fleorblecoj

my throat is collapsing, a sympathy strike for the brain which has been manic all week...the highs are amazing, blue-sky and stars during the same breath but ultimately-tiring.
6:15~5:15: the first 11 hours of my day devoted to the torture of learning how to master a job I am not convinced I really want. It seems that all is tilted in this world that dictates how each of us spends our waking hours, or rather the people who dictate that they shall not walk {always} in their right direction and I am left to wonder where I will land and with whom I will dream.

I find my alter ego reaching for places it is not brave enough to explore and yet I encourage it, with soft murmurings, the 'little blonde that could', and I continue to drift, imagining myself lost in a sand-storm, chains flashing and dancing around my goggle covered head, and I am sure, this is where I want to find myself[find myself]. The reasons are my own even if they fit into the palm of someone else's hand. eyes are closed while wishes are made and I will slide a little to the left and wait for the verdict.

How amazing though
top off hair down poi swimming sky gone colour muted on the outside and brilliant on the inside...remind me to tell you the story in September.

and I find a fever caressing my head from the inside, while teasing slivers torture my back, my neck, my chest; cheeks are too pink and my eyes are soft

the rambling wonderings inspired by the men who celebrate creativity in the mundane