Comments Posted By siobhan347
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A mad hatter with a hat on. A man-made heaven. A three syllabled paradise. Man-hatt-an. A Lego square with intestines and glowing lights. A mecca. A melting pot. A miasma. A jungle book of noise. A city of drama and dreams. A salute, a nod, a handshake to mankind. An applause. A bow. A silver smile.
» Posted By siobhan347 On 05.16.2013 @ 12:03 pm
The truth stands before us like a silver sword waiting to be grasped. It glows with certainty. There is no avoiding it. The truth will set us free, but only if it is acknowledged. And then, like a flurry of white feathers in the breeze, everything will become light again, its dimensions doubt-free.
» Posted By siobhan347 On 03.19.2013 @ 4:35 am
Up in flames, what we had. Invisible, licking hot flames. Everything blistered and gone. Ashy embers, charred bones. What did we expect with flammable dreams? No flesh remains now, only the fossilized imprint of who we were. I wouldn’t recognise you now. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. But through the cleansing fire I’ve walked, and am reborn. You wouldn’t know me now, either. Inflammable.
» Posted By siobhan347 On 03.06.2013 @ 9:43 am
They say if March comes in like a lamb (mild and quiet, with a frolick) – it will go out like a lion (with a roar – stormy weather). Or vice-versa – in like a lion, out like a lamb. I don’t know which I prefer, maybe just the lamb, all lamb, all frolicking around green fields and little baa giggles and oodles and everything light.
» Posted By siobhan347 On 03.05.2013 @ 10:14 am
Knock Knock? Who’s there? Universe thumps a reply. Yeah, I’ve been knocked down but I’ll get up again…(you’re never going to keep me down) It’s a hard knock life for us… Knock-kneed I venture forward. Knock knock? Is anyone there? Really, is anyone there? Said the traveller, knocking on the moonlit door….
» Posted By siobhan347 On 02.27.2013 @ 2:05 pm
‘I am the captain of my soul, the master of my fate.’ I will conquer, I will endure, I will learn how to do this. I will reign over the fear that encircles me and tame the doubt. I will triumph.
» Posted By siobhan347 On 01.10.2013 @ 4:05 pm
Experience is such a vast word. Well it has to be really I suppose, as it contains within it many worlds. Like a Russian doll word. With many layers. And many learnings. Experience is a pupil crouched at a desk, absorbed in a book. Experience is a barefoot traveller in a strange country. Experience is hands digging in to new food. Experience is new sensations, realisations, revelations, all tearing off another layer of wrapping on the gift of the world.
» Posted By siobhan347 On 01.06.2013 @ 9:45 am
High five man. Five-a-side. Five fingers, five toes, five gives a rosy glow. Two pairs and one alone.
» Posted By siobhan347 On 12.17.2012 @ 11:48 am
‘Your love keeps lifting me, lifting me higher….’ Higher and higher above sky, above horizon line, high enough to see everything that was hidden before. From tethered to ground to sky-diving, feathers transforming frowns, ties to trampoline. Everything looks different here. I live in a new plane.
» Posted By siobhan347 On 12.04.2012 @ 11:52 am
Don’t say soon. Soon is too faraway, too vague. Like a balloon set to air that drifts away. Soon is like that. It can escape you. It’s as distant as the North Pole. It placates, excuses, postpones.
» Posted By siobhan347 On 11.26.2012 @ 6:06 am
Soon. We’ll get there soon. Over the horizon. You’ll see. When the stars settle. When the wind stops. Soon. Just a feather’s breadth away. An iota ounce. A breath, a bounce, a buoyant turn. There.
» Posted By siobhan347 On 11.26.2012 @ 6:04 am
This hall is never-ending. Red-carpeted and dimly lit. There’s no doors. no rooms, no way out. The pattern of the carpet is all swirls: snakes and ladders. And every step forward only leads to three steps back.
» Posted By siobhan347 On 11.21.2012 @ 1:46 pm
Such a selfish word really. ‘Are you satisfied’? Have you had enough? Do you want more? And what if you’re not satisfied, what if I’m not enough? I sacrifice everything for you to make sure that you are sufficiently satisfied; while I’m just a beat off miserable. Satisfaction is a greedy luxury.
» Posted By siobhan347 On 11.19.2012 @ 12:30 pm
I want to work in the arts. Like an alchemist. Wade knee-deep in colours, get my hands all inky. I want to work in swirls and twirls of meaning, get all tangled up in stars and be rewarded with a salary of knowing what it means to be alive.
» Posted By siobhan347 On 11.13.2012 @ 11:53 am
There’s a solution to this I know. But it’s not as simple as maths, not like algebra or equations where the ‘solution’ was an answer worked. With some hard thinking, pencil scribbling, it would be found, happened upon like a sudden revelation.
But not now. The logistics are barbed wire loops on which my heart gets caught. Into the wilderness of the unknown, and the solution looms far ahead like a horizon happiness that will not settle near me, will not settle, on the here and now, on the dark.
» Posted By siobhan347 On 10.23.2012 @ 12:20 pm
I want a fresh start. Like lying down in dewy grass. With the day as a blank slate. And air as clear as song to breathe. And green light all around.
» Posted By siobhan347 On 10.10.2012 @ 11:39 am
The word is already fulfilling its function as it looms in front of me in black ink. (What happened to the softer lilac hue OW?)
Dominant people remind me of stag deer, their antlers a ‘don’t mess with me’ dangerous symbol. Dominant people need to be heard. Always have their fist wrapped tight around the dice, trying to urge Fate to their wall, people to their bidding. And they always remind me of black – a sheer affront of obstinacy, bold, immovable, dark; blotting out all leeway, all the lighter fragile meanderings of love.
» Posted By siobhan347 On 10.09.2012 @ 2:48 pm
A body, rising up from sleep, from horizontal to vertical, sitting to standing, from dark into light. A recognition like the zing-snap of a light-bulb, an electrical charge, an enthusiasm like a racing pulse. The responsibility to do, to act. A verb, not a noun. A gift, a challenge, a revelation. And light, all light.
» Posted By siobhan347 On 09.17.2012 @ 7:15 am
In towers, there live princesses. Trapped. By old crones, wicked stepmothers. Or sometimes, by themselves, in cold stone of their own making, defences that became fortresses, silently, strictly. And in these towers, the princesses braid their hair and dream of escape. Look to longed-for princes to rescue them. Wish for happily-ever-afters on the horizon.
But this is all an illusion really. Flimsy fragments to fill days. The only way they will escape is of their own making. First, their desire for freedom. A believing in their own power. And the courage to scale heights, confront captors, leap, when there seems nothing to leap to.
Because real fairytales all contain this intense realisation and activation of Self. It’s all the magic we need.
» Posted By siobhan347 On 09.12.2012 @ 9:44 am
Murder your darlings. That’s what they say in every writing class. Get rid of them. Edit and erase. Those frolicking flowery words that curl around your prose like porcelain doll ringlets. Those slippery adjectives that loop and swirl and delicately strangle all meaning, like a snake’s slick coiling. Dig out anything that has vines growing from it. Keep it crisp and clean and precise and preened. No Eden here. No Rococo radical randomness. No daring decor. Be brave. Go it alone. Bold. Unadorned.
» Posted By siobhan347 On 08.30.2012 @ 2:45 pm
Comfort is like clouds. An incandescent cushioning, and as the sun’s rays shine through, a golden warmth, a glowing inside. It’s all softness and the never-ending presence of stars. It’s breath, it’s fire, it’s feathery. It’s safety, it’s feeling embraced by benevolence. Comfort is leaning back and being caught. Comfort is kind, kindness, caring. Comfort is knowing everything will be alright.
» Posted By siobhan347 On 08.21.2012 @ 11:09 am
Suggests a myriad of plans and arrangements. Filo-fax organisation. And I’m thinking of binders and files and manila envelopes. And suits and black and white dressed people.
But a real event, like a volcano erupting, or a storm gathering, is sudden, spontaneous, unplanned and unpretentious. Like a truth being told. Or a confession.
And instead of the pop of champagne corks, there’s another pop. A gleeful sigh of release. Somewhere within.
» Posted By siobhan347 On 08.20.2012 @ 10:05 am
I bury my losses beneath white pebbles but they still haunt me like ghosts, undying. They wail in the wind and appear in shadows. As white as ice, as angel wings. An ache, a grace, an invisible marking, and maybe, an accidental grace.
» Posted By siobhan347 On 07.31.2012 @ 8:31 am
Slice and dice, analyse, dissect, examine. Debunk. Disprove. I don’t like science. I don’t like the bare bald whiteness of it. The safety goggles approach. I don’t like explaining away mystery. I like to keep it intact. In my imagination, where possibilities like star nebulae burst and explode in streams of colour.
» Posted By siobhan347 On 07.06.2012 @ 7:33 am
Harness dreams to the sky, a trailing balloon, the white smoke of a jetplane on a blue horizon, a tuft of a cloud, a dandelion spore. Harness heart to hope and float. Kick feet, believe. Daydreams are helium for the soul.
» Posted By siobhan347 On 07.02.2012 @ 4:39 pm
With all the quiet contemplation of a chess master. All the spontaneous skill of a Lego sculptor. All the finesse of a tightrope walker. All the vagueness of clouds. I try to do it. Take a step forward.
» Posted By siobhan347 On 06.27.2012 @ 4:17 pm
Dandelion seeds surf the breeze like fluffy secrets. Fall where they may, they’ll sprout and grow until they loom large. Are wishes that lucky? That able to grow anywhere, on a window sill, a grassy spot, an ashtray, a door ledge? Maybe they are. Maybe they will.
» Posted By siobhan347 On 06.25.2012 @ 5:02 am
Still don’t know when to use persons instead of people. Maybe when the collective group in question is made up of individuals. Free-thinking, free-spirited individuals who don’t follow the mass herd. Not very often then.
» Posted By siobhan347 On 06.20.2012 @ 12:49 pm
Something being peeled. Like a potato skin. Or an orange. Skin ripping back to reveal a ugly ordinary core. No mystery anymore. Can’t people hide their keeness? Just another word for weakness. Far too keen – like a dog waiting for a stick to be thrown, tongue lolling, saliva foaming. How is that attractive?
» Posted By siobhan347 On 06.18.2012 @ 2:59 pm
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Switching lanes. Switching channels. Switching sides. Personally I like the static space in between. Before the switch is made. Before the choice is made. That light limbo-esque land. Where things verge on possible, disaster or success, before the conclusion is foregone. I think wisdom hovers there, like a dust mote, an invisible truth, waiting to be seen.
» Posted By siobhan347 On 06.12.2012 @ 11:09 am