Listless tiresome day,great depths,poetics and other talents
Some days there won't be a song in your heart,sing anyway.
Emery Austin
Have been listening to 'where's my love' by syml on repeat the only song that can carry me elsewhere,may be my favourite song,perhaps.Im also listening to waves he has a nice trill to his voice.I Want to ponder over Edwardian asylums and make up stories in my head,drift on a million things none of which my brain seems able to do the last two days. I am blank as can be and it makes me so listless,unsatisfied and each day feels lost to me.Its the brain damage of course my mind just can't muse over a hundred things like it always has.Its all memory and processing.I try to remember all the things I've studied or loved the past decade (all I ever did is read and ponder) and I can't remember anything,I try to have thoughts but it's just a horrible blankness,this must be what it's like to be an imbecile.I don't know how people exist without being immersed in a hundred thoughts.
My soul still stirs and I look and look for what I love in my mind.On days like these I want to throw myself down the river just so I can feel and think again in some new life.Truly.I do have good days where inspiration comes to me I find little volts and sparks around that light me up. Thursday was great I started a novel idea,a great feat,and felt charmed by everything old world and woodsy.Well at least I'm in somewhat happy spirits there's brightness, but also great depths about, I dreamt about red (my redheaded soulmate) again last night.I must try to remember and think something,if I look on the web I can often find things that remind me but turning it over in my mind seems impossible today.Can you imagine being unable to think thoughts,that's my life.I think with the very poor sleep things must have worsened.
I wrote two poems last night,not very good,truly writing poems in the lap of death to quote e.e Cummings.I found the best way was to lie down and compose and then try to write it out.Thats how the ancient filid(Irish poets) did it.I will stay close as can be to poetry that's all that's really keeping me.I just read love in the asylum by Thomas,she walks the dust,the first vision to set fire to the stars.I really loved it,not being too clever but being spirited and mad,necessary unreason. Red and poetry that's all my world is now,wishing after the afterlife and being besotted with everything with old world character.They must carry me these things,it is somewhat better to be whittled down to just these essentials, but no I miss my expansive thoughts and expensive worlds.All I want is to write my poems and work on my story but my mind won't play along, it reminds me of this illustrator of myth and legend,as well as fairy tales that I read of yesterday, Virginia Francis Sterrett who died of tuberculosis at 30 or so,some people are not divined to fulfil their talents,dreams and highest wishes.Why we are graced with talents and passions we can't fulfil I will never know.
I think I will purchase The Danish girl,I only like period films and it has Bohemianism,artists and Redmayne that's all I wish for.I am so thrilled that I can watch period films again, though it doesn't evoke quite the same.Its such a good day for ricotta pancakes with bananas and honeycomb butter,and proper fortnums tea,oh say it may be so.Ive been craving pancakes the entire year I really need to make them.I think it's time too to read my 'soulmates' book again I found it a bit dull,it's a bit too prim maybe because he was a former monk.I wish some wise elder from some village deep in the Hungarian mountains could explain to me in a riddled way what soulmates are,how we're fated for each other,our mutal destiny,maybe teach you to sing a chant that keeps them close,hehe.I am so grateful to have found my soulmate, I cannot imagine that searching amiss and the sense of incomplete.I really hope there is an an old hidden Anglo Saxon word for soulmate as the word soulmate has been made so poxy.Oh I really my little stories nowadays seem to be about old wise women deep in the village or forests of Eastern Europe,it's such an enchanting thought.Now to listen to my new favourite song,drink my tea and try my very hardest to write my novel.
Emery Austin
Have been listening to 'where's my love' by syml on repeat the only song that can carry me elsewhere,may be my favourite song,perhaps.Im also listening to waves he has a nice trill to his voice.I Want to ponder over Edwardian asylums and make up stories in my head,drift on a million things none of which my brain seems able to do the last two days. I am blank as can be and it makes me so listless,unsatisfied and each day feels lost to me.Its the brain damage of course my mind just can't muse over a hundred things like it always has.Its all memory and processing.I try to remember all the things I've studied or loved the past decade (all I ever did is read and ponder) and I can't remember anything,I try to have thoughts but it's just a horrible blankness,this must be what it's like to be an imbecile.I don't know how people exist without being immersed in a hundred thoughts.
My soul still stirs and I look and look for what I love in my mind.On days like these I want to throw myself down the river just so I can feel and think again in some new life.Truly.I do have good days where inspiration comes to me I find little volts and sparks around that light me up. Thursday was great I started a novel idea,a great feat,and felt charmed by everything old world and woodsy.Well at least I'm in somewhat happy spirits there's brightness, but also great depths about, I dreamt about red (my redheaded soulmate) again last night.I must try to remember and think something,if I look on the web I can often find things that remind me but turning it over in my mind seems impossible today.Can you imagine being unable to think thoughts,that's my life.I think with the very poor sleep things must have worsened.
I wrote two poems last night,not very good,truly writing poems in the lap of death to quote e.e Cummings.I found the best way was to lie down and compose and then try to write it out.Thats how the ancient filid(Irish poets) did it.I will stay close as can be to poetry that's all that's really keeping me.I just read love in the asylum by Thomas,she walks the dust,the first vision to set fire to the stars.I really loved it,not being too clever but being spirited and mad,necessary unreason. Red and poetry that's all my world is now,wishing after the afterlife and being besotted with everything with old world character.They must carry me these things,it is somewhat better to be whittled down to just these essentials, but no I miss my expansive thoughts and expensive worlds.All I want is to write my poems and work on my story but my mind won't play along, it reminds me of this illustrator of myth and legend,as well as fairy tales that I read of yesterday, Virginia Francis Sterrett who died of tuberculosis at 30 or so,some people are not divined to fulfil their talents,dreams and highest wishes.Why we are graced with talents and passions we can't fulfil I will never know.
I think I will purchase The Danish girl,I only like period films and it has Bohemianism,artists and Redmayne that's all I wish for.I am so thrilled that I can watch period films again, though it doesn't evoke quite the same.Its such a good day for ricotta pancakes with bananas and honeycomb butter,and proper fortnums tea,oh say it may be so.Ive been craving pancakes the entire year I really need to make them.I think it's time too to read my 'soulmates' book again I found it a bit dull,it's a bit too prim maybe because he was a former monk.I wish some wise elder from some village deep in the Hungarian mountains could explain to me in a riddled way what soulmates are,how we're fated for each other,our mutal destiny,maybe teach you to sing a chant that keeps them close,hehe.I am so grateful to have found my soulmate, I cannot imagine that searching amiss and the sense of incomplete.I really hope there is an an old hidden Anglo Saxon word for soulmate as the word soulmate has been made so poxy.Oh I really my little stories nowadays seem to be about old wise women deep in the village or forests of Eastern Europe,it's such an enchanting thought.Now to listen to my new favourite song,drink my tea and try my very hardest to write my novel.
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