Patches of fog remained floating on the road where it skirted the stream, but the breeze carried them over to the steep flanks of a nearby mountain. Every now and then as I walked along I would stop and turn and heave a sigh for no particular reason. I felt almost as if I had come to a planet where gravity was a little different. Yes, of course, I told myself, feeling sad: I was in the outside world now. — Norwegian Wood / Haruki Murakami I had to read this a couple of times... Its breathless and almost able to grasp its endless corners. Something drew me in.. Which does not happen.... Thank you once again dear lovely soul Jessica for recommending Norwegian Wood last year, it has truly made an impact and Im barely half way! In the first page, I knew something was holding me tightly. The words perhaps? I miss being in love floating on my eyelids. After reading 1Q84 I havent stopped glancing at the moon (tracking its phases by checking on it-seeing it’s waning and not full) and noticing the unnoticed. Its probably one of the best novel with a happy ending... And oh I do prefer tragic endings. If anyone has the time to enjoy a big book, Ill let you borrow mine! The last few days have been the happiest days of 2014 so far. Me, weeping on a floor, or rather, me – the waterfall of joy tears and some depressing tears brimming out... I almost thought I was suffocating.... Im O.K. Ive been writing nonsense and realizing how stupid Ive been for so many months.. Shhhh Ugh. A relieve and many emotions are gathering all at once. I hope I dont snap and break like a branch... In my claustrophobic journal (great title) I wrote something small of what I dreamt. It was an image of a dry desert and a seed that floated on the air, doing nothing and becoming nothing. I think I watched it for hours and realized my stomach was projecting the seed, like a slide show... as if the seed glowed tremendously strong from my many wounds. I kept fixedly my eyes on it until it started changing its form rapidly, in different angles I sat on the dry ground watching it. A fox that looks deeply in the woods for something or missing souls.... 11714| Inside my flesh I carry a seed, with many wounds.... That is shaped like an oval egg of the color lilac grey (second favorite color) or in shapes of dark poppies that is an almost cream -a worn out cream washed by an ocean newly created. And the wound gives birth inside the seed.... It develops something.... That I cant draw with my fingers full of diluted India ink. How old is this seed I ask the unknown, and these roots with eyelids? For many years this seed has to hold its creation, wrapped with feverishly veins and even the lily shall become something different after it has bloomed but still with its tender soft heart attached. As full as the red moon glowing like a phosphorous on the lonely mountains, beaming for someone to find its bloody sanguine and know it still exist... Up on the city skies where my Sedna, the sun sleeps with its secrets. If only the universe would know about this seed that carries my wound with a signature, a mark or perhaps with many stains. A seed carrying my fluorescent adolescent (a temple of the recollections) that will grow tall and bloom to its full glory. And I suddenly wake up from a broken clock that has stopped ticking long before I even existed. Its so silent. I never realized its time became frozen... In me. It seems that first passage describes how I feel, with the perfect amount of words..Ive created a universe and tiny worlds of oysters that sometimes I cant seem to know what day it is.. Ive been ordering online catalogues, books and rather then going to the mall I feel uninterested and its never on my mind. These weeks, alone in coffee shops writing as usual, or Im in my room that has no extra furniture or unnecessary decoration and reading passages over and over again. Be self-sufficient. -To begin.
Posted on: Sun, 26 Jan 2014 17:34:29 +0000
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