to have and to hold

Raining you say?  Work got you down?  Or is it that you need to be comforted because you had too much for dinner? The black warmth can love you, the cashmere will envelop.  If one needs a silent listening friend, it will be there to hold you.  It is the barely distinguishable cable knit worked into the slightly large dimensions of the sweater that make my comfort so true.  The conversations we’ve had over the years make the outside a little fuzzy looking, but the sweater is still there for when I need it, when I want someone to understand and hug me in the softest way possible.

the turtle

In a line of waiting, the plant inches past my position.  I’d catch up, but the people in front should shuffle forward first.  Is the etiquette to say something?  I can’t believe it passed in front with its long green leaf.  Maybe I’ll keep waiting my turn, politely.  My patience is an ingrained accommodating virtue.  That plant can’t beat me forever.

these days

People talk of depression as drowning.  I think it’s a pressure on the chest, almost like a constriction around central body, furthering the pressure by pressing down.  Holding tight, contained and fast.  Because it is so close, physically encountered, the consciousness of it feels such weight and ignores it.  The internal pressure pushing, pushing down, so the mind turns inward and down too.  Now subliminally focused on the indentation on the rippled surface.

Mental capacity

Write! write said the head to the hand. Proceeding to follow orders from the top down, everything got lost in translation. What do you want me to pen down exactly? exclaimed the tired private instrument. Whatever I witness whispered the brain’s training. How communicative but unspecific of you responded the frontal lobe to the occipital conundrum. The brain stem should really impart more literate information.

Room for 2

The back wall was lit with the golden warm glow of candles.  Set on the shelf, the bookcase, the side table.  Indoor plants being watered, they added their vibrancy in life to the beeswax ambiance.  Cashmere nestled the figure, and the sensuous tea was just right.  Lilting soft notes piped their encouragement, cascading classical ideas.  Cool rain coursed down the darkened window, caressing the room to exist in itself.  Moving further inside, towards the back; ‘come in’ she murmured.  And placing the book in her arms, she luxuriated, and read.

Lonely lovers

Where have I misplaced my lover

I had just left him here among the field of flowers

We sighed and whiled away countless hours

Vanished, he has somehow flown into the arms of another

Leaving me desolate, arms vainly  reaching outstretched

Searching, I’m seeking but where can I find

My lover, who knew me, our thoughts entwined

Now the vision fading where my eyes used to catch

Dreams of fulfillment aching away

Painful daylight dealing death on the lover I portray

Figments fade and the mirror returning

Imaginary love served only to lessen lonely yearning

room for food

Feeling uninspired, my eyes have lackadaisically drifted across the room’s expanse.  Apples and Oranges; different people clusters at their mutterings.  There are waves of the tired, noggen nestled softly in their arms, or nodding their acquiescence.  Everything is a concentration; the topic the class  and the arrangement of food carefully shuffled on plated chasms of personality.  Eggs and bright insides, supported by their assortment of glasses, cheering the complex carbohydrates on.

initially (blog 2-13-08)

To the class:

I enjoy being amused and amusing, but we are supposed to be deeper, and I’m tired from jetlag (California! Knows how to party) so I’m not sure how this will go, I may just impart some closely held parts of me without my characteristic crinkle that you can normally pick up on, though it sometimes doesn’t translate; some things are funnier in my head.  I jump around a lot, something mentioned cyclically on my returned writing comments, so to preface, I think I’m actually going to start with the History rather than the personal quirks that I was about to get into.

I’m San Francisco developed, but I’m half Australian and went to a boarding high school there.  This blog is going to involve a lot of ‘I’ and I’m not sure how much analysis… I only speak English, and I’ve always liked that class the best, the teachers seemed better mostly.   I had a long poetry phase as a child, that I now believe I have little competency in, but the blogs I read before writing this give me a small flame of hope.  For a digressing example; we were asked in some early grade (called year in Aus. i.e. 3^rd grade, year 3) to decide what we would put on a vanity license plate, 7 letters.  It seems silly to just come out and say it now, but yes, yes I did say POETRY, and I loved that it had the double meaning when on a car plate, provided the kind of car I hoped I would one day be driving.  SO, I love reading, and am also incredibly picky about what I do read.  I like fantasy and comfort books (one’s I read over and over so I appreciate the story, find out new things by rereading, and don’t stay up or concentrate to hard because I know what is coming), and they have to have an at least semi-happy ending, but I hate cliché.  Most of the time.  You’d think I’d be a romance novel enthusiast, but no, not as of yet.  Hmm, writing wise, I have no real clue where I stand, though I like stories *surprise* so I have always wanted to try my hand at fiction but school doesn’t lend itself to the time.

            I’m an incredibly shy, private and defensive person.  I am also hyper-observant, in that I watch people and pick up on verbal and physical cues to try and interpret what others mean.  Which means that my sense of people’s reactions manifests in that  I don’t put myself out there, in a way like the characters that may over-interpret (perhaps getting it wrong to their own detriment and in doing so provide the driving force in the book).  Oh, but that doesn’t make me quiet in front of company, you will all have heaps of Alicia time, don’t worry your pretty little heads about it.  I just don’t like getting hurt.  Everyone will get a piece of this action, with Barbara there to direct my inarticulate commentary.