Staring at stars

“She says nothing at all, but simply stares upward into the dark sky and watches, with sad eyes, the slow dance of the infinite stars.” (Stardust, Neil Gaiman)

What do you see when you look up at the night sky? The magnitude of the infinity of the stars overwhelms, and at once I would catch my breath, amazed by the sea of tiny twinkles so so far away.

A galaxy of lost thoughts; a universe of hidden dreams. The stars hold secrets. All of them kept in gem encrusted jewel boxes hung high in the velvet black sky. Their whispers soundless sparkles.

What do you see when you look up at the night sky?

Sleep

After burrowing a hole in the blanket
He still chose to sleep on my thigh



Where I now feel the little thumping of his heartbeat

Pinpricks in my...

heart, my irregular beating heart,
my soul, sodden, trodden soul,
my mind, unsettled, chaotic mind.

"why do you look so sad?"
"you speak to me with words and I look at you with feelings."

"everything needs an entrance and exit."

How true; purgatory is for the wretched.

Absence does not

Absence sometimes makes not the heart fonder
Sometimes absence makes the memory fade faster
The sight, scent, touch and sound get thinner
Like stirring a teaspoon of milk into a cup of black coffee
All traces of white disappear into black
Turning into brown
The colour of dirt and dusty forgotten sunsets

Sometimes absence makes the silence a trusty companion
Absence sometimes makes the hollow whole again
So sometimes, and for some, absence does not a fonder heart make

Nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

"somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands"
— somewhere i have never travelled, e.e. cummings

of green balls and sweet spots

a few things came to light today at tennis:

(from here)

1. i blink when i hit the sweet spot
2. my shoes are in a dire state of disrepair
3. i need a new pair of shoes

(these are sooo pretty!)

4. i cannot return a spin ball
5. i always pull a muscle on my left thigh
6. tennis is like cycling; you only need to learn it once
7. but unlike cycling you need constant playing to be good
8. tennis skirts can be sexy as hell
9. i like to bounce the balls on my racquet while waiting

Fortyeight minutes past midnight

Twigs as wings on bone shoulders, with cotton balls/ feathers unripe/ forsaken flight.
(a photographic image of a girl standing in front of bare branches)

- "everything is illuminated"
(a thought-provoking answer)

I tried not to wonder but the attempt has rendered me sleepless. I think about not thinking and it has made me think even more. What made me happy has now made me sad.
(irony)

All that glitters...

...is gold. At least at the Oscars that is.

Golden is Sandra bullock who kept her humour and humility even after her best actress win.

"Did I really earn this or did I just wear ya'll down?"


She said she didn't aspire to win an Oscar; it wasnt part of her career plan. She also remarked that young actors shouldn't aspire to follow in her footsteps but to walk in their own shoes and be themselves.

And of course golden is her lovely dress.



Golden is Kathryn bigalow, the first female to snag the big win as best director. And the cherry on the cake is her film's best picture win. Ha. Guess who's feeling blue now?

Not so golden moments: oddball partner hosts whose flat chemistry was glaringly obvious; no statues for Up in the Air; painful tributes to best actor and best actress nominees (seriously??); and too little of Neil Patrick Harris (pls bring him back for next year).

Dog day afternoon

3:15pm. Afternoon sounds are interesting.

Piling at a construction site in the distance; drilling from another construction area; birds chirping; school kids shouting and playing...

At home the soft mechanical whirl of the fan; water running in the mini fountain; the clock ticking; the almost inaudible breathing of chloe and latte lazing on the sofa...

weird night things

night settles, and tonight i am feeling a little restless. the expectant air feels heavy, hard to breathe. i get like that on some nights and start doing/thinking random, meaningless things.  

i just discovered a dead moth by the window - i wonder what that means? i googled and yahoo-answered it but nothing concrete came up. guess it doesn't symbolise anything significant. 

snapping pictures of mr latte laying still on my lap, not giving two hoots to what i am doing, prolly thinking to himself 'sigh not again'...

snapping pictures of my hands for absolutely no reason at all while doing something totally inane...

snapping pictures of the new plant-in-a-jar project the husband just started...

staring into space "..."

wondering when we will ever finish the lunar new year snacks... 

thinking about how funny the hbo series 'bored to death' is. Jason Schwartzman (Jonathon), Zach Galifianakis (Ray) and Ted Danson (George) are brilliant.

(from here)

Leah: I'm proud of you for going to therapy. (kisses Ray who doesn't kiss back)
Ray: I'm sorry, I can't tonight. That guy eviscerated me. My penis is totally recessed.
Leah: What?!
Ray: When I was a little kid, I used to like to push my penis in to make it look like it disappeared. Today, it happened all by itself.

Leah: I don't feel good about this. I don't want you to be a sperm donor.
Ray: But it's flattering. They're fans of my work. I've never had lesbian fans before.
Leah: They should go to a sperm bank. You can't just give your sperm to two girls you met in a cafe.
Ray: I met you in a cafe.

George: I'm very oral nowadays. I feel like I'm... half-man, half-infant.

Jonathan: Oh my God, what the hell happened to your lip? You were stung by a bee?
George: Yes. A bee with herpes.

it was not a stay home saturday

i visited my alma mater. locked, i had to contend with memories from the old metal gates and wooden doors.

a saturday must-have: tea break with nourishment from cakes and books.

the evening ended with happy purchases for the home.

among the lot, a lovely clear plate with floral details and a powder blue mug perfect for hot chocolate or coffee :)

flowers and a narrow funnel vase to pretty things up

friday is for...

contemplation and a cuppa with you in mind

(picture from here)

little surprises like a vintage watch (courtesy of the husband) which is crazy pretty

the little fox that is my love

scattered polariods on the bed or elsewhere in the room

(pictures from here & here)

my super cute pair of glittery silver toms that makes me feel like magic

Sleepless in...

It's 1:05am...


Obviously the sleeping bug hasn't bitten.
What's on my mind?

Had a strange dream the other night about the end of days - people dying from solar exposure as heat from the sun becomes fatal. But my death in that dream didn't come from the burning star; I'm supposed to die from suffocation. How odd.

I dreamt of whales before too. Inky skies and choppy seas and whales in song, magnificent in their form. It had an end of days quality about it too that dreamscape. I read today a trainer in the US died, killed by one of the whales in the tourist facility. How ironic and tragic. They belong to the wild these creatures; no aquarium is ever large enough to contain their spirit.

(can't recall picture source. sorry.)

hands

i have this thing for hands.

they are almost always one of the first things i'd notice about a person.

the shape of their fingers - long and knobbly or short and stubby - and for some reason i'm drawn to knobbly ones, not really those willowy feminine ones; the length of their nails - short ones do it for me; and whether they are adorned with rings, and if they are, what sort of rings.

i wish my hands were a little longer and more knobbly.

(pictures via here)