woken up on one too many floors

inoubliable1 @ 2008-11-05T18:22:00

2008-11-05T07:34:52Z

THANK YOU AMERICA!!!

I'm so proud to exist right now. Congratulations on not fucking this one up.

inoubliable1 @ 2008-09-25T09:49:00

2008-09-24T23:47:57Z

Bloc Party in November, Final Fantasy in December. Yeeeah!

inoubliable1 @ 2008-01-20T17:22:00

2008-01-20T06:21:31Z

I love the threat of distant thunder.

I love the edge. The nearing. The inevitability. There's no escape. I feel it curling from heels, rushing through my vein, pounding in my palms, my heart. I would give you anything you asked for before the storm. Anything.

new scheme for a new year

2007-12-30T23:42:43Z

Anyone for tea?

inoubliable1 @ 2007-11-29T21:53:00

2007-11-29T10:55:32Z

I’ve decided to reopen this journal. Over the past few months all my pieces and ponderings have been kept in a handwritten diary, but now I’d like to share thoughts again.

there's freedom, she said, in being misled

2007-01-07T13:36:16Z

The city changes as the day does. Some days it gleams vibrant, full of life. Those days the people become characters, each one animate and fascinating. Bound by streets and skyscrapers, their stories overlap; merge. So forms the citybeat.

However, this is inconsistant and other days the city is lifeless, the crowd anonymous. Things are automatic and uninspiring. This is when I’m either lost within myself or looking for a pulse in faceless people. I find somewhere, eventually. In window reflections, in street art, in some stranger’s eyes.

Today it was the shape slumped by a wall, the homeless boy. A cardboard sign declared his desperation, but his clothes were relatively clean. He looked about twenty, perhaps a little younger, cheeks still round and unblemished. If he was really homeless, he had not been on the streets for long. I searched my pockets and sent my brother to give him some change. The boy seemed a bit puzzled to find a child in front of him then, after looking for its minder, found my gaze.

Those eyes.

Piercing, those eyes were a piercing blue. He mouthed “thank you”. It killed me, a bit. Suddenly I wanted to do so much more then give a few coins. I wanted his name, his story. I wanted to haul him from the ground, tell him to get up, look up. Tell him that all those feet he’s looking at will stamp that fucking shine from his eyes, if he doesn’t get up

I didn’t. I got in the car, we drove away. He stayed in my mind for a while.

weird lover wilde

2006-12-22T09:02:48Z

A dreaded sunny day
so let's go where we're happy
and I meet you at the cemetery gates

So we go inside and we gravely read the stones
All those people all those lives
Where are they now ?
With loves, with hates
With passions just like mine
They were born
And then they lived
And then they died

Not the best lyrics by The Smiths, but "The Cemetry Gates" basically summarizes the best part of yesterday. My friend and I found an old church, all weathered bricks and a fantastic spire, surrounded by a cemetery. It was beautifully unkempt, vines stifling tombstones and overgrown grass blurring the gravelines. There was a bright blue milk crate in on the road; completely was out of place, so we moved it.
We dodged the puddles and earthenware and clambered to the graves. The rocks had eroded over time, but we ran our hands over the engravings, making out the early deaths or loving memories of the people that lay beneath.

These Jonathon Thomases and Emma Janes that lived a hundred and fifty years ago seemed in place here. In day’s the soft light and the twisted tree roots at their feet, they were at rest. I can’t say the same for the modern cemeteries, where rows and rows of neat little plaques on manicured lawns lay exposed in the sun, by the highways. A storage place. So tidy you can’t even imagine them being haunted. When I die, don’t bury me there, whatever you do.

inoubliable1 @ 2006-12-10T06:46:00

2006-12-10T06:46:34Z

Perfect Day - Miriam Stockley

This is such a striking song. It could take you to an old, English countryside full of rolling hills, wildflowers and other lovely clichés. It was also used as the theme song to a television series based on Beatrix Potter tales – I’m always reminded of my childhood when I listen to it.

Speaking of songs, I have decided I’m in love with Patrick Wolf. The talent and uniqueness that boy has is amazing, I can’t think of anyone remotely like him. He’s very special..

I had this fantastic moment last week when I was walking through rainsoaked suburbia, listening to Lycanthropy, and I came across a deserted playground. Without thinking twice, I grabbed the wet swing, kicked off the sand and swung as high I could, listening to Paris and hearing my own laughter ring against it. I’ve always loved the swings and have many memories of my dad pushing me on them in Centennial Park. I still get the same giddy rush when I swing – it’s the closest we get to flying.
So there I was swinging with my head tilt back, looking up at the sky, when suddenly I caught sight of the clouds to my left - They were in a shape of a face. Never seen anything like that before, but now I wont forget it. Some people say that’s sign of God or good luck, it’s probably just our minds naturally trying to make shapes out of the shapeless –but whatever it was, the whole brilliant moment just swelled my heart a little.