the girl
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She's the girl who sits and watches while others live a charmed life. The girl loves to write but doesn't know if she's any good at it. She loves rainbow sprinkled ice cream on a rainy day. She loves to take walks with the wind blowing. Giggling should be made a career. She tells you her secrets in not so many words.
in the past
blog pokes
well-known pokes
Wednesday, January 28, 2009 10:16 PM
this, love
I am convinced that the meaning to most everything is revealed in post-rain wind envelopes containing glitters from dew lingering in the air. The most complicated ideas come undone under neon street lights with little showers of pseudo rain. It's a most intriguing thing. Perhaps the big guns would learn better to hold the reins of power after indulging in one such as this.
As you walk pass hibiscus and rose bushes that may seem to belong to Day, you realize that their versatility is something all should attempt for. Their ability to now look most comfortable swaying with the wind while simultaneously dancing to the music pulsing through you, is something.
These sights and smells shake awake all sleeping senses, not abruptly, but with enough subtlety to generate awe. It makes appreciation come most naturally. Much like poetry taking its first few breaths in a world reborn. Surely, you think, this must have been the cause for the joy you listen to.
What then could you make of hearing the first patters of beauty hitting your roof in between plucking at strings. The cold floor and the spinning fan blades above accentuates the smiling silence of successful attempts only to mask the desperation of each wrong. I say it gives courage for an awaiting journey. This is the secret ingredient in every cup of Milo, every word written in given wisdom, every message inscribed in stone.
This is love. Unceasing love.
"He shall come down like rain upon the grass before mowing,
Like showers that water the earth." (Psalm 72:6)
Hands down, it's the best gift given.
As you walk pass hibiscus and rose bushes that may seem to belong to Day, you realize that their versatility is something all should attempt for. Their ability to now look most comfortable swaying with the wind while simultaneously dancing to the music pulsing through you, is something.
These sights and smells shake awake all sleeping senses, not abruptly, but with enough subtlety to generate awe. It makes appreciation come most naturally. Much like poetry taking its first few breaths in a world reborn. Surely, you think, this must have been the cause for the joy you listen to.
What then could you make of hearing the first patters of beauty hitting your roof in between plucking at strings. The cold floor and the spinning fan blades above accentuates the smiling silence of successful attempts only to mask the desperation of each wrong. I say it gives courage for an awaiting journey. This is the secret ingredient in every cup of Milo, every word written in given wisdom, every message inscribed in stone.
This is love. Unceasing love.
"He shall come down like rain upon the grass before mowing,Like showers that water the earth." (Psalm 72:6)
Hands down, it's the best gift given.
minx wrote at10:16 PM
1 replies
1 replies
Tuesday, January 27, 2009 5:14 PM
like the undecided clouds, outside
There have been many idle minutes now, stacking up against each other in that little corner that I am expertly blocking out of view. From the corners of my eyes, I still see the glares as more gets shoved in. I am entirely to blame - yes, that's me admitting to it.
Little projects have come up; ones that determine grades and others that determine the way I throw my footsteps in the coming hours, days, months and possibly year. Instead, I sit and think. Think and sit. Bake and think. Write and think. So, you see, Thoughts may need to go for a bit.
Quite a task when distractions that laugh and give voice to the crazy ideas that we're all thinking, forget to do just that.
As is usual, smiles that have been much missed are still being missed. You would think that I would've learnt to forget this feeling in due time. It's odd that I'm half wishing I'll master this skill but at the same time hope I don't need to.
. . . .
I want to stand here on one feet and detail the silent reasons that make my heart flutter with concern. All in one breath, to you. Not for sympathy, but for a hug. One long hug and a smile right after. That would be a cheering on like no other; an armor for the journey.
Why do we have to be social beings? Grr.
. . . .
And now, for some good cheer. Here's what these eyes soaked in during the first few weeks of the year.
With, love =)
Little projects have come up; ones that determine grades and others that determine the way I throw my footsteps in the coming hours, days, months and possibly year. Instead, I sit and think. Think and sit. Bake and think. Write and think. So, you see, Thoughts may need to go for a bit.
Quite a task when distractions that laugh and give voice to the crazy ideas that we're all thinking, forget to do just that.
As is usual, smiles that have been much missed are still being missed. You would think that I would've learnt to forget this feeling in due time. It's odd that I'm half wishing I'll master this skill but at the same time hope I don't need to.
. . . .
I want to stand here on one feet and detail the silent reasons that make my heart flutter with concern. All in one breath, to you. Not for sympathy, but for a hug. One long hug and a smile right after. That would be a cheering on like no other; an armor for the journey.
Why do we have to be social beings? Grr.
. . . .
And now, for some good cheer. Here's what these eyes soaked in during the first few weeks of the year.
With, love =)
minx wrote at5:14 PM
2 replies
2 replies
Monday, January 19, 2009 2:22 PM
fix
It's the day after. One day past and it's still as real as it was when it happened.
I've gone from scrutinizing to find for a reason to trivializing it with humor. Back and forth, over and again; in my head and out loud in typed words. When you come down to it, I don't even know if this reason that I've been feeding on is real. It's substantial enough to stand on its own but, 'but' (s) are always lurking in between walls to whisper doubts.
Well, it's not very important but it is. It very well could be forgotten but it's not.
In fact its floating around in Trebuchet font size 20 with silver trimmings tailing it.
This morning's jog was supposed to clear the mind and blare The Album Leaf into every empty corner but the play bites and clawing of an excited stray turned me around after two rounds. Parentals are insistent that needles will provide the best help but I'm thinking my immune system will do a better job.
But that hypothesis has not been through rigorous experimental procedures so if I run around you in circles, you know why.
Hunger after a semi-jog is a funny thing. It can go dormant after a few gulps of water, only surfacing at select moments while the apple crumble was being thrown together (i.e. apple chopping, apple boiling, flour crumbling).
This was a greenappleholic's dream breakfast (or brunch, if we're going for accuracy).
And soon after there was another try with 'egg whites whipped to medium peaks' simply because the oven was still hot. But that couldn't quite stand up to the apple crumble.
Now, I'm off to hurt four fingers on my left hand, all for the grand goal of 'transitioning smoothly'.
I can look you in the eye and say nothing is a problem. But I'll rush right through and not register it when I tell you that my heart and mind are not thinking.
=)
I've gone from scrutinizing to find for a reason to trivializing it with humor. Back and forth, over and again; in my head and out loud in typed words. When you come down to it, I don't even know if this reason that I've been feeding on is real. It's substantial enough to stand on its own but, 'but' (s) are always lurking in between walls to whisper doubts.
Well, it's not very important but it is. It very well could be forgotten but it's not.
In fact its floating around in Trebuchet font size 20 with silver trimmings tailing it.
This morning's jog was supposed to clear the mind and blare The Album Leaf into every empty corner but the play bites and clawing of an excited stray turned me around after two rounds. Parentals are insistent that needles will provide the best help but I'm thinking my immune system will do a better job.
But that hypothesis has not been through rigorous experimental procedures so if I run around you in circles, you know why.
Hunger after a semi-jog is a funny thing. It can go dormant after a few gulps of water, only surfacing at select moments while the apple crumble was being thrown together (i.e. apple chopping, apple boiling, flour crumbling).
This was a greenappleholic's dream breakfast (or brunch, if we're going for accuracy).And soon after there was another try with 'egg whites whipped to medium peaks' simply because the oven was still hot. But that couldn't quite stand up to the apple crumble.
Now, I'm off to hurt four fingers on my left hand, all for the grand goal of 'transitioning smoothly'.
I can look you in the eye and say nothing is a problem. But I'll rush right through and not register it when I tell you that my heart and mind are not thinking.
=)
minx wrote at2:22 PM
1 replies
1 replies
Friday, January 16, 2009 1:02 PM
just, just.
Asiatic black bears or more fondly known as moon bears live in tight cages on farms in China with catheters to their gall bladders so farmers are able to get gall for medicinal purposes. Often, the catheters are unhygienically inserted causing the bears to suffer from infections. Efforts towards closing the farms have been somewhat successful in reducing the number of moon bears in captivity but the bears still require rehabilitation and the farmers, awareness.
They don't look unhappy, just indifferent.
They have fur on their cheeks that I deduce if combed straight out could have them be in perpetual smiles.
. . . . .
This is just one of those.
They don't look unhappy, just indifferent.
They have fur on their cheeks that I deduce if combed straight out could have them be in perpetual smiles.
. . . . .
This is just one of those.
minx wrote at1:02 PM
0 replies
0 replies
Saturday, January 10, 2009 12:53 PM
be thou my breastplate, my sword for the fight
Arrows have never been emblazoned in neon colors on my maps. There was always an absence of breadcrumbs on seemingly important crossroads. And the voice on the GPS system? It becomes quiet when traffic is at its worst.
The world of aggression was weighed upon this shoulders and it was presented not very differently in that sense.
There were sympathetic pats on shoulders, repeat of verses (to convince, not console), and most embarrassingly, red noses and swollen eyes. Perhaps I didn't know it back then but not asking for a reassignment was the best thing I did despite seeing the comfort at which all else enjoyed.
This only brings to light that Hindsight has been instrumental in seeing that You still work with and for me.
great Heart of my own heart, whatever befall,
still be thou my vision, O Ruler of all
For the sake of brevity, this is all You.
Thank You.
The world of aggression was weighed upon this shoulders and it was presented not very differently in that sense.There were sympathetic pats on shoulders, repeat of verses (to convince, not console), and most embarrassingly, red noses and swollen eyes. Perhaps I didn't know it back then but not asking for a reassignment was the best thing I did despite seeing the comfort at which all else enjoyed.
This only brings to light that Hindsight has been instrumental in seeing that You still work with and for me.
great Heart of my own heart, whatever befall,still be thou my vision, O Ruler of all
For the sake of brevity, this is all You.Thank You.
minx wrote at12:53 PM
0 replies
0 replies
Friday, January 09, 2009 12:59 PM
set, up
The stationery in its case was not new. Neither was the case. The tote bag carries sights and sounds from back when writing on the side was still an option to flirt with. The same red seats are still caved in and the child-like comfort that comes with being wedged in one remains.
Faces that came around held the same familiarity from three weeks before but perhaps with more cheer. When you come down to it, it's easy to see that the categories that exist are inevitably the same; eyes - check, smile - check, wave - check.
And yet, something was amiss.
The sounds have changed.
Texts make echoing sounds into the world without ears to capture and correspond to them.
Voices that formed the basis of tickling smiles are muted and missing.
That one supposedly annoying note of sound that's something of a syllable but definitely more descriptive than that, is missing. Never would I have guessed that I would miss it and yet I do.
More than most, which is why the dread of the coming courses of action are so difficult subdue.
Because nothing is ever always, always.
. . . . .
To admit defeat was not even in my list of options but it being the topmost on your lists stumped me. The revelation that many ships have sunk or is about ready to is disappointing. I won't lie and say I didn't wish things were different. Perhaps desiring for sink-proof ships is a little beyond real but is this so meaningless that it is easier to waive off than build upon? Or maybe you're in on a secret formula to watch a sinking ship go its course without a wrenching heart.
Pray tell so I too can forget mending holes and willingly let it sink.
. . . . .
This writing, you think it's writing when it's not really writing cause next to writing, it stands not even like writing because writing is writing and writings like this can only hope to slip through by being in the written form and perhaps be considered writing but really, it isn't writing because real writing appeals and none of this appeals because stiff seems to be the game play that doesn't want to leave and be far away from this writing.
And so, stiff she is.
. . . . .
The bunch of Hebrew words now repeating in my head tell me that: provide, He will; faithful, He will be; trust, I must.
Precisely why I will have to sit out probably among the best gigs ever to grace this part of the universe only to have a private 'gig' with recordings from the Scotts.
And why dear you will remain unwritten with Hope for it knowingly dismissed.
And why the silliness that jerk tears that were not worth the trouble will be made insignificant.
Also why hearing from the white coats lately have become less of what it used to be =)
please and thank You.
. . . . .
This is my heart (without some)that is now very much best friends with the one called up son and/or daughter of set.
Faces that came around held the same familiarity from three weeks before but perhaps with more cheer. When you come down to it, it's easy to see that the categories that exist are inevitably the same; eyes - check, smile - check, wave - check.
And yet, something was amiss.
The sounds have changed.
Texts make echoing sounds into the world without ears to capture and correspond to them.
Voices that formed the basis of tickling smiles are muted and missing.
That one supposedly annoying note of sound that's something of a syllable but definitely more descriptive than that, is missing. Never would I have guessed that I would miss it and yet I do.
More than most, which is why the dread of the coming courses of action are so difficult subdue.
Because nothing is ever always, always.
. . . . .
To admit defeat was not even in my list of options but it being the topmost on your lists stumped me. The revelation that many ships have sunk or is about ready to is disappointing. I won't lie and say I didn't wish things were different. Perhaps desiring for sink-proof ships is a little beyond real but is this so meaningless that it is easier to waive off than build upon? Or maybe you're in on a secret formula to watch a sinking ship go its course without a wrenching heart.
Pray tell so I too can forget mending holes and willingly let it sink.
. . . . .
This writing, you think it's writing when it's not really writing cause next to writing, it stands not even like writing because writing is writing and writings like this can only hope to slip through by being in the written form and perhaps be considered writing but really, it isn't writing because real writing appeals and none of this appeals because stiff seems to be the game play that doesn't want to leave and be far away from this writing.
And so, stiff she is.
. . . . .
The bunch of Hebrew words now repeating in my head tell me that: provide, He will; faithful, He will be; trust, I must.
Precisely why I will have to sit out probably among the best gigs ever to grace this part of the universe only to have a private 'gig' with recordings from the Scotts.
And why dear you will remain unwritten with Hope for it knowingly dismissed.
And why the silliness that jerk tears that were not worth the trouble will be made insignificant.
Also why hearing from the white coats lately have become less of what it used to be =)
please and thank You.
. . . . .
This is my heart (without some)that is now very much best friends with the one called up son and/or daughter of set.
minx wrote at12:59 PM
0 replies
0 replies