Current mood: calm


the sun is shining

tendering soft skins of young dog walkers

massaging wrinkles of aging lovers

walking across the bridge

lifting myself on the top of my toes with short nails

painted blue inside wool socks

watching water breaking ice

invisibly

the striking force of softness

shattering pieces by pieces that strong icy glass

wandering what's hiding under melting ice

maybe dead green crococile defrosting

maybe jelly balls falling out from tiny grey toad's belly

broken open into tadpoles into the world of tiny grey toads

maybe tiny fishes bleeding their silver tails inside big ones' estomagos

or swept into fisherman's net at the end of their journey

where Ontanabee river run into some blue sea

reincarnated into sushi

maybe a world's sleeping

maybe a world's cracking under the ice so cristalline

I am

in my time on my toes

one foot gave in to the law of gravity

one foot rabelled to flow with serenity

busy watching the beauty

busy wandering the unknown

too busy to hear the cracking, the withering, the blooming, the tide raising, the river flowing inside

me.

delicious red apple of that suckass cafe
Current mood: calm


I don't like the word "hurt" cuz it is so abstract yet so simplified. I can't neither touch nor comprehend sometimes what that word means.It can't neither touch nor express all that messy surreal orginal labrynth of human feelings either. I ate a delicious red apple today. Sweet and crispy to the point of perfection in my simple standard. Everything's turning. I watched water breaking ice. Sky was grey. I punched a hole and threw a piece of circle from my lifescape. It hurt. Metaphorically so, but just like that insane movie eternal sunshine in the spotless mind, i will be missing this piece and it will chase my memory on and off. Season always changes. So do lovers and friends. So do I. Sad and beautiful simultaneously, my life isn't the red apple. But i guess that's ok.

Delicious like red apple we were. I bite into the sweetness. Ate slowly. No matter how you tried to keep munching, i wanted to finish eating the damn apple. It's not that apple isn't perfect. It is just I' m not red apple, not even close to perfection. I keep escaping to... where... I don't even know. But I do it anyway.

Apple's gone, only seed left. I threw the seed. You tasted bitterness. Some sweetness still lingered on my tongue.But soon would be gone. Seed would grow into something beautiful even without me seeing it.

I am writing an exciting essay with wonderful company of mocha and bagels on a not so exciting reality of women and war.

Poetry is good though. Like this one..

The Invitation by Oriah Mountain Dreamer

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life's betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon ,"Yes."

It doesn't interest me
to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

It doesn't interest me who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will standin the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.