Cells

I am learning to fill the spaces with nothing at all. Words better left unsaid eventually lose their meaning; time is your friend.

Science Fiction

This song turns my psyche inside out and leaves me so unsure but more certain all at once. I guess if (when) I ever finish Infinite Jest, my next read will be Frank Herbert's Dune.

I am such a shameless Grimes fangirl but whatever...

Journey

Cribellate

A sharp glint of memory leaves a metallic taste of rot in my mouth. Too unsavoury to speak of in all but the most candid of confessionals. Every so often I remember that this happened, happened to me. I know it's not my fault and yet it's a shame that I will never shake. I can't. I am still a little girl inside, maybe I stopped growing the day my innocence was taken away.

Frames

The roof has been blown off and the blue sky is blinding. Freedom can be terrifying for those who have never been able to comprehend it, or contemplated it. I finally get my breath back and turn my face toward the sun. Was it actually just me holding myself prisoner all this time?

Paper Wasps

It pays to remember that nothing in this life is permanent. Not even sorrow.

Sygenetic

It may not be flawless, and yet it is still perfect.

Vapours

On forgiveness:

(Excerpt from an article by Tim Adams for theguardian.com)

The first piece of art that Karen Green made after her husband, David Foster Wallace, took his own life on 12 September 2008, was a forgiveness machine. She is standing in the neat, white studio at her house at Petaluma, north of San Francisco, explaining to me how the machine worked and how it didn't.

"Before David died," she says, "I had been working on some machines, with a five-year old – the son of a friend who had a gallery down the road from mine." There had been a recreating-a-pig-from-bacon machine, and a prototype for a machine that cleverly pitted dates. The day that her husband hanged himself she had been working on a political machine that involved a bright-coloured circus tent, elephants and donkeys. For a long while after that, she says, she couldn't make any art at all, wondered if she ever would again, but eventually, tentatively, she developed the idea for her conciliatory Heath-Robinson. "The forgiveness machine was seven-feet long," she says, "with lots of weird plastic bits and pieces. Heavy as hell." The idea was that you wrote down the thing that you wanted to forgive, or to be forgiven for, and a vacuum sucked your piece of paper in one end. At the other it was shredded, and hey presto.

Green put the machine on display at a gallery in Pasadena near the Los Angeles suburb, Claremont, where she and Wallace had lived in the four years they had been married. She was fascinated by the effect that it had on people who used it. "It was strange," she suggests, "it all looked like fun, but then when the moment came for people to put their message actually in it, they became anxious. It was like: what if it works and I really have to forgive my terrible parent or whoever."

The visions I endure, are simply entertainment

Apocalyptic nightmares have me killing fathers in my sleep as I gouge rivulets across my palms. Did the fog of the dream chase the memory away, or were we ever unsure of exactly what we were running from? Vivid however, is the strength I found in separation as I led a brutal coup that bought a few more precious seconds of safety. Only to snap my eyes open and clean the flesh from under my fingernails.


Title lyrics taken from Tesseract - Dystopia

Eschaton

On occasion she is reminded that she ought not to play with the big kids for she does not have a poker face to wear. And so decides anyway that she prefers herself hotheaded to calculating.

Pirate Piggy

Family comes in all shapes and sizes but it always fits.

Foldaway

What other items can you dismantle for storage? Surely not just furniture and knick-knacks and other objects of similarly cold inconvenience. How about people, thoughts, and feelings? Ideas? Can we not also tuck them away for a season or two?

Oceania

COLLAB

Another of those "I cannot believe that I only just found this" moments.

The original is beautiful but something about this mix featuring Kelis is all the more compelling to me.

Flow

The river is there to remind me that we need not be turbulent in order to be dynamic.

Downcast

A spotlight borne of resentment tends to be less forgiving. Flaws now apparent can no longer be adjusted with a flattering filter. What is done, is done.

Bustle

I love to be alone in a crowd while others curl and unfurl around me in what appears to be some kind of organised chaos. I bask in the interactions of others, the gentle hum of hearts connecting as I centre myself in my own company. Something about this simple symphony reminds me that we are all one and the same.

Every morning there are mountains to climb

I sit here calm and cheerful. Charming, even. It is only when my eyes inadvertently lock with the icy blues of the lady across from me that the lump in my throat resurfaces. This is kind of a big deal.

The cloud I carry has been torn open and from it heavy, silent tears fall. The sun still shines beyond, through it all. I know this because despite everything, I feel only warmth.


And so I breathe.
And I listen to Grimes.


Title lyrics taken from Grimes - Realiti

Parmula

Be sure to grow a thick skin because everybody will be out to protect their own.

Tune!

It's true, I have been shamelessly rocking out all around town listening to this track non-stop. And I don't care.

A resurgence in metal ingestion always seem to precede some kind of personal growth. And we all know why.

🤘😬

SONG OF THE DAY

Union Station

SCHISM

One of the best by well, by arguably the best (of our time, anyway).

This song speaks volumes to me in so many ways. No further explanation necessary because interpretations can vary. Read into it what you will. This is the world of TOOL.

Pulp

How is it that on paper it all makes sense? With a calm, clear mind you can gently trace the heart strings back and see that it's really not so bad. It seems a good cartographer can put you at ease, because it turns out that life is not two-dimensional. You can read a map a million times and still get a rude shock once you're out on the field.

Silo

A bruised ego is no match for a heart that is full.

The ornaments are, they're going around

Celibate, I mean celebrate life! An interesting article and one that resonates with some of my personal values. Thank you, Elephant Journal for articulating something that I struggle to.

What Would Happen?

Title lyrics from Björk - Who Is It?

Flying Fish

The Hindus might say it's the work of Lord Shiva, but it seems as though everybody is being tested by something of a shakedown. My sister has turned to astrology for an explanation, meanwhile I will (not so patiently) wait for the universe to lead the way. Everything is how it should be, and everything will be alright. Maybe we all just got too comfortable and nobody has ever found adventure in contentment.

Echo

Solitude is usually thrust upon me and in turn accepted begrudgingly. It is only after a some time spent alone that I begin to unwind and stretch out within myself. I am so quick to forget how whole this makes me, how essential it is. The peace that follows claiming ownership of personal residence is such a delight. So then why do I leave myself as a last resort?

Chaat

I am craving the homecoming of Indira Ghandi Airport. The chaos, the connection of my feet on Indian soil, total immersion in vibrant cacophony. Somehow my heart is forever wandering back.

Unrequited

I thirst for a knowledge that I do not care to be burdened with. An electric undercurrent to all my curiosities.

Mirrors sideways, who cares what's behind?

Fluid and ominous, it sinks under your skin and tickles the back of your throat. A damp chill that meanders, creeps, seeps into absolutely all and everything. It will never let up. Resistance is futile.

What is this substance that dances at the edges of the winds of change?


Title lyric taken from Deftones - Passenger

Capsule

There's a piece of me I keep hidden, that I save just for myself. It's buried deep below the shiny facade, the rubble, whatever you may find on the surface at the time. I dug it up the other day, or maybe struck it by accident. I had forgotten what's inside. This piece I save just for myself? It turns out that it's filled with pieces of everybody else.

Earthworms

I walked in the weather today, underneath an electric sky lighting up the late afternoon with its thunderous applause. I relished in the rain soaking through my clothes and washing down my face. The heavens had opened up and were reaching down to raise the river I marched alongside, quenching my thirst for relief from this hot summer's day. I felt clear, I felt calm. It was all so delicious. I hope the rain keeps on falling until this long, steamy season has dried up and left.

Pranayama

I must catch those moments of love and light that shine crystalline, beautiful. I shall greedily suck them in and pour them into my heart over and over and over again, until it all rings true once more.

Iron

I feel as though a layer has been peeled away... no - torn, ripped off. I feel exposed, vulnerable. It gives me goosebumps. The wheel has begun to turn.

Treads

A firefly. A cheeky zip of light that bounces down this dark - albeit short - hallway. Despite my confidence that all is not lost, any reminders are as welcome as they are unexpected. Not today, not tomorrow, and maybe not even the next day; but soon, this penance will give way to quiet reflection.

My Mind's Sedate

'...Sometimes I sneak around and listen in subways. Or I listen at soda fountains, and do you know what?'
'What?'
'People don't talk about anything'
'Oh, they must!'
'No, not anything. They name a lot of cars or clothes or swimming-pools mostly and say how swell! But they all say the same things and nobody says anything different from anyone else.'

Ray Bradbury - Farenheit 451

Dolomedes

I peer into the bottomless well, willing my eyes to penetrate the blackness. Unforgiving, empty. I pull myself onto the cool brick edging and glance over my shoulder as if I am being followed. I am alone. The night air is brisk. I am moving faster than I imagined I would. I check again. I am alone. I slide off the edge and into the abyss below. No turning back now.

Somebody calls out my name.

I clutch at the smooth walls for nothing, silently tangling with darkness as I fall.

It's too late.
And I have changed my mind.

Like the wind

To run. Wild and free. I always say it's not about running away but just running. Not this time. I dream about finding out how far my little legs might take me.

Minerals

Navigating a ruthless society is perpetually taxing on a heart that refuses to harden.