Fragmentation

There is something irresistibly intriguing about lonely people. Lonely people who though they are lonely, are completely absorbed in their own activities, who seem like they don't require others.
I was thinking this as I watched the beginning of what turned out to be a rather strange movie.
There is a mystery about contented loneliness.
It begs me to discover its secrets.

Taken on the *Washington* coast.

I am not good at writing consistently, if you've been here before you're aware of that. I started writing this post a couple weeks ago, and am only now returning to it. 

I'm just not sure what to share. There are thoughts but they seem to melt away when I try to write them.

My third grade english teacher told me that I did write my thoughts in order, and told me i should try to group similar ideas in the same paragraph. And there began my tendency towards fragmentation. Word is constantly alerting me that what I just left as a sentence is actually a fragment. All of that is said to explain why I am not bothering to make this post flow, its fighting nature, and today Smokey just isn't up for it.

The last couple days I've been watching a lot of Meekakitty on youtube. 

Watching too much youtube makes me question my identity, yet gives me ideas and hope at the same time.

I fly home (back to school) in a couple days. I'm quite looking forward to reading on the plane.

Currently I'm reading The Picture of Dorian Gray I'm not too far in because I didn't want to finish it and have nothing left to read at the airport. 

Once I get to school, I am excited that my Pre-Ordered copy of The Fault In Our Stars is waiting for me (along with the need to purchase an all too expensive business textbook, rahrg).  So I suppose I should hurry to finish Dorian Gray before then, or it shall be postponed. 

Being around my family this break has reminded me of why I want to write a book someday. Oh the hopes and dreams. 

Thank you for reading.

October

I love crisp air. Cold and crisp. Not wet, not humid, but like invisible ice. 

It wakes up the brain.

I love sunlight on leaves. Through leaves, highlighting leaves,doesn't matter just sunlight and leaves. Together. 

I love gray. I bought a new jacket this weekend. It is gray. It was blissfully cold enough to wear it today. 

It is basically made of felt, it has buttons, a hood, and a collar. I love it. It looks nice, but medium nice. Not formal, but pretty.

The next thing on my list of material items to obtain is a nice pair of boots. Leathery, black mid-calf, flat or low stable heel. Pretty, but practical. Rain proof, and walkable, but attractive. 

I love walking in neighborhoods. 

My boyfriend and I have gone on two walks in our neighborhood. Commenting on houses, holding hands, and being outside in the fading evening light. Not dusk, but not direct sunlight either. Yesterday he found a pile of free things, and I got a beautiful orange crate out of the deal. 

I also love decorating our house [my roommates and my's house. I live with three other girls, just to clarify ;) ]. This weekend i had some time so I put up another string of pictures and popped some keys in a picture frame and hid it on one of the basement study/craft room's windowsills. I love creative time. Making dekorations time. Art time. 

Perhaps that is why i am perpetually altering my wardrobe. Getting dressed is kind of like art. putting the patterns and colors together. Deciding on my style for the day. Trying to find satisfaction in how it looks, and all the practical variables of comfort. 

A principle of mine is that a true artist can make art out of anything. Don't have canvas? Substitute cardboard. Things like that. A true artist can take whatever materials that are at hand and create with them. That is what i try to do. Found object art, at least in piece. And it is some of the most satisfying. 

However, it does not always look "professional". And some how looking professional has come to matter to me as well. It is to be handmade, but not look homemade. The difference is vital.

Handmade is craftsman ship and skill, homemade is makeshift and lesser quality (we are not talking about baked goods here).

A while ago I assigned myself an hour of writing time every week. This is the first week I've taken it. I am glad that i did. It was not very beautiful, but I decided to share it with you anyways. Because blgs have been requested, and perhaps the pictures will redeem the words. 

Pictures and Quotes

Its been much too long. Everything is going pretty well in my world. Summer is drawing to a close and I'm content to wait a couple weeks to get back to my world, but it will be really nice when I get there.

 

 I've got a thing for sailboats.

"It's the things you fight for and struggle with before earning that have the greatest worth. When something's difficult to come by, you'll do that much more to make sure it's even harder -if not impossible- to loose." ~ Along for the Ride by Sarah Dessen 

[I also read This Lullaby by her both were very good and deeper than expected]

  

"It is astonishing just how much of what we are can be tied to the beds we wake up on in the morning, and it is astonishing how fragile that can be" ~Coraline by Niel Gaiman

 

I'm not sure what daisies wont tell but I saw this cushion at an antique store and it intrigued me.  Any idea on what secrets daisies have?

  

I found my first Nerdfighter note recently. I was happy. It was in a copy of Paper Towns at a used bookstore. I did replace it so whoever bought the book still got a note.

I pre-ordered John Green's next book The Fault In Our Starts, I'm excited it got pushed up to January.

I'm 20 years old (no its no where near my birthday). 

I've liked odd numbered ages better for a while now. 

I loved being 19. I was just old enough, but still young enough to be a little irresponsible.

I realize that I am young, but 20 feels so much heavier.

I'll never have "teen" in my age ever again.

Good bye childhood.

Adulthood, I'm glad I've come to terms with you, 

but we're not friends yet.

Just a few tainted thoughts to share.

What's your summer like?

I'm relaxing in a hammock. with a blanket for the wind.
Painted my nails this morning, and they're already a little dented.
Dog cruled up nicely on the grass next to me.
Looking up at the sunlight through the leaves, but perfectly shaded.
Pandora is playing.

This is one facet of a perfect summer day.

I feel like I could fade into the wind.
Not even my sunburn could keep me tethered.
Why did we build indoors?
How do we get stuck there?
Its not where we belong.

Well. Maybe if its raining.

Moonlit Flowers

Here is a little more from Celia Land. Such a work in progress, but this is one of my very favorite bits.

The pic isn't much, but its all I had for night time.

It was Saturday. She was painting. Not directly on the walls, but on some cardboard she had tacked up. It was a nightscape, planets and stars and every thing in dark, moonlit shades. The flowers that grew by the moonlight were the most stunning. They represented her soul. As she understood it. All the nights she had the later shift, and came home and went outside to stare at the stars. Sometimes she waited and the clouds never gave her a hole. Sometimes she fell asleep and woke, freezing, to the most beautiful sights. Constellations she had memorized, slowing moving across the sky to positions she’d never before witnessed due to the stupid sleeping schedule inflicted on her by others.

            Those nights her soul was the flowers, beautiful and dim. No longer stunning and resplendent as they had been in the day. This night had been going on about two years now, and she didn’t see the sun begging to rise anytime soon. For the flowers in the painting, they would never see day, perhaps they never had. Her soul felt the same, it vaguely remembered the times before, when her hair was light and she had danced through her house, driving Amanda crazy. But now things were different.

Welcome to Summer

I redecorated for you. Now what to say.
As always I have been terribly unfaithful.
Even now I have no idea what to say. 
So many choices, story, poem, random stuff about my life.
Or I could go dig up something I've already written. Yep, I pick that one.

This is from my NaNoWriMo attempt in November:

She sat in the center of the shop against the wall and sipped the warm sugar and caffeine slowly. She watched as people flowed in and out irregularly. People are not like the tides, they do not march to a regular beat, but their different rhythms swirl around each other beautifully. Celia sat sometimes with her eyes closed, sometimes with her brain miles away. 

 

A Half Truth

The air is relentless in its moving

In it’s rushing by

Can you see why we’re cold?

Because we never stop

When you run out of breath

When you are forced to stop.

When I hurt too much to run

That is when we’re warm.

The air stops swirling around

And for a moment

All is calm

There is no fear

Only warmth.

Then the wind remembers

The breeze continues on its pilgrimage to find what can’t be found by going

And you move

And I move

We are gone

Swallowed perpetually by the cold

Two “I”s

Separated by this blizzard without snow

But no one would ever know

No one would ever know.

--

     I wrote this back in February, found it today, and thought it was worth a post, especially as I am so unfaithful to you all.