rumble

Thunderous dark blue with delicate vintage lace I scavenged on my latest trip to London. (on Etsy)

Two days in a row a hot day has been followed by a massive thunder at night. The first night the lightnings and rumblings were few but extremely loud. Last night was more gentle, if a thunder storm can be described gentle. At first it sounded like a kid shaking a big sheet of metal, then like a class room full of kids making thunder sounds, and in the end the teacher joined in with childlike joy. It is strange to view lightnings from the window as the sun is getting up and colouring the clouds with an eerie white.

I’ve been working on a non-linear notebook system for myself. I can’t seem to figure out how to use notebooks effectively so I’m trying something new. If you’re interested, I could put together a tutorial of some sort. Maybe I ought to finish my project first and show you some photos so you know what I’m actually talking about…

ephemeral beauty (and some permanent)

Some nights ago I said something V said he was going to steal for some poem he’s still to write. I love the colours of bruises, how they change with time, how they always match the tone of your skin in some eerie way. (I’m sure I wouldn’t think so if the bruises I’ve had in my life had not been the result of either clumsiness or my own stupidity.) My knee went from black and blue to purple to yellow and green. Now it looks as if someone had placed a tiny lipstick kiss to the side of my knee cap. With weird mauve-ish lipstick.

4″ higher on my thigh there’s a birthmark in the same shade, half the size of my palm, split in half by a blue vein shining through. Oddly, despite all the issues I’ve had with my body image, the birthmark is something I’ve always liked. It’s my map of unknown territory. One road, straggly coastline.

spoiled

I wish I had a good story to share.

So, I had a bad day and a bad night. And I feel like my legs are about to collapse under me when I hover from one room to another. It’s the little things. Much like how a glass of clear water is spoiled by just one drop of ink. Except ink usually gives beautiful shades when diluted. My bad days are much more like a mix of too many water-colours, of a non-colour, of the consistency of foul milk.

the above book is sold. it was one of my favourites.
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