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[16 Oct 2003|07:56pm] |
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mood |
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 mellow |
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music |
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Morcheeba |
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He spotted her bicylce at the edge of the cliff, both tires flattened. He walked hesitantly to the edge hoping that he wouldn't find her at the bottom. He knew that if he was not careful, he himself would fall. The earthquake that traversed the land two days prior had left in it's wake a devastation that rivaled all others he had experiened. It was apocalyptical in comparison. Many had died, many were wounded, and many were unaccounted for. His Elizabeth was amongt the lost.
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| A Tree |
[15 Oct 2003|09:11pm] |
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She lay there under the bridge drifting in and out of sleep. Everytime a car would pass overhead, she would start awake by the loudness and vibrations. Sometimes she waded in the water of the creek, despite it's filth and infestation of mosquitos. One day she waded to the other side of the bank to visit the tree her father had once showed her. It had carved upon it a heart and the initials HJB and CBD, Harold Jackson Burchfield and Clara Beatrice Devine, her grandparents. Over 50 years old was this wound in the tree, and yet it still thrived.
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| sometimes I think I'm insane... |
[15 Oct 2003|08:59pm] |
it doesn't really bother me, though. I know my pseudo boughts of insanity are really just surrealistic observations whilst in a state of intoxication and/or lack of sleep. Oh, and occasionally severe depression. Boy, I CAN be interesting, can't I, Moriah? Moriah, Moriah...what a bizzaro name is that! Means something like "Bitterness of the Lord". Boy, was that ever on the mark!
So, my art lately..I'm just making it. Not caring about the subject, theme, etc...I'm just barfing it up on the canvas, paper, whatever. Just getting it out. I do have an idea of memories, though. Writing and illustrating snippets of my life or the life of a friend or loved one...my grandmum, grandda, etc.... I wanna be famous...I wanna live forever...I wanna be Debbie Allen. Darunk.
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| Merlot. There's nothing like it! |
[15 Oct 2003|08:47pm] |
The time is indeed now...I'm so freakin's drunk. Not totally inebriated, mind you, but right out tipsy I yam. hehe...and luvin' it! Funny how red wine can eat the knots from off of one's back.
AWAKE!
Pulsating veins
Brimming with life's essence.
Sweet intoxicants flow through to the heart of the cold dead shell.
Desire and love drive the soul to the burning edge of darkness
Where all is lost and the endless fount flows.
I kinda like it. Not bad for something that was written by an angst-ridden teenager back in 1992. Steal it and I will know. Vengence will be MINE, mwahahaha!
Dod O
mention I'm darunk?
Transilvanian concubine, you know it flows there like wine...they know what they do is wrong...stay here with us, it's just time, Transilvanian concubine.
This is what they wanted, always to be hunted...
Fangs ruin any cute pout...
geez, guess what I'm listening too. Rasputina RULES!
My art has been wonderful lately. I'm loving what I'm doing. The color is spectacular...I have a muse...he's an imaginary muse, but inspires me nonetheless. I love my muse.
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[31 Aug 2003|07:11pm] |
Empty in a spot...somewhere in my brain or in my heart. What should go there in that empty place? I feel defeat and weariness. There is a weight over me pushing me down, making it difficult to think or even to see. Many times my eyes lose focus and I feel myself slipping into a waking coma, paralyzed against movement and thought. My creativity has diminished, shriveled to a tiny dried up seed.
I yearn, I long, I need. This well is dry and I am parched. I am on empty and there is no fueling dock in sight. My head is pulsing, my neck is tight and I feel I have wasted most of my life. And here I sit, bitching and moaning about what I need, reluctant to escape from a prison of my on making.
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[26 May 2003|11:24pm] |
There are so many things I have forgotten, so many things I have tried to remember.
The girl walked along the edge of the nearly stagnant creek, mildly disgusted with the smell of the thick, clay-like mud. She made her way underneath the bridge, a place that had become her sanctuary for the summer. Cars would pass above, oblivious to the goings on below. Here, she could find peace. Here, she was able to dream without interruption. No one knew she was there, except for the snakes, and lizards, and spiders. She would sit all day, ignoring her hunger and the thick Mississippi heat. Sometimes she would take a towel with her, spread it out underneath the bridge and nap all day. Other times she would just sit and watch nature dance around her. Today, she brought the towel.
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offyourbird's journal