tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39451603043663592292024-03-05T17:41:34.025+11:00skeletal dreamsskeletaldreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01259844526339849285noreply@blogger.comBlogger44125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3945160304366359229.post-18561050871032169102012-05-10T17:38:00.001+10:002012-05-10T17:38:18.632+10:00I'm still hereI'm not sure if anyone still visits this blog, but hello. I can't believe it's been so long since I came on here - I honestly don't know what happened. I think I got caught up in the craziness of life and just kind of, forgot. I know that sounds terrible. I also haven't written one piece of poetic writing since my last poem I posted here. Uni is always so busy and stressful, and in a cruel way it sucks the creativity out of me. And I don't know what to write about. It's sad really. Unfortunately I wasn't able to take any writing subjects this semester, so it's just been journalism-based and it's, well, dry! I also apologise if I worried anyone. I didn't mean for it at all.<br />
Well, now that I've remembered how I used to write, how beautiful and kind you readers are, I am going to try to start it up again.<br />
I know it's not much, but here are two snippets of something I wrote down in my notebook one day.<br />
<br />
<i>I wait for the sound of your footsteps, but they become quieter and quieter, until I can hardly hear you at all aside from your socks softly brushing against the dark brown wood sometimes...</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>...Soft light trickles through our translucent curtain and your pale cheeks light up and become golden, but I lay in the dark, the sun just missing me. You look at me briefly and simply turn around, back into the dark, like me.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
I hope everyone is truly well. xskeletaldreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01259844526339849285noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3945160304366359229.post-40761540751096848462011-11-21T13:44:00.001+11:002011-11-21T13:52:18.317+11:00Last Breath<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Helvetica Light'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
I often wonder what your last <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>thoughts were as you <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>lay in that stiff and sterile <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>hospital bed, the poisonous <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>cancer rushing through your blood<span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>finishing to feast on the last<span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>alive cells— <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>turning them black <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>and rotted like the rest.</div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Helvetica Light'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>While you slept your second wife <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>shaved your stubble because you <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>couldn't do it yourself anymore.<span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>Or maybe you were too proud—<span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>maybe you let them grow,</div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Helvetica Light'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
your tiny grey, prickly hairs <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>knowing this would be the last <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>time they crawled from beneath <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>your skin to see the daylight. <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>But they didn’t see the daylight—<span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>they saw that sickly florescent glow. <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>You smelled that sterilized <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>hospital smell that tried to mask<span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>the omnipresent ghost<span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>of sickness and death<span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>and it made you want to die </div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Helvetica Light'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
then and there. You <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>wondered if you’d ever see<span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>the light of day again.</div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Helvetica Light'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Helvetica Light'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
When you lived your final <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>feeble days did you know <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>they would be your last?</div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Helvetica Light'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
Did you weep? Did you weep <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>because you knew you would never <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>feel the sea's precious water<span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>glide past your sunburnt skin,<span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>never feel the warmth <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>of the sun on your face? <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>Did you weep because you <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>could feel each and every <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>dip and rise of your rib bones <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>as if you were skinless— <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>because you could feel <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>your heart slowing and <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>slowing at each breath? <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>Did you weep because you knew <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>you would never taste Grönkohl again, <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>never drink your favourite <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>Schwäbischer whiskey, <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>never see <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>us again? <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>Did you weep because we weren't <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>at your side when you died? <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>Did you even notice we weren't there? <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>I wonder if you forgot us. I wept <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>because we weren't at your side. <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>I'm sorry.<span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Helvetica Light'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
I've never seen your grave. <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>I don't even know if you were buried <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>or cremated. If you sleep in the earth, <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>who lies in the ground next to you? <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>Maybe he forgot to say goodbye too.</div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Helvetica Light'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
I'm forgetting what you look like now<span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>but sometimes I look at that photo<span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>of when you first saw me as a baby<span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>and I remember. You lifted me high <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>and your Bert Reynolds moustache tickled <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>my tiny belly. Mum says I have your lips. <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
<br />
</span>I wish I could remember everything<span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>that has ever happened in as clear detail<span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>as the moment I lived it. I would remember <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>a lot of bad things<span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>but I wouldn’t <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>forget <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Lucida Grande';"><br />
</span>you.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<hr />
A lengthy poem today about my grandfather's death some years ago. I hope it's not too depressing.<br />
I recently finished uni for the year and now I'm looking forward to relaxing for the summer.<br />
I hope you are all well and thank you for reading my poems. I appreciate your kind words so much. x<br />
<br />
photo by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sarahhermans/">Sarah Hermans</a>skeletaldreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01259844526339849285noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3945160304366359229.post-89280215157447934512011-11-05T19:39:00.002+11:002011-11-05T19:39:57.959+11:00Bangkok<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNm7Whrghqa-IWwdf2rK0YJz2l_hsUoR-KzgC3uz1s3tTOrxZpS8jH0LVlujZPbXqZaXclbqLQBlwPKz9YfoP9GfV-sXtr4EKFaAELJJ9G9ntvy9INnS_IE5r1ustVuuWH-Pe2Zs6RwWc/s1600/khao-San-Road.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNm7Whrghqa-IWwdf2rK0YJz2l_hsUoR-KzgC3uz1s3tTOrxZpS8jH0LVlujZPbXqZaXclbqLQBlwPKz9YfoP9GfV-sXtr4EKFaAELJJ9G9ntvy9INnS_IE5r1ustVuuWH-Pe2Zs6RwWc/s640/khao-San-Road.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: Times;">You kicked the diaphanous blanket off the bed<br />
as the moth-eaten sheet under you began to dampen<br />
around your perspiring long limbs like a<br />
cube of ice thawing on sizzling cement.<br />
The out-of-date air con spat puffs of patchy<br />
cold air, interrupted by tepid, dusty exhalations<br />
that followed with frustrated groans.<br />
Our burning bodies met as we stood <br />
under the cool drizzle of the shower,<br />
my red cheek resting on your chest for solace.<br />
We wrapped ourselves in thin threads<br />
so the rare breeze could graze our skin<br />
and we left the dingy room with our glowing<br />
hands interlocked, cautious but charged<br />
with a free, independent electricity that <br />
fused our endearment and powered <br />
the hostel’s broken light bulbs. <br />
It took our noses time to tune to the smell<br />
of rancid air and exhaust<br />
and we walked through the jungle<br />
of sweaty people and neon nothings, <br />
our white pretense plummeting<br />
like the street-cooked chicken neck <br />
did to the grimy ground.<br />
Tuk-tuk’s grunted at heavy traffic<br />
weaving in, out through yellow taxis.<br />
Wrinkly faces under straw hats smiled<br />
as they pushed bags of fruit in our faces.<br />
Watermelon drinks soothed our scorching<br />
bodies for mere moments and we laughed<br />
deliriously at our exhaustion.<br />
When darkness finally came and refused<br />
to give us relief to the heat, <br />
we navigated our way back through<br />
the labyrinth to our tiny tumbledown room<br />
and fell asleep to the whirring fan and
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: Times;">dreamt of the iceman.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<hr />
Hello everyone!
<br />
I can't believe it has been so long since I last posted. Since studying poetics at uni this semester, I've learned countless valuable tools, and I've noticed that my writing style has changed quite a lot.<br />
Here is a poem I recently wrote that will be going in my final poetry portfolio next week.<br />
<br />
I hope you are all well and I can't wait to read all the writing I've missed out on.<br />
xskeletaldreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01259844526339849285noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3945160304366359229.post-4543144709624917812011-09-14T18:54:00.001+10:002011-09-14T18:54:41.568+10:00<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/feaverish/5690374277/" title="Untitled by feaverish, on Flickr"><img alt="" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5230/5690374277_858273fbbd.jpg" /></a>
<br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> The
icy window waits for warmth<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">while
sleepers breathe softly—<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> the
sun wakes<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Just a short poem today. Maybe this is a form you will recognise :)</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Uni has been crazy lately. I've just been trying to stay on top of everything while still remaining sane. I hope you are all well!</span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><br /></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><br /></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">photo by </span><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/feaverish/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">feaverish</span></a></span></div>
skeletaldreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01259844526339849285noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3945160304366359229.post-56191652294896121052011-08-24T12:38:00.000+10:002011-08-24T12:38:10.419+10:00maybe i'll melt<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji-Bc8IDeWXpI_x5GX3m5OzrbunpURL9ZXdemM9FR5ku85gYJwgfMlpqWJ1ZlfZH4TJhY86vWjacW_kf3Piq9HYdiz3m9xoSl8r9Bnepex3aH0sriCwzd1yeGD5BcaGgi1CIs5Kta46G8/s1600/Screen+shot+2011-08-24+at+12.23.57+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji-Bc8IDeWXpI_x5GX3m5OzrbunpURL9ZXdemM9FR5ku85gYJwgfMlpqWJ1ZlfZH4TJhY86vWjacW_kf3Piq9HYdiz3m9xoSl8r9Bnepex3aH0sriCwzd1yeGD5BcaGgi1CIs5Kta46G8/s1600/Screen+shot+2011-08-24+at+12.23.57+PM.png" /></a></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Times; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span> </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Times; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Azure eyes and thick lips. My gaze upon you, frozen.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Times; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">I learned the sweet, earthy smell of your skin; two years flew, still look to you, frozen.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Times; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">The early morning seeps into my chest and icicles cling tight to my lungs.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Times; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">To say I don’t like the feeling would be untrue; am I frozen?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Times; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">I stopped wearing the sun in my eyes for you, did you know?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Times; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">You knew it, and I know you knew it too. Now we’re frozen.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Times; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">I sip and feel the hot, honey-sweetened tea burn my chest.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Times; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">They melt these icicles. A brief rescue. Anti-frozen.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Times; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">I still find it incredible to think about the miracle that is life.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Times; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Don’t forget that although it may seem like it’s true, you are not frozen.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Times; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">___________________</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Times; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Times; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Dear all my beautiful blog friends,</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">I'm still here, despite my reoccurring absences - I'm sorry! I have not had the best of months and consequently my writing has suffered. I am here, and won't leave for good. University is back on track and difficult. My poetics course is really interesting and has opened me up to many other forms other than prose poetry. This week we studied the Ghazal, a difficult pre-Islamic Persian form invoking melancholy, love and longing. The poem above is my take on the Ghazal. Let me know what you think of it. </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">I have missed you all and hope you are all well & happy!</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Thank you for your amazingly kind responses about my photo, I am so flattered! Here is another photo, I hope you like it.</div><!--EndFragment--> skeletaldreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01259844526339849285noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3945160304366359229.post-50736177053775167532011-07-29T13:20:00.001+10:002011-07-29T19:25:00.745+10:00Frightened<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-JrZ95gctwqmP_X3b5IQNe8j5SfOT8jOhdl0PlNDxfShA8zKY9NYtptVcNSjX7WZuhiCTMHS-P8_qn7Jpc4tQQM_SPXyh_qBn1qHoVKa5XjRbZ6qkglbrM9mAkT5iiPGjozyCDlceadU/s1600/Screen+shot+2011-07-29+at+7.22.42+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-JrZ95gctwqmP_X3b5IQNe8j5SfOT8jOhdl0PlNDxfShA8zKY9NYtptVcNSjX7WZuhiCTMHS-P8_qn7Jpc4tQQM_SPXyh_qBn1qHoVKa5XjRbZ6qkglbrM9mAkT5iiPGjozyCDlceadU/s1600/Screen+shot+2011-07-29+at+7.22.42+PM.png" /></a></div><br />
It frightens me to think that you when you breathe, your hot breath exhales into the air of somewhere I am not. We once shared breaths as I grew inside your womb; my flesh is your flesh. The warm blood that runs through your veins run through my own. Your caring, kind nature dances with my spirit. My memories of your motherly nurturing and love escape me not, will escape me never. And this is why even though you are not physically here in this country anymore, you never actually left. You'll always be with me.<br />
This thought makes my cracked lips turn into a smile, and I want you to hug me like the time I stuck my finger in the airport luggage conveyer belt even though you told me not to. I was being silly and naughty, but you didn't punish me; you hugged me. It hurts that I cannot hug you now, but I know everything will be okay. I miss you.<br />
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This photo is by me. I never use my own photos, but I want to show you now and tell you that my other passion besides writing is photography. I will show you more soon.skeletaldreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01259844526339849285noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3945160304366359229.post-45418448428597218532011-07-28T22:29:00.000+10:002011-07-28T22:29:38.730+10:00Quiet and empty<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/babyowls/2967994165/" title="can't sleep with this empty space beside me* by Jenna Carver, on Flickr"><img alt="can't sleep with this empty space beside me*" height="333" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3208/2967994165_fbc7623fea.jpg" width="500" /></a><br />
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<div style="text-align: justify;">I can't believe I have neglected my writing blog for a month. I really am sorry. I don't like to let you down.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Although I have had university holidays for the past five weeks, I in no way had a holiday. I helped my mum, my only family here in Australia, move out of our home because she needed to go back to Germany. I have shed so many tears that my skin is dry and raw from the constant saltiness and moisture. We packed, we sold most of our furniture, we threw out things I thought we would keep forever. I feel like someone has torn out my insides; I feel empty. And now she is gone. And I am here, with our cat. Even he is lost. Though somehow, my mum still feels so present here. It soothes this hollow feeling within me. Even for a moment.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Uni is back and I am distracting myself with meaningless words in textbooks. I hear and see people talk, I try to join in, but I'm not there. I'm not here. I don't know where I am.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I will write soon. For now, I just need to ache, and the words will come later.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I'm sorry for the absence, and I hope with all my heart you are well and that I will see you soon.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">x</div><br />
photo by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/babyowls/2967994165">jenna carver</a>skeletaldreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01259844526339849285noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3945160304366359229.post-2960950908851758002011-07-02T16:23:00.000+10:002011-07-02T16:23:12.105+10:00winter days<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/savannahjane/3495407964/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="dawn by jane.bird, on Flickr"><img alt="dawn" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3632/3495407964_b46fe4c239.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I'm lying under warm, soft sheets reading the beautiful words of Brontë's Jane Eyre, with the winter sun slightly warming my cold fingers. A steaming, white mug of English Breakfast is sitting on my bedside table. I sip it and feel the hot, honey-sweetened milky tea pour down my chest. It burns, but in a good way; it warms me from the inside.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">However simple this moment may be, it makes me realise how precious these simple moments really are.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I would also like to say thank you for reading my short story. I know it sounds cliché, but your kind words make me speechless and fill me with such joy. Sharing my words with you is the best feeling, and thank you for visiting this blog and being a part of it all.</span></div>skeletaldreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01259844526339849285noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3945160304366359229.post-85651876398899262922011-06-25T15:31:00.000+10:002011-06-25T15:31:01.978+10:00short story: quiver part four (final part)<div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times;">Speckles of raindrops fall from a moody grey sky onto a barren field. Dawn shivers and creates a frozen, dewy surface on the earth.<o:p></o:p></span></div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times;">Henry wakes to Alena’s snoring. Her bare breast is exposed, and her head is tilted back, her mouth wide open. Henry’s nude body shivers at the thought of last night. He gets out of his bed and walks quietly to the living room, mindful not to wake Alena. <o:p></o:p></span></div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times;">He stares at the dark man before him through the reflection of the sliding glass doors leading to the small balcony. Icy air rushes down his throat as he opens the doors. Henry leans his body over the railing. He can hear the laughter of children at the bottom, beckoning him to yield to his dreams of falling. <o:p></o:p></span></div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; font-family: Times;">What separates life and death from one another when one feels dead while alive? Life is death, he thinks. Perhaps this means death is life, that it is filled with sun, with hope. Or perhaps death is just death, and life is death, and we merely pretend to live in 'life' and death is the time we can just let go and be. But why do flowers grow in spring, why are babies created if life is not really life? His hair and eyelashes have become dusted with sheer drops of rain. He closes his eyes. A sigh escapes his throat and Henry retreats from the railing. <o:p></o:p></span></div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; font-family: Times;">He walks back to the bedroom, to his life. <o:p></o:p></span></div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; font-family: Times;">He will live, whatever and wherever that is, and pretend he is happy, pretend that he does not dream of death, and mimic all that they do.<o:p></o:p></span></div></div>skeletaldreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01259844526339849285noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3945160304366359229.post-69166504484829018012011-06-19T21:30:00.000+10:002011-06-19T21:30:54.742+10:00short story: quiver part three<div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times;">Henry brings the crystal wine glass to his mouth and closes his eyes. He swallows the wine like water, hoping the bloody syrup will transport him back to the womb for rebirth, but when he opens his eyes all he sees is Alena’s face. He licks his index finger and slowly circles the lip of the glass. A shrill sound fills the room, over the restaurant’s classical music. The sound is so beautiful to Henry. It drowns out all the meaningless, dull voices. All the thoughts of how he will get up in the morning, have a shower, put on his suit, catch the train to work, sit in his office manipulating people, go on dates and have sex with mindless women, sleep but never really rest, and do it all over again every single say. He circles and circles the wine glass, transfixed by its singing.<o:p></o:p></span></div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times;">‘Henry!’ Alena says staring at the menu. ‘Could you stop that irritating noise? We have to order.’<o:p></o:p></span></div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times;">They place their orders and Alena starts again on money, about work, but Henry drifts off and thinks of when he was a child; he smiles remembering how easily his four-year-old-self made friends. Glances under eyelashes turned into smiles and innocent introductions. With a high voice he softly told his new friend how old he was, always remembering to count quarters and halves of course. His new friend would take him by the hand, girl or boy, and pull him into their imagination, living freely within a world of colours and smells and shapes and sizes. Never did they think of how one day they would grow up and their hearts would die. <o:p></o:p></span></div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times;">Henry thinks about how he used to talk to his toys in the bathtub about things that would never have made sense to an observer but made the most sense to him. Grunts and squeals were music to him as he played in the water that always turned a bit yellow by the time it got cold, and he never worried about the moisture in his skin or whether or not he should shave his genital area. <o:p></o:p></span></div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times;">His mother’s soft chest was the safest place to be. He remembers her heartbeat, and the way her voice sounded when he pressed his ear against her. He wishes he could still feel that warmth.<o:p></o:p></span></div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times;">A child’s scream snaps Henry back to the present. Alena turns around to the wild child, flinging his arms in a tantrum.<o:p></o:p></span></div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times;">‘That mother needs to control her son’, Alena snaps, shrivelling her face into a hideous expression.<o:p></o:p></span></div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times;">Blood runs to the cheeks of the crying boy’s mother as the restaurant’s guests snicker. Henry smiles kindly as she tries to calm her unruly son.<o:p></o:p></span></div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times;">Henry looks into Alena’s eyes. Black ice plagues his body. He dreams of the feeling of the sun gleaming through the bedroom window, warming his skin as it rises, pulling him to consciousness. His tired muscles give way, and Henry falls to the floor. He looks to the sparkling, white restaurant ceiling, closes his eyes, and opens his mouth wide. A cry escapes his lips. Henry’s arms flail and his body writhes on the ground. He cries for his loneliness and the hatred he feels for this city, this avaricious, monotonous life. Narrowed eyes stare at the adult man screaming on the floor. Henry pulls himself up, and yells into Alena’s mortified face. <o:p></o:p></span></div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times;">‘I WILL NEVER LOVE YOU! Don’t you understand? I will never touch your skin with tenderness, or sleep happily next to you. It is people like you that make me quiver! You are everything I despise!’ Henry turns and runs through the still restaurant and out into the cold.<o:p></o:p></span></div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times;">‘—Henry, more wine?’<o:p></o:p></span></div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times;">Henry’s eyes blink away from his trance. Red wine trickles into his empty glass. <o:p></o:p></span></div></div>skeletaldreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01259844526339849285noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3945160304366359229.post-83830849740812974902011-06-11T12:46:00.000+10:002011-06-11T12:46:29.642+10:00short story: quiver part two<div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times;">Henry walks into his apartment and to his dusky room, and crumbles into bed. He pulls the sheets over his head. <o:p></o:p></span></div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times;">Outside the fifth floor one-bedroom apartment, out in the distance past all the other grey apartment buildings, trees stand still, soulless in a small field. They are anaemic.<o:p></o:p></span></div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times;">Henry lies under the covers with his eyes open, pushing the sheets up with long arms to create a small tent. The last hints of light create a white glow in the space, and Henry is brought back to when he was a little boy playing in his cubby. He would hum to himself, fixing the white sheets to pieces of furniture with pegs, and become irritated when a peg flew off and made a sheet drape, letting in too much light. He read picture books and pretended he was in a cave, adventuring through an imaginary world. His mother let him sleep there in his warm cave, and he dreamt of riding on an eagle’s back and waves of colour. <o:p></o:p></span></div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times;">Henry now thinks of his first love. He remembers her brown curls, the tenderness of her pale skin. He still remembers how her skin smelled. His soft seventeen-year-old lips would kiss the nook where her neck met her shoulder and it always smelled the same: sweet and earthy. He used to stay there and breathe her in as she stroked his back. They would giggle and explore under the covers, their breaths fusing. They whispered about never growing up and loving each other forever. They would have if her mother and friends hadn’t told her to grow up. When she finally gave into their demand she lost her youth and left Henry and love behind, and after a few months with an aching chest he decided he was to grow up too. <o:p></o:p></span></div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times;">Now here he is, alone, under his sheets. He kicks off the covers and picks out a black suit for tonight. He runs his lean hands through his brown, dishevelled hair, licks his cracked lips, and heads for the front door.<o:p></o:p></span></div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times;">‘Henry!’ the young woman exclaims across the large, chatter-filled restaurant. Henry watches his date quickly pass her large coat to the gentleman at the door. She is quite attractive. Her legs are long and slender, her loose, light brown curls shine in the restaurant’s wall lighting just like his first love’s hair did at dawn, but her eyes are too wide open, too eager. Henry stands up from his chair, and thinks how her blue cocktail dress and well-done makeup have just gone to waste.<o:p></o:p></span></div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times;">‘Alena, you look lovely,’ Henry says as he pushes in her chair. He tries not to frown once she turns toward the table.<o:p></o:p></span></div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times;">They make pleasantries. How happy Alena is to have this dinner, how successful Henry is at C&G Bank, how the annual report is looking great, how Alena is soon to be promoted, how he’s looking to get a new leather couch in his office.<o:p></o:p></span></div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times;">Henry notices her thin lips now, how her eyes are too far apart. The waiter pours the expensive red wine and her eyes widen even more than before. They toast to success, but Henry secretly toasts to warmth as he waits for Alena to take the first sip of wine before he does so. Alena stares at Henry with affection, and he tries to mimic her expression. She believes it. She briefly strokes Henry’s hand and begins saying how handsome Henry is. Henry doesn’t blush, it’s not a compliment. Good looks don’t make him feel full of worth or bliss; it merely reminds him that his face is now adult, that his childhood is eternally gone. And gone with it tenderness and simplicity. <o:p></o:p></span></div></div>skeletaldreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01259844526339849285noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3945160304366359229.post-3482679724392459222011-06-08T19:31:00.000+10:002011-06-08T19:31:14.914+10:00short story: quiver part one<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Dreams of falling endlessly prey on Henry’s mind. The sound of children’s laughter echoes around him as he plummets. They call for his existence, his warm blood. Henry wakes every night covered in his own sweat, his pillow wet with tears. He wonders if he should succumb to his subconscious and perish, for there is darkness in both worlds, un-living in both worlds. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The flickering light of the train illuminates the death in all their faces. Are these people really living? As the crowded train slithers through the dark underground, the constant thud of the train meeting the tracks feels like a heartbeat, quickening when it fastens, dying as it stops at each station to let out its passengers. Henry stands among the swarm, crushed by the human statues. He is a young man but the dark circles that pull at his eyes make him seem older. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The heart is beating fast now, to central, and all the people stare ahead with jaded eyes. Smudged red lipstick, 5 o’clock shadows, stale perfume, and reddened eyes fill the carriage. Henry’s eyes glisten as he stares at the strangers he wish would thaw and become warm and tell him this life is worth living. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">People do not look into each others eyes; the tiny specks of colour in their irises never align, and when they do it is by accident and they quickly look away and try with all their strength left over from the day to resist the urge to look back. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Strangers bump knees in the bustle and cringe. A hundred sweaty palms cling to a grimy pole and form a beautiful vertical line of pale skin, dark skin, wrinkles, large fingers, small fingers. The hands are so close to holding, but their owners are careful not to overlap flesh. Henry sees the icy blood stream through their veins, the bitterness in their stiff faces. Warm blood still runs through his body, but his veins too are becoming arctic. Not long now.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Henry looks down the carriage and watches the shaky world through the scratched windows disconnecting the carriages as though looking into a mirror. That world is identical to this one. The same faces, the same jobs, the same lives. Henry even thinks he sees himself.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The heartbeat slows now, the screeching begins. The doors open and Henry watches the bodies flee, leaving him alone with the buzzing fluorescent lights.</span><o:p></o:p></div><br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/jetsetandtrash/4255885648/" title="Untitled by uuaoe, on Flickr"><img alt="" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4060/4255885648_d7e302ec47.jpg" /></a>skeletaldreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01259844526339849285noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3945160304366359229.post-63730056615199447082011-06-02T21:36:00.003+10:002011-06-02T21:39:18.936+10:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;">This week is the last week of university classes for semester one, thank heavens. I really need a break. I just want to lie under the covers and read a book. Not having the time for such simple pleasures makes me feel edgy. Tomorrow the short story I have been working on is due. I'm nervous. I always find it hard to let long stories go; I feel as though I haven't put enough work into them, and that I'm exposing it too soon. It will be a big weight off my shoulder though. I wanted to ask you, would you be interested in reading it? I'd love to hear what you think. It's nearly two-thousand words, perhaps I could do instalments? Let me know how you feel about the proposal, my lovely readers.</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;">I just want to say thank you all, you always make my day. x</div></span><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/artistfriendship/5434014627/" title="Untitled by artistƒriendship, on Flickr"><img alt="" height="332" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5172/5434014627_efa9fe433a.jpg" width="500" /></a><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">photo by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/artistfriendship/5434014627">artist friendship</a></span></div>skeletaldreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01259844526339849285noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3945160304366359229.post-30754786563757093892011-05-29T18:07:00.000+10:002011-05-29T18:07:29.588+10:00<div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Dreams of falling endlessly prey on his mind. They call for his existence, his warm blood. He wakes covered in his own sweat, his pillow wet with tears, and wonders if he should succumb to his subconscious and perish. For there is darkness in both worlds; un-living in both worlds. What separates life and death from one another when one feels dead while alive? Life is death, he thinks. Perhaps this means death is life, is sun-filled, is hope. Or death is death, life is death, and we merely pretend to live in 'life' and death is the time we can just let go and be. But why do flowers grow in spring, why are babies created if life is not really life? He scratches the whiskers on his chin and sighs. He will live, whatever and wherever that is, and pretend he is happy, pretend that he does not dream of death, and mimic what they do.</div></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/rephotography/5503202839/" title="Untitled by Paul Phung, on Flickr"><img alt="" height="335" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5091/5503202839_8c9cef78b1.jpg" width="500" /></a></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><br />
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</div><div style="font: 12.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">photo by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/rephotography/5503202839">paul phung</a></div>skeletaldreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01259844526339849285noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3945160304366359229.post-55816725594519996942011-05-27T18:26:00.000+10:002011-05-27T18:26:56.982+10:00<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Today I spent the day editing my short story and auditing fellow classmates' stories for my writing component of my bachelor of arts. It's lovely reading other people's creations; seeing how they think, how they see the world. I never seem to find creative writing a bore or something I get sick of, unlike academic writing, which makes me hop up from my chair every five minutes.</span></div></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Hot tea in my new white, large mug kept me company as my boyfriend worked throughout the day, and now the sun has set and the cold has settled. Home-made pizza is in the oven, cuddles make me warm from the inside out, and movies are waiting to be watched. </span></div></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I love days like these. I hope to make a career out of it one day, if I'm lucky enough.</span></div></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Have a beautiful night and weekend x</span></div><br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/maddiefelton/3858729526/" title="Untitled by maddie felton., on Flickr"><img alt="" height="339" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3419/3858729526_317c48751d.jpg" width="500" /></a><br />
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</span></div>skeletaldreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01259844526339849285noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3945160304366359229.post-33297513208085781842011-05-25T21:57:00.000+10:002011-05-25T21:57:34.840+10:00<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Warmth filled her little heart not as her frail bones grew to the sky. Her mother pinned her to gloom and away from her stony soul. She never saw the way her daughter's eyes changed from a warm brown to black orbs, now incapable to feel tenderness. The little girl walks through ghosts, hoping to feel.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sergioalbiac/5479856170/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Monolithic fragility by Sergio Albiac, on Flickr"><img alt="Monolithic fragility" height="500" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5217/5479856170_b43ffb5921.jpg" width="366" /></a></div><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">photo by </span><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sergioalbiac/5479856170/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">sergio albiac</span></a></div>skeletaldreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01259844526339849285noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3945160304366359229.post-25398621539784565372011-05-19T14:53:00.001+10:002011-05-19T14:55:25.388+10:00<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/strombe/5661011008/" title="Heat. was dreamy and lymphatic © by Лouvemenʨ ➳ d'un cil :::, on Flickr"><img alt="Heat. was dreamy and lymphatic ©" height="500" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5304/5661011008_684bc86521.jpg" width="380" /></a><br />
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<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Azure eyes and thick lips.</span></div></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">The moonless sky</span></div></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Made you flicker in my eyes.</span></div></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Quiet soul, let me near.</span></div></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Absorb me, watch us grow.</span></div></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">You hauled me into light,</span></div></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">I pulled you too.</span></div></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Salty skin and sweet sleep.</span></div></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Hard to leave without your heart</span></div></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Consumes me wholly.</span></div></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Tired but in love.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/strombe/5661011008"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">photo source</span></a></div>skeletaldreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01259844526339849285noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3945160304366359229.post-57233996760749529142011-05-16T11:55:00.000+10:002011-05-16T11:55:54.088+10:00<div style="font: 12.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify;">It's crazy how much uni work I have at the moment. Nevertheless, I enjoy the hard work. It forces me to think differently, and I feel rewarded with the new knowledge. Life seems to be a bit splintered at the moment, but I underneath it all I see another message hinting at me to remember what I do have.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify;">Today the sun shines powerfully through the Autumn chill; it doesn't want to let go. I don't want it to let go either. The sun's light thaws my frosted skin and my irises grow to its Gods. I take solace in the thought of my mother now at home, resting in the shade. Repairing.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify;">Have a beautiful day, my lovely readers. x </div><div style="font: 12.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px; text-align: justify;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/spassk/4802195950/" title="Untitled by spassk, on Flickr"><img alt="" height="394" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4102/4802195950_4e98ff535c.jpg" width="500" /></a></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div><div style="font: 12.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify;">photo by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/spassk/4802195950">spassk</a></div>skeletaldreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01259844526339849285noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3945160304366359229.post-5875791941663709052011-05-14T15:43:00.002+10:002011-05-16T11:39:28.506+10:00<div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><br />
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</div><div style="color: #333233; font: 12.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify;">I feel as though everything is crumbling before my eyes. This is not fiction. I can feel it all breaking away under my feet but I turn my head away from it all, so then it doesn't make this all real. My mother is away, I don't know where she is and I can't help her even though it's all I want to do. My friends are in another state, all together, supporting one another. I can't tell them what's happening to me, I'm too proud, too ashamed. 'You have it all,' they say. I smile to myself but it turns to a cry when I know it's not true. Writing is the only thing that makes sense to me. And my boyfriend. Without him I think I would have fallen apart already. 'Stop thinking about it,' my head tells me, but all I want to do is cry. I'm in a city I don't love. I think I made a terrible decision to study journalism; I can't speak to strangers the way I can write to strangers. I never wanted to become a television journalist, but was it a stupid idea to study something where the basis is outgoingness and the ability to communicate to the world through spoken words? Can I graduate and find my ideal job of working for a meaningful magazine? Or am I just lying to myself. When I write everything seems to make sense. I feel I have a purpose. But what if I can't live off my writing? I feel stuck, trapped on the edge of a cliff, the ground breaking before me and I can't get away. I know I'm going to fall.</div></span></div>skeletaldreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01259844526339849285noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3945160304366359229.post-85238859414413016682011-04-22T13:54:00.002+10:002011-04-22T13:56:32.022+10:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><div style="font: 12.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify;">Could you come a little bit closer? It's hard to see the galaxy in your eyes when you're so far away. Hold me, let me see the planets and stars and space dust swirling in your irises. Blink if you will, for when your long eyelashes open I see the galaxy once again, locked up behind those soft lids of yours. It's my secret. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify;">The faint freckles on your face are constellations I match up when you sleep. I found a bird once, and I kissed it. I can't help but find it special that you are my heaven.</div></span><br />
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</div><a href="http://s889.photobucket.com/albums/ac95/juliettesteen/?action=view&current=Screenshot2011-04-22at14527PM-1.png" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i889.photobucket.com/albums/ac95/juliettesteen/Screenshot2011-04-22at14527PM-1.png" /></a><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://s889.photobucket.com/albums/ac95/juliettesteen/?action=view&amp;current=Screenshot2011-04-22at14527PM.png%22%20target=%22_blank%22%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22http://i889.photobucket.com/albums/ac95/juliettesteen/Screenshot2011-04-22at14527PM.png%22%20border=%220%22%20alt=%22Photobucket%22%3E%3C/a%3E"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">photo by patrick hoff</span></i></a></span>skeletaldreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01259844526339849285noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3945160304366359229.post-69981478623643802042011-04-08T13:27:00.002+10:002011-04-22T13:57:14.615+10:00summer<div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Garamond; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The bitumen boils in the summer. The insomniac streets are home to all bodies; they sleep not during this season. </span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Garamond; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 13px; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Garamond; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We were dressed in sheer clothing, our skin touching as we walked. Our lips were red, cracked from the dry heat, our hair golden from the sun. Our smiles were so bright and warm with the daylight. We always looked the most forward to the afternoon rain in the summer; it was as though the day's steam danced up into the clouds and magically turned into thick drops or rain. They began to fall from the sky, and the rest of them packed up and left, but we stayed, finally alone. That airless, musty smell filled our noses as the rain simmered on the hot street. Our browned skin became visible through our wet clothing, and you pulled me to your body and kissed me. We peeled off our clothing and ran into the empty sea, the grey sky grumbling above us.</span><br />
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</span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Garamond; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sprppl/5222385396/" title="Untitled by coolhandluke, on Flickr"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img alt="" height="331" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5283/5222385396_b901f5d524.jpg" width="500" /></span></a></div></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Garamond; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> _______________________________________________</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I deeply apologise for my absence. My only excuse is that uni has made me think academically, not so much imaginatively or creatively. Today, I'm doing both. I will start doing both more often. Thank you for your lovely comments, I'm in the process of catching up on your delightful blogs now. Much love, x</span><br />
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">photo by </span></i><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sprppl/5222385396/"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">coolhandluke</span></i></a></div>skeletaldreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01259844526339849285noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3945160304366359229.post-70817101070037143542011-03-09T17:32:00.001+11:002011-04-22T13:57:25.701+10:00..<div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Garamond; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Our paper hearts bled a ruby syrup; our real warm blood had dried up years ago. We drank it, hoping we would swallow life with it but alas, we remain arctic.</span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Garamond; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The trees seemed to become anemic before our eyes, just like our spirits. Winter is eternal here, no warmth has pervaded us since that night in December when you whispered in my ear your deepest secret. It suddenly began to snow and my trembling lips froze, unable to speak to you no longer. From that moment onward, we feigned happiness and love through fruitless affection and forced smiles. How can it be that words change everything but we remain stitched together in an unbreakable bind? And what is to be done now, when all we can do it lie, staring into void with no desire for new creation? </span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Garamond; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Our paper hearts tear and tear, our atriums frosted within. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Garamond; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/aela/5345993204/" title="Untitled by Aëla Labbé, on Flickr"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img alt="" height="337" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5170/5345993204_da9402fb4a.jpg" width="500" /></span></a><br />
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</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Garamond; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">photo by </span><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/aela/5345993204"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">aela labbe</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></div>skeletaldreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01259844526339849285noreply@blogger.com29tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3945160304366359229.post-49253317753619393542011-03-06T12:47:00.001+11:002011-04-22T13:57:46.550+10:00untitled<div style="font: 12.0px Garamond; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Quiet footsteps float to Isabel’s sun-kissed room. The only movement are the dust motes dancing and stirring in the soft beacon of sunlight streaming through the only window. Her daughter’s eyelashes still cling together, her face peaceful. A warm finger strokes a silky cheek as thoughts and fear race. Isabel’s mother observes her beautiful sleeping child, wishing her own face would reveal such innocence, such naivety. ‘Come, my love’, she whispers, and with a swollen arm she slowly reaches underneath Isabel’s body and pulls her up to her chest.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The strong morning sun shines heavily through the bus window. The wind rushes past, bringing a tear. Isabel looks to her mother and her cheeks are wet, but she’s smiling. She’s wailing and she’s smiling. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div></div><div style="font: 12.0px Garamond; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/neon_tambourine/5482622973/" title=". by neon.tambourine, on Flickr"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img alt="." height="336" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5171/5482622973_907105cb0f.jpg" width="500" /></span></a></div><div style="font: 12.0px Garamond; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">A short extract of a story I wrote. </span></div></div><div style="font: 12.0px Garamond; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Sorry for my absence, dears. Everything is happening so quickly lately. Much love to you all. x</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">photo by </span><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/neon_tambourine/5482622973/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">neon tamberine</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></div>skeletaldreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01259844526339849285noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3945160304366359229.post-11109831551821175532011-02-23T22:00:00.001+11:002011-04-22T13:57:54.861+10:00your dark daze<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/vinnygillan/5426098117/" title="Untitled by vinnygillan, on Flickr"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img alt="" height="331" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5292/5426098117_fe5d727ef8.jpg" width="500" /></span></a><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 32px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%;"></div><div><div style="font: 12.0px Garamond; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="font: 12.0px Garamond; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">He hauls me to a dark daze, where flickers of light become eternally lost beneath the blackness, where wind makes mountains shiver, where life bears no child. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Garamond; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 13.0px; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Garamond; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">When the moonless, meandering path appears through the thick blanket of mist I will run from you.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Garamond; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 13.0px; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Garamond; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">________________________________________</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Garamond; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 13.0px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Garamond; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 13.0px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Garamond; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I've had such a busy week so far. Uni is so busy and vibrant, it's exhilarating! I'm looking forward to Monday when the lectures begin, but until then I'm just going to (try to) relax, sleep well and have some fun with some lovely girls I met. I don't want to jinx it, but I feel like it's all going uphill, I just hope it lasts. Apologies for the short piece, I can't seem to sit in one place long enough to write something of decent length. I do hope you are all having a lovely week. x</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Garamond; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 13.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Garamond; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">photo by </span><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/vinnygillan/5426098117"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">vinny gillian</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></div></div><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 12pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;"></div></span></div></div>skeletaldreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01259844526339849285noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3945160304366359229.post-79186287427174292142011-02-20T21:51:00.001+11:002011-04-22T13:58:49.498+10:00a new road<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/julielansom/5320403131/" title="Untitled by julie.lansom, on Flickr"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img alt="" height="337" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5122/5320403131_209051aa58.jpg" width="500" /></span></a><br />
<div style="font: 12.0px Garamond; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Day seem to go by in seconds, and tomorrow I will begin university. I will be studying writing, philosophy and journalism and am really looking forward to it. Over the past year, I worked full time and then travelled Europe, and so now I long for knowledge. I feel like my brain has shrunk and I need insightful words to make it live again and grow. I'm quite nervous, I wish I knew people going there but I guess I will meet new people soon. I hope you are all having a beautiful Sunday, dears.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">photo by </span><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/julielansom/5320403131/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">julie lansom</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></div></div>skeletaldreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01259844526339849285noreply@blogger.com18