a missed telephone call.

trust that as soon as it really comes to crunch time with my thesis, i look back to this neglected little interweb scrap.

the final lines of the title story in the collection i'm analysing for my thesis (or supposed to be analysing, right now) read:

"I could hear my heart beating. I could hear everyone's heart. I could hear the human noise we sat there making, not one of us moving, not even when the room went dark."

i'm having one of those hearing-heart days. the beating is conspicuous, and i can feel it - it's trapped and uptight. an ugly, tired feeling.

one unexpected offer that is as unsettling as it is exciting.
one hope for more guidance than i expect He'll give.
one hopeless wish; one love with a head full of hard and sad things that can't get out or over, and that i can't fix with all the beautiful words in the world.
one growing sense of panic at the largeness of this thing i've agreed to do.

too many ones. i know it's childish but i want you to decide and end all these, please. i'm not grown up enough for all these adult-sized dot to dots.

Obviously

We Should Always Be Together.

notes

there's room for you here
we'll work out the specifics as we go.

an adventure

the sea is loud late at night, without competition from sea-soaked, sunscreened families, and the relentless buzz of nearby traffic. it's very noisy, and it's very quiet. they're completely alone on a soft pillow of sand. moored. it's dark: midnight's grey washing all around; water a deep creamy coffee brown, white-tipped with frothy crashing waves. it's cold, too. a tough, gritty wind that rises, falls, whips up sand, blues lips, and chills bare legs.

she's wearing a summer dress. she wraps herself in a beach towel, and in his arms. they talk about big and lasting things.

how much.

my mind is constantly occupied with finding inventive ways to describe this - constantly because none ever satisfies. it is really quite fun. it's liberating to move beyond the realm of the easily explainable and therefore codified, controlled, boxed and ribbon-tied. we are anything but that, and it's fantastic.

p.s. thomas and isobel are finally dating. this is very cute.

angus and julia stone - mango tree

sweet, gorgeous, lovely. an old song that never tires.

from her lips i heard her say
can i have you
caught up on what to say
i said you do
i said you do
i said you do.

heavily backwards

I want to tell you what it feels like to stand defiant and small against the wind.

And what it feels like to do too many things and then to stop and awkwardly catch breath but not quite enough so you still feel sort of tight and without.

It's not like in the movies. But then you all know that already.

I want to tell you about the day all the words became cliches.

cross my heart.

i woke up to pixelated words that made me smile
a lot
i am eating toast

water and some other things

unstable and over-thinking, thinking so much i no longer think at all, atop a messy wave, blown to and fro by imaginary winds, wanting quick assurance, doubting you, without need, without cause, without. this without that i negotiate so poorly. having received so much and known so deeply and been filled so full, but feeling so scattered, forgetting the things of five minutes past, unable to pierce a murky view, UP and (down) always, bobbing. breakable. vulnerable. living inside a man-made box that's all misfiring cerebral circuits, and conjured conversations that never were or will be - at least not exactly. and that's the point? the spontaneity? cluttered chaos of spoken movements in the "instance". the thrill of the chase of words across the air and imprisoned on the page...you you you. i'm heeding His word but needing your guarantee. (this makes no sense, and you know it. you do.) x. answer respond reply rejoin react. keeping it courteous and aloof maybe / except i can't do polite and beige. only operating overthetop. in ter act.

atmosphere

yes i've been sick for almost a week
yes i just bought cupcakes for my family because i have a feeling i am in trouble for never being home
yes i had very little sleep last night

but things are really really really good.

attacked by to-do lists

i'm so incredibly moody these days. my smile falls at the smallest thing. it's really quite annoying.

rachael yamagata - be be your love

8am

there was a girl with dyed black hair and a heavy metal festival t-shirt on the train yesterday morning. the bands had names like massive hammer violence and it was all black splashed with red. it was an all ages festival...seemed weird to have such a h.core tee for an event that welcomes twelve-year-olds. she sat down near me and started drawing little emo princesses in a notepad. they were kinda dodgy but she was being really precise and careful, and she'd scribble them out if she didn't like them. and then she put arrows next to them and wrote appropriate, matter-of-fact little labels like 'long black hair'.

bright

take my hand - take me up,
move me above the suburbs,
above the grid-mapped day to day.
higher than winter-tinged clotheslines
and copper-coloured rooftops,
leaving meandering white marks
like a wayward scrawling skywriter in the blue.
we're dreaming above in a vibrant now.
there's you and me and a patch of grass
and the landscape shifts while the sun slips;
we're sitting in the sky.
there's crumbs in our pockets
(and flowers in my hair)
an elevated picnic:
we're parked in mid-air.

some leisurely cafe-penned poetry that stutters and stumbles, trying to tell the tiny things that make this this. small, flat symbols pressed on torn paper, gleaming behind this computer screen - little flighty figments, indentations insufficient to capture thoughts and words and looks. but words are addictive.

landlocked behind rolled up windows. you say good bye a million times but you don't leave.

a today psalm

i wish i had written this.

the historical pursuit.

looking for the source that will - change - everything. that will explain the fullness of the then in the vibrancy of the now. (this is a pipe dream.)

film

i am sitting in my room at my computer writing a music review. lara just came in, i showed her something, she made a cryptic comment, i asked her what she meant, she wouldn't tell me, i asked her again, she wouldn't answer, she went to leave my room. i tried to stop her from leaving by holding onto her arm. but i am sitting in a rolly chair so it wasn't all that effective...i just ended up rolling along behind her on my chair.

we laughed about it for about five minutes.

writing an essay on shakespeare.

hmm my ideas are everywhere. some are in my head and some are written on paper and some are typed in Word but i swear there are some that are floating out the door of my room right now and others that are balancing precariously on my bookshelves, light fixtures, piles of clothes and cds, etc...

everyday rendezvous

so apparently i'm more of a girl than i thought i was. who knew?

// forward

i think that
in every relationship that ends
- with the exclusion of those that close with raised voices, slammed doors, enraged insides -
there is always an uneven distribution of affection.
the boyfriend likes the girlfriend more than the girlfriend likes the boyfriend
or the girlfriend likes the boyfriend more than the boyfriend likes the girlfriend.
one of the
two.
one is more heavily invested, more deeply attached, more fully immersed.
so the aim is
to find a person who likes you as much as you like them: a compatibility not only of faith, values, personality, aspirations
but of intensity.
more accurately, to find a person with whom an equilibrium of romantic feeling can be reached and, most importantly,
sustained
with
out
end; which at some point inevitably involves a shift into the realm of choice - a decision to love with longevity, with a stunning openness, indefiniteness, scope. maybe because of beauty, but definitely through and in (and not simply despite) ugliness.