faery observation

I saw the fit of a common house fairy, today

she was burdened because she had read

some history of human cruelty.

I offered her some spoonful of honey,

but could not staunch her tears

which bespattered my desk with

a shiny silver trail.

She raised her green embers to my eyes

and then dove back into

the black leather grotto,

her home in the corner of my bookshelf.

I stood and pondered the books newly despised

and I could still hear her weeping, as the wind

creaked and crept through the twilit library,

I looked up at the shelves.

A Tale of Woe here,

and there a story of meaningless war

and invasions upon the minds and bodies,

boughs and trunks,

tusks and skin,

meat and bones,

of beings long forgotten.

A thought came;

I shuffled aside a crinkled page and

found her sitting in a corner, green skin pale.

And as I offered my hand and she took it,

I validated her surmise

and made my promise to arise.

humans: two

ehh..... i mean its ok-- its around 12 at night (or morning) now so it might be horrible i dont know, its in a fit of random creative vibes.

such a lie would make me think

you did not care

to sit under my boughs

and feel my leaves fall and swirl

round your feet;

did not care to sit under the stars

I did support with my fingers.

Such a stare would

make me shudder and

crack my bark, sharp and loud

oh, i would not dare.

such is your own,

and it makes my winter's wind

tail tuck, turn and stumble to the floor

it is nothing compared to the harsh

gaze-- you,

you've winded me.

my summer's wind reels in your presence

it drowns in its dew out of shock of your

heavy, weighting palm,

like water poured from a bucket.

and my spring and autumn

are simply no match:

they are still yet babes

and you would shuffle over them like mud

scraped off hands.

would you feel cleaner then?

if you did pluck me off the ground

in hurried fits of madness

and cruelty.

but i am not a flower:

i am a tree,

and you may not

pluck me.

"You are all together a human being, Jane"

Jane Eyre (the new version) has become one of my favorite movies. Although not all together a translation of the novel, the movie does the character of Jane Eyre justice. It is such a tale of sweeping intensity; we are hard pressed to find a more beautiful story.

I took about 100 screen shots only to find out later that my computer messed all the images up... unfortunately. Google images instead...

photo 1: http://www.filmofilia.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/11/Mia-Wasikowska-as-Jane-Eyre.jpg

photo 2: http://cdn.fd.uproxx.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/11/Jane-Eyre-Vince-Vaughn.jpg

my current

Perspective of a siren

I want you in my river

the river

that would swirl around your neck

your jaws

your nose

over your eyes

mingling with your hair

and when you open your eyes

under my blue current

you'll see me

and the eyes of your world, and mine

and the world will blink back at you

and you'll either become breathless

or you'll become water.

But based upon my poem, this is how I'm starting to feel about many things. and I feel like if those people/things/endeavors aren't authentic, they will become breathless and non-living to me, or they can become water and be apart of my current. All at the same time being something very beautiful and enthralling to watch unfurl on life's path.

Maybe the sirens were helping to facilitate a metaphor coming alive- perhaps they facilitated a blending of two worlds.

photo: http://www.wilsonsalmanac.com/images/hylas_&_nymphs_by_waterhouse.jpg

Branches and wands

today, took pictures of my friend, Aryion. I was shocked my camera behaved today, many pictures came out very lush looking. Digging the B&W-ing on photoshop! : )

Will post some more later

Folksister unveiled...

For my few readers,

check out my sister's blog! Her ability to spot authentic lyrics/singer-songwriters baffles me... Going to be a great collection soon!

Folksister

Yee Turnip.

Here is a snippet of a children's book i hope to continue... i hope it is original, candid, and well written enough to supply the type of imagination I coveted as a kid!

tell me what you think!

They say that the first Radish Letter was written deep within the dirt catacombs under the Anchovy Mountains. The Radish Letter was a manuscript of a detailed account of one of the most trilling legends ever recorded! This is the story of how this manuscript and its own adventure came to define the entire Root civilization!

After the Letter was completed, its author, a fine looking but older Radish, emerged from the dirt catacombs that made up the Root Empire. He emerged, manuscript in hand, ready to bring it to the Owlrey Publishing House, nestled on top of one of the highest peaks of the mountain range. How he had the courage to leave the warm dirt tunnels that were his home and venture out into the wild with nothing but a single scroll and a small ruck-sack with little provisions is quite confounding! What’s more, he was on his way to commit a crime! He was about to try to publish a Radish Letter!

You see, the author worked for a secret society that secretly recorded ancient legends that had been passed down for centuries in the little Root Empire villages under the Anchovy Mountains. It was illegal for anyone else but the old sages that worked in this society to record these legends- anyone who committed this crime was to be thrown out of the catacombs… and who knows what creatures picked up the criminals out there!

It would have been an astounding and justly rebellious feat had this old radish completed his mission. He felt, in his radish heart of hearts that legends and folklore were meant to be read and enjoyed and written by every citizen in his land! That way, they would never be erased out of memory, but rather creatively changed and strengthened by many a radish!

Alas, this radish author was carried off by a hawk not two seconds after he stepped foot out into the sweet Autumn daylight. It was his hope that his manuscript, which he had dropped on purpose, would roll into the hands of another brazen soul, one who would bring it to the Owlrey Publishing House and who would, with enough courage, ensure that every citizen had equal rights and access to the written world.

The author had time enough to see the manuscript roll into unlikely hands- the most unlikely, in fact. The manuscript rolled into the hands of a Turnip named Regee Omnilius.

its going to be a short one but this is hopefully chapter two.

* i hate having to say this (because not too many people will even chance upon this) but for any rapscallion who would, please don't take my work; it is copyright me.