08:25pm 17/12/2014
  Perhaps when our own selfishness makes us feel ugly we know only love can keep us beautiful  
08:25pm 17/12/2014
  His new neighbour in the basement apartment had yet to show his face. Yet he had given an unforgettable impression. Without fail every day Timothy would find his post, along with all the other residents of the four floor building, teared carefully at the corner. It was always the top right hand corner, often jaggedly ripped but never to harm the contents inside the envelopes. At first it had puzzled Timothy but he had come to the conclusion that the new neighbour must be an avid stamp collector.

One day this all changed and it bugged Timothy that he couldn't discover why, he came up with various conclusions but not knowing made him frustrated. What had changed had been the stamps were being removed leaving the envelope corners intact. Maybe someone in one of the apartments above had made a complaint, maybe the neighbour had been constantly trying to improve his process and finally cracked it. Perhaps he had been meticulously practising with his own post and developed his strategy. Maybe a friend had suggested it.

It was only four weeks later that Timothy discovered what had changed. He had woken up a lot earlier than usual and was about to leave the building when he caught the young lady from the flat above. She didn't see him as he opened the door into the hallway but he saw her. There she was with a scalpel delicately peeling the stamps from their envelopes. It threw Timothy into a state of disarray at first. Had the correlation of the stamps disappearing and the Neighbour from the basement moving in been a complete coincidence. Had it been her all along? Timothy sensed movement so stepped back into his flat, leaving the door slightly ajar to check when the hall was clear, but to his pleasant surprise she didn't go for the stairs. She knelt down in front of the basement flat door, pushing all the stamps individually under the door.
03:59pm 07/10/2014
  I like to collect thoughts.

Saturate myself in imagery that works like music. Tickles and changes the way in which my wonder is wandering.

Someone very important to me told me once that I've always had a sadness to me. It seems like such an awful thing to say and from someone I would not expect it. Yet I feel it.
12:59am 06/10/2014
  No one can hear me now  
05:20pm 10/09/2014
  friendships sailing on notions  
04:28pm 27/08/2014

There's still some noise in that vast still ocean.

When you look closest it's not still at all.
something I wrote 5 years ago   
11:15pm 22/12/2013
  we're just sinking ships
we crash and collide
drowning in this ocean
before we reach it's side
but we love it underwater
its like swimming in the sky
and if their is anywhere
its with you and there.
that's where we live and die.
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Something I wrote 6 years ago, so okay 4 years off.   
10:30pm 22/12/2013
  In ten years I'll be looking back at this time. The future me. And right now I'm looking at ten years time...The now me. And as we look, our eyes will meet.  
10:19pm 22/12/2013
  I want to live with passion and intensity, I do not want to fizzle out. I want to be like a drifting light yet persistent breeze.
That only holds still to then create a suprising gush of dancing leaves. I do not want to feel dead before I am.
Writing I have found from many years ago.   
10:18pm 22/12/2013
  songs for story.


she looked at the other suggested songs and clicked on 'The End And The Beginning' and it played her own thoughts, the music
changing her mood like nothing else could. her mind wondered on everything. and the last verse brought her back to the words
'And how long will this go
Until it changes
How long before you know
That I love you
And how long til it goes
And turns to nothing'
she curled her toes and hugged herself. sleep soon overtook her.

sometimes your life feels empty. but Elsker Avilia found that feeling never lasted long. it would always end up overflowing, and
like trying to fit a big bulk of goo into a box she'd keep pressing in one side and pouring it out the other. but maybe that's
what living was about, maybe that was the fun of it, to keep attempting an impossible result.
01:18am 03/10/2013
  I feel a little lost.

The fiction needs revitalising.

Others shed light that is an overwhelmingly disturbing hue when shone so bright, it upsets me that it makes me feel so negative. What are you doing.
03:43pm 31/08/2013
  Strange little things and certain peculiars.  
03:57pm 07/08/2013
  My relationship with it struggles on a daily basis. I find us racing. There is a certain amount of trust yet we both break it in equal measures. I dillydally, and it: it's unpredictable.

Yet there is a sentiment always there. Something precious and important. The unknown quantities of it.

Of time.
02:13pm 07/08/2013
  Nostalgia: First Stop: Virtual reality.

Our memories reside and rooted in something invisible.
The invisible seems as opaque as ever as it couldn't become anymore transparent.

Next Stop: Surrealism.
01:15am 30/06/2013
  My relationship with time  
02:03am 19/06/2013
  there's a place in my mind
that the maps left behind
It's lost to me now, sailed away
like it was the ship and I was the bay
01:58am 19/06/2013
  He checked his postbox less each day untill he'd skip days and then weeks.
And when the letters started coming they lay there, the pile growing untill the neglected postbox grew weary, til ting to one side it began to lean itself on the fence.
10:51pm 22/04/2013
  I really wish you could put everyone on pause and get on with stuff for a while - my guilt at being awful at see everyone i need/should/want to see is immense.  
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10:42pm 30/01/2013
  The words blur under my eyelids, under hours of sleep - you'd think piling up the nod would have the reverse effect of sleep deprivation. But no, quite the same - except less there. more somewhere else.
did you think i had gone, blinked away?
she running down a corridor and he's wondering why - he's invisible after all. isn't he?
And it makes me wonder if the footsteps she shuddered down the hallway bounce so willingly off all of them many, many walls. would his? is he silent? he must be.

Shaun Tan puts it perfectly in that he is somewhere else yet quite here in his drawings.
I will write you your bed time story dear adult.
What does that mean?

Earlier I thought about the precious nature of time, tick tick, it just is flashing by. I often feel like time is flour - and i am holding a sieve - and it must be so so very soft as it doesn't even clump up, it just keeps gushing through. I'm not sure if it matters - as I then thought the flour isn't stopping, it keeps comings. So my uneasy urgency should feel reassured.
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06:24pm 27/11/2012
  is it losing your mind or finding your mind.