain is a needle in your arm drawing a tattoo that can save you from your little life"

Might try it.

6/18/2010

Sometimes I'm too close to giving up on you.

6/17/2010

Old tricks.

I've never known what to do when people are angry or upset.
I can't comfort people.
I can rarely bring myself to say sorry. It feels weird, even if I know I'm wrong.

That makes me a bad friend, right?

6/13/2010

We are only human.

Does it ever occur to people how magical we are?
We heal ourselves, we have amazing thoughts and do incredible things.

Life is so tangible. There are so many base pleasures around us. In what we eat or touch, and every variation of colour that cant always be captured in a picture.
I think as children cause we are still learning about them, they are still fascinating and then, you get used to it. You forget just how amazing the world can be and how simply happiness can be attained.

I forget too.

6/12/2010

Drawings on the fridge.

When I was little I loved drawing animals and everyone would always compliment and say I was amazing.
I loved praise, i lived for admiration.

But Mummy always said I wasn't good enough and I needed practice.
She's never said its amazing.

6/07/2010

I loved the old you, I hate the dick you are now.

^ You see so many facebook groups like that.

When you first meet people, they rarely act their worst.
You get to know them more and you might have troubles,
Cause they're just unfolding more and more,
Into who they really are, because the real you always waits in the wings.

People aren't dickheads (mostly) or bad, they just have faults, just like you, just like me.
It means something that you're close enough to be shown them.
I think a lot of people once realising they have faults, stop loving, don't want to make it work
'Cause everyone seems to have this idea of "perfect" love.

It's never perfect, its messy, mad, and magnificent..
You have to never give up on someone, no matter what happens, you have to love every fault.
That's real love.

I think most people who join these groups are naive.
Yes, I grant there are some who change their clothes and their hairstyles, their friends, cities, continents, but I think their old self is in there, just pretending.
But I think a lot of people, just don't accept peoples flaws as gently as their own.
They don't realise, the people close to you can be harsh, but we live on.

Correct me if I'm wrong

The boy and his falcon - One of my favourite stories.

Once there was a boy.
When the boy was six years old, his father gave him a falcon to train.
Falcons are raptors - killing birds, his father told him, hunters of the sky.
The falcon didnt like the boy, and the boy didnt like it either.
Its sharp beak made him nervous, and its bright eyes always seemed to be watching him.
It would slash at him with its beak and talons when he came near: For weeks his wrists and hands were bleeding.
He didnt know it, but his father had selected a falcon that had lived in the wild for over a year, and thus nearly impossible to tame.
But the boy tried, because his father had told him to make the falcon obedient, and he wanted to please his father. He stayed with the falcon constantly, keeping it awake by talking to it and even playing music to it, because a tired bird meant it was easier to tame.
He learned the equipment, the jesses, the hood, the brail, the leash that bound the bird to his wrist.
He was meant to keep the falcon blind, but he couldnt bring himself to do it - instead he tried to sit where the bird could see him as he touched and stroked its wings, willing it to trust him.
He fed it from his hand, and at first it would not eat. Later, it ate so savagely that its beak cut the skin of his palm. But the boy was glad, because it was progress, and because he wanted the bird to know him, even if the bird had to consume his blood to make that happen.
He began to see that the falcon was beautiful, that its slim wings were built for speed of flight, that it was strong and swift, fierce and gentle. When it dived to the ground, it moved like light. When it learned to circle and come to his wrist, he nearly shouted with delight.
Sometimes the bird would hop onto his shoulder and put its beak in his hair. He knew his falcon loved him, and when he was certain it was not just tamed, but perfectly tamed, he went to his father and showed him what hed done, expecting him to be proud.
Instead, his father took the bird, now tame and trusting, in his hands, and broke its neck.
I told you to make it obedient, his father said and dropped the birds lifeless body to the ground. Instead, you taught it to love you. Falcons are not meant to be loving pets: They are fierce and wild, savage and cruel. This bird was not tamed, it was broken.
Later when his father left him, the boy cried over his pet, until eventually his father sent a servant to take the body of the bird and bury it.
The boy never cried again, and he never forgot what he learned: that to love is to destroy and to be loved is to be the one destroyed.
From City of Bones by Cassandra Clare.

Idiosyncratic.

Be different.

10/07/2010

8/10/2010

Sainsburys, try something new today.

6/18/2010

6/17/2010

Old tricks.

6/13/2010

We are only human.

6/12/2010

Drawings on the fridge.

6/07/2010

I loved the old you, I hate the dick you are now.

There's so much more to me.

half / way

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The boy and his falcon - One of my favourite stories.