The Danish girl,authentic selves,suffering artists
I watched alot of clips of the film -The Danish girl, I loved the costumes so much,the palette of colours,deep maroon and other velvets and bohemian artist quarters,oh gosh I love velvet and beads,it really lit me up at this time that I'm missing being a bohemian(I suppose I still am).It made me long to be a portrait painter again,I use to paint often and adore portraits mostly in a bloomsbury style,I did some even of myself and I missed it mournfully watching this.So much of me is buried.Of course Redmayne as a suffering artist was too wonderful,the main reason I watched it all.I met a boy in hospital who looks quite like redmayne and whose freckles I fell completely in love with,we really couldn't stop putting ourselves together, it was some strange magnetism.This was just after I had met red too.Anyway I watched what I could of the film on YouTube,it seems very affecting ;loving someone despite everything,every alteration,growing pains,failure,infidelity,helping them grow into who they really are and loving them as they are which is what love ought to be about. I've read this twice this week - in one book of African wisdom based on tribal beliefs they were saying how the person we fall in love with is mainly there to help us meet our purpose in life,and then again someone else said the same.What a task and idea that I am there to help someone become the most true and best version of themselves - I really love that.I don't think we ever think that that we are helping them unfold into who they really are.Well it's been my theme for the week.Its important to take note of the themes and stories the universe is sending your way and to learn from them when you can.
I become very bored with this brain damage,without my mind full of thoughts and whims, I stare at the screen often.I don't know if it's a memory or processing problem,or both but I can't think things and I can't remember things,what I love etc without little reminders.But soul wise I'm still riveted with everything even if it doesn't culminate in my mind,and my god how I've learnt the spirits eternity.I have forgotten what it was like before,but I wish it back everyday.I sometimes can't believe the equal gloom and glory of my life.He seems far off and forgotten I don't know if it's because I've reached a point in the story where he can no longer journey with me or if I'm just preoccupied.Talking of stories I can't tell you how much I miss writing novels.I thought in March with the remains of my life I would simply write novels for myself, as another place to live,that's what I planned and now any attempt to conjure or even think a novel is blocked in my brain.Its the strangest thing to go through.It was as if the universe took everything I still lived for and cherished - my imagination,my flights of fancies,my myriad thoughts,my love of beauty and just threw it all away, where I couldn't reach it.Every year I become a deeper person but more of me is carved away and furnished into something else.I try my very best with what Ive come to but honestly every day I wish it were all over.I want to be again,a darting clever mind,the passionate poetess,a portrait painter,future full,proper slumber,dressed up and to the brim and not this sort of walking dead.Despite dreadful sleep and other botherments I still felt high passion and romanticism for everything before this happened,now I listen for what my soul loves but can't really participate it in it fully,how we underestimate the mind/brain.And it was the meds that did it all,that left me in this lurch of not wanting to go on.But psychiatry destroys and denies the spiritual at every turn,how can I be suprised it denied and destroyed me?
I guess I will drink my peppermint tea,roam my mind for anything,immerse myself still in each thing I love from fortnums Florentines,to black embroidered vests,to Ivory cutlery,to a midsummer nights dream,all my haughty little habits.Ill Read what books I can,at the moment I read e.e Cummings book of poems :
life is more true than reason will deceive
(more secret or than madness did reveal)
deeper is life than lose:higher than have
–but beauty is more each than living’s all
his words are tossed like a madmans but make more sense.I love his feel above thinking.What else can I do with all I go through but abide by my soul wishes,and hope for it to become one day all it is and should be.To take flight and to take form.I have a nice quote on my wall that I read every day it says "maybe the journey isn't so much about becoming anything,maybe it's about unbecoming everything that isn't really you,so you can be who you were meant to be in the first place".
The Danish girl.
I become very bored with this brain damage,without my mind full of thoughts and whims, I stare at the screen often.I don't know if it's a memory or processing problem,or both but I can't think things and I can't remember things,what I love etc without little reminders.But soul wise I'm still riveted with everything even if it doesn't culminate in my mind,and my god how I've learnt the spirits eternity.I have forgotten what it was like before,but I wish it back everyday.I sometimes can't believe the equal gloom and glory of my life.He seems far off and forgotten I don't know if it's because I've reached a point in the story where he can no longer journey with me or if I'm just preoccupied.Talking of stories I can't tell you how much I miss writing novels.I thought in March with the remains of my life I would simply write novels for myself, as another place to live,that's what I planned and now any attempt to conjure or even think a novel is blocked in my brain.Its the strangest thing to go through.It was as if the universe took everything I still lived for and cherished - my imagination,my flights of fancies,my myriad thoughts,my love of beauty and just threw it all away, where I couldn't reach it.Every year I become a deeper person but more of me is carved away and furnished into something else.I try my very best with what Ive come to but honestly every day I wish it were all over.I want to be again,a darting clever mind,the passionate poetess,a portrait painter,future full,proper slumber,dressed up and to the brim and not this sort of walking dead.Despite dreadful sleep and other botherments I still felt high passion and romanticism for everything before this happened,now I listen for what my soul loves but can't really participate it in it fully,how we underestimate the mind/brain.And it was the meds that did it all,that left me in this lurch of not wanting to go on.But psychiatry destroys and denies the spiritual at every turn,how can I be suprised it denied and destroyed me?
I guess I will drink my peppermint tea,roam my mind for anything,immerse myself still in each thing I love from fortnums Florentines,to black embroidered vests,to Ivory cutlery,to a midsummer nights dream,all my haughty little habits.Ill Read what books I can,at the moment I read e.e Cummings book of poems :
life is more true than reason will deceive
(more secret or than madness did reveal)
deeper is life than lose:higher than have
–but beauty is more each than living’s all
his words are tossed like a madmans but make more sense.I love his feel above thinking.What else can I do with all I go through but abide by my soul wishes,and hope for it to become one day all it is and should be.To take flight and to take form.I have a nice quote on my wall that I read every day it says "maybe the journey isn't so much about becoming anything,maybe it's about unbecoming everything that isn't really you,so you can be who you were meant to be in the first place".
The Danish girl.
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