did you know I’m super excited for Christmas! I love listening to Christmas music and wrapping things beautifully, tis a season to be jolly!
If i die right now it’s ok
Muse just gave me one of the highlights of my life
Happy birthday Dom
He said we were fucking awesome
I love Dom
Lots of nodding to music imagine if you turned on all the lights in the stadium it would be so hilarious
But it was beautiful at so many moments
Muse my favourite band forever
(And our love will be forever)
Step one is not the start,
but the end of
To fear is the means of
continuing- the fear of failing so soon,
falling down while everyone still watches.
Arriving at three is a pleasing result
from hard work, shivering in the cold
but tasting something sweet, imminent;
intertwined with fear of some destination that
may never be there.
Then a sort of end-
which is made of bricks, but
Note; Your fingers will still ache of jolting pains
that may remind you of what you have just completed.
Wow it’s been a ride. This tumblr has grown up with me! It’s strange, I can see how I have changed as a person through my tumblr.
guys my book on Beethoven just wrote ‘..the Beethoven sonatas were the steak and potatoes of art music’ is this real life
Search and devour story after story, admire the work, revel in its worldliness and magic. Wonder how something could be created so lovely from a person who once may have been just like you, with dreams, ideas, imagination and ambitions. However, there comes a point where you want to stop sighing, applauding and acclaiming the work and you yearn for someone to do be doing just the same for you. Suddenly, all you want to do is create something that is entirely your own. It itches you every day, halfway through your breakfast bagel, in the shower, when you spill washing detergent, and lying awake in bed at night staring at the ceiling.
But when do you find the time? How, and when will you turn those half broken sentences in the notes on your phone to that big, big thing you visualise in your mind?*
I think one day when I’m older and slightly crazy I’m going to dye my hair red fading into pink or a nice dark red fucking brilliant
So yesterday a girl came on to the train, red eyes, bawling her eyes out and she stood there by the door, crying to himself. I wondered what had happened to her, but did nothing. What was really nice was when a guy, standing opposite her with two friends, a complete stranger, with completely genuine contentions went up to her and asked what was wrong and whether she wanted to talk about it with him and/or his friends. She stood there for a while, still whimpering, and didn’t answer. This guy, he stood there, and he waited.
She answered. In broken sentences, there was a story: her boyfriend had broken up with her over the phone, I think he was much older than her, and it was the day of their 6 months.
He stood there, listened patiently and reassured her for the continuation of the train ride.
Often, we feel sorry, or sad for someone, or we witness something unkind and we know it’s wrong, but when are we the first to act? I know I am very guilty of this. I know I didn’t really have an obligation to go comfort her, but seeing others do just that- I admire it.
My life in pictures: Father’s Day Celebrations
A non-moveable feast; my mother made 1,3,6
It was when she started feeling too comfortable in her skin. Now everything horrible about her is showing too much so she needs to neatly pack it in her box, and be meek again because it’s safe, and no one can say you’re a horrible person if you smile and are gentle all the time, right?
It’s the scrutinizing of single sentences before they come out, that terrible instinct of hearing what people really think when they talk or through the subtle expressions of their face when they listen to her speak. She starts apologizing more often, the whispered ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ more times a day. Lost words that are never said only ever exist trudging trails all over her mind.
Creating that dome of silence is somewhat the most unsatisfying experience of her life.
Child of five, he was,
clutching tightly onto
bright orange goggles,
tentatively eyeing the diving board that
would plunge him head first into water.
Then, a sudden shock it was,
that he was drenched by a wave
from nowhere in sight,
so the material of his father’s old shorts would cling to
his freckled set of bones for dear life.
The raucous of those almost adults
rose with wet laughs of hysteria,
misplaced euphoria from screaming
for a feat that no person would remember.
That little boy of five was only seen by one,
toppling straight into that aquamarine sea…
‘Is it better to just drown,
or to silently continue, trying to gasp for air?’,
was the wispy whisper of
the one woman with her knitted, all buttoned up cardigan,
grasping her cane.