STUDIES have determined that the size of your plate determines the size of your appetite. If you have little food but a plate small enough to be full once that little amount of food has been put on it, you'll feel satisfied at the end of it because you finished an entire plate. The human perception of relativity should come into play to prevent that misconception really, but honestly, sometimes it's better just to not know.
Don't keep asking for more. Beg for enough then be satisfied. There are people out there who don't even dare to hold out their plates for their share of the world.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Crystalline
ALWAYS heard them tell me to call my glass half full and not half empty.
What if your glass isn't even half full?
Then be glad you've got any water at all.
What if your glass doesn't have any water in it?
Then be glad that you have a glass at all.
And what if you don't even have a glass?
Well then be glad that you have been gifted a duty, a duty to yourself, for yourself: to go out there and get a glass for yourself!
What if your glass isn't even half full?
Then be glad you've got any water at all.
What if your glass doesn't have any water in it?
Then be glad that you have a glass at all.
And what if you don't even have a glass?
Well then be glad that you have been gifted a duty, a duty to yourself, for yourself: to go out there and get a glass for yourself!
The March: of Rain and Reminisce
HEAD bent down, forced down, she heads out into the war of the rain versus the humans, the straggling, soaked-to-the-bones souls caught in the sudden downpour. At first she attempts to wipe the tentative few drops away. Then she realizes her foolishness; there will only be another 100 for every 10 she managed to wipe away.
And halfway down the path she stops beneath a tree which offers her some degree of shelter from the pelter even though it mean the occasional collated droplet tended to hit the top of her head with an almost resounding sound in the silence beneath the leaves of that tree. All around everything is loud and violent and yet vibrant, full of sound and life and all that other good stuff. She takes a breather, sensing a slight pause, a small period when the storm seems to grow fickle of its pouring and raging, and relent a little. But she doubted she would be able to wait it out. And besides, there was something so deliciously forbidden and wild to feeling the drops raining down her arms and her hair gradually getting so soaked she could practically wring it out. With a flourish she tore off her scrunchie, letting the curly locks dangle appeasingly around her ears. And she sets off again, into the rain. With a smile on her face and a chuckle petering down the air, a church bell rung amateurly just a little off rhythm, yet tri-tone and lilting.
Later she slings her bag to the flow and realizes she is almost dripping water. She wonders if she should take a picture of her exhausted face now, or if her shaking limbs would make it all blurry. Normally cameras would be a taboo but now it was different. Suddenly she was a portrait, measuring 5"6 by happy by water.
This is what they meant by that old word.
Emancipation.
And halfway down the path she stops beneath a tree which offers her some degree of shelter from the pelter even though it mean the occasional collated droplet tended to hit the top of her head with an almost resounding sound in the silence beneath the leaves of that tree. All around everything is loud and violent and yet vibrant, full of sound and life and all that other good stuff. She takes a breather, sensing a slight pause, a small period when the storm seems to grow fickle of its pouring and raging, and relent a little. But she doubted she would be able to wait it out. And besides, there was something so deliciously forbidden and wild to feeling the drops raining down her arms and her hair gradually getting so soaked she could practically wring it out. With a flourish she tore off her scrunchie, letting the curly locks dangle appeasingly around her ears. And she sets off again, into the rain. With a smile on her face and a chuckle petering down the air, a church bell rung amateurly just a little off rhythm, yet tri-tone and lilting.
Later she slings her bag to the flow and realizes she is almost dripping water. She wonders if she should take a picture of her exhausted face now, or if her shaking limbs would make it all blurry. Normally cameras would be a taboo but now it was different. Suddenly she was a portrait, measuring 5"6 by happy by water.
This is what they meant by that old word.
Emancipation.
Details In The Fabric
Calm down
Deep breaths
And get yourself dressed
Instead of running around
And pulling all your threads
And breaking yourself up
If it's a broken part, replace it
If it's a broken arm then brace it
If it's a broken heart then face it
And hold your own
Know your name
And go your own way
Hold your own
Know your own name
And go your own way
And everything will be fine
Hang on
Help is on the way
And stay strong
I'm doing everything
Hold your own
Know your name
And go your own way
Hold your own
Know your name
And go your own way
And everything
Everything, it will be fine
Everything
All the details in the fabric?
Are the things that make you panic?
Are your thoughts results of static cling?
Are the things that make you blow?
Hell, no reason, go on and scream
If you're shocked it's just the fault
Of faulty manufacturing
Everything will be fine
Everything in no time at all
Everything
Hold your own
Know your name
Go your own way
Hold your own
(Are the details in the fabric?)
Know your name
(Are the things that make you panic?)
Go your own way
(Are your thoughts results of static cling?)
Hold your own
(Are the details in the fabric?)
Know your name
(Are the things that make you panic?)
Go your own way
(Is it Mother Nature's sewing machine?)
Hold your own
(Are the things that make you blow?)
Know your name
(Hell, no reason, go on and scream)
Go your own way
(You're shocked it's just the fault of faulty manufacturing)
Everything it will be fine
Everything in no time at all
Hearts will hold
- Jason Mraz and James Morrison
Deep breaths
And get yourself dressed
Instead of running around
And pulling all your threads
And breaking yourself up
If it's a broken part, replace it
If it's a broken arm then brace it
If it's a broken heart then face it
And hold your own
Know your name
And go your own way
Hold your own
Know your own name
And go your own way
And everything will be fine
Hang on
Help is on the way
And stay strong
I'm doing everything
Hold your own
Know your name
And go your own way
Hold your own
Know your name
And go your own way
And everything
Everything, it will be fine
Everything
All the details in the fabric?
Are the things that make you panic?
Are your thoughts results of static cling?
Are the things that make you blow?
Hell, no reason, go on and scream
If you're shocked it's just the fault
Of faulty manufacturing
Everything will be fine
Everything in no time at all
Everything
Hold your own
Know your name
Go your own way
Hold your own
(Are the details in the fabric?)
Know your name
(Are the things that make you panic?)
Go your own way
(Are your thoughts results of static cling?)
Hold your own
(Are the details in the fabric?)
Know your name
(Are the things that make you panic?)
Go your own way
(Is it Mother Nature's sewing machine?)
Hold your own
(Are the things that make you blow?)
Know your name
(Hell, no reason, go on and scream)
Go your own way
(You're shocked it's just the fault of faulty manufacturing)
Everything it will be fine
Everything in no time at all
Hearts will hold
- Jason Mraz and James Morrison
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
The Third: Pressure
SIMPLY force over area? Physicists must have calculated it wrongly. At times it does not divide, nor add or subtract; it multiplies into higher orders and forces your head down when all the others say is to hold your chin up.
And yet it is this pressure that forces them together. Particle theory. They are forced, pressurized closer together, some forced to bond and rely upon others they still have not fully learned to trust yet.
And yet it is this pressure that forces them together. Particle theory. They are forced, pressurized closer together, some forced to bond and rely upon others they still have not fully learned to trust yet.
Clear
TODAY I took off my glasses and marvelled at the ephemeral existence of the spaces, and not the words, that nobody will ever read.
Narrow
OH please. I think I've grown enough to know from experience that water only ever flows in one direction. It follows the pioneers leading the rest and never stops to take a look at the other places it could go.
All Around
Tell me, because I think I forgot the difference when your name rankled or echoes in my mind.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Pinkies
GOT a papercut today, on my pinky finger. Almost wanted to say sorry, though I didn't know to who. You make promises with pinky fingers. I don't want to know what you break them with.
The Old Attic
glances
up from the page
glasses clinging on for dear life
off the cliff of her nose
of course,
miscomprehension
lack of comprehension
of course,
teasing and laughter
that suddenly stops
she couldn't actually remember
the words anymore
of course,
a strange longing to become the
Mother
take her little grown up child
by the hand, nice and
tight and
warm
and drag her through a labyrinth
of the castle in the kingdom
of far away words
up from the page
glasses clinging on for dear life
off the cliff of her nose
of course,
miscomprehension
lack of comprehension
of course,
teasing and laughter
that suddenly stops
she couldn't actually remember
the words anymore
of course,
a strange longing to become the
Mother
take her little grown up child
by the hand, nice and
tight and
warm
and drag her through a labyrinth
of the castle in the kingdom
of far away words
Poetry In Motion
these volumes,
these
ancient rhymes
chants and
pastimes
whisper
their words
secrets for everyone to
hear
if they would only
listen
these
ancient rhymes
chants and
pastimes
whisper
their words
secrets for everyone to
hear
if they would only
listen
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Grip
THE little things that surround us and make us only seem to begin really nattering when they're not there anymore.
Like you don't thank the humble light bulb for staying on throughout the day until it blows because it can take the task no more. Then you curse at it for making you have to get out the ladder and dig out a new one before removing it and throwing it disgracingly into the trash.
Like you don't whisper sorry to your dinner plate when your knife finally and painfully scrapes across its much scarred surface once you get through that tough piece of meat you've been sawing at. Then you grimace or laugh with your family at the screeching, fingers on blackboard sound it makes.
Like you don't pat your computer on its overheated back for staying working for hours on end while you rush out your geography assignment the day before its due. You only use profanities and obscenities nobody wants to hear on it, hurling abuse at it for crashing when really, even machines have limits.
Even if humans try to rush through all there is to be done in life, they will never win a race like this. Once you finish your homework, and you have hours to go before your conscience can safely call it a productive, decent day (or night), you start pulling out your textbook to do some extra work, get ahead a little while you've got some time to spare. And you give so much you don't even realize you no longer have anything to give. Nothing left to give of your childhood.
Childhood?
Yes, such a thing does still exist in the world.
Like you don't thank the humble light bulb for staying on throughout the day until it blows because it can take the task no more. Then you curse at it for making you have to get out the ladder and dig out a new one before removing it and throwing it disgracingly into the trash.
Like you don't whisper sorry to your dinner plate when your knife finally and painfully scrapes across its much scarred surface once you get through that tough piece of meat you've been sawing at. Then you grimace or laugh with your family at the screeching, fingers on blackboard sound it makes.
Like you don't pat your computer on its overheated back for staying working for hours on end while you rush out your geography assignment the day before its due. You only use profanities and obscenities nobody wants to hear on it, hurling abuse at it for crashing when really, even machines have limits.
Even if humans try to rush through all there is to be done in life, they will never win a race like this. Once you finish your homework, and you have hours to go before your conscience can safely call it a productive, decent day (or night), you start pulling out your textbook to do some extra work, get ahead a little while you've got some time to spare. And you give so much you don't even realize you no longer have anything to give. Nothing left to give of your childhood.
Childhood?
Yes, such a thing does still exist in the world.
Things To Do Before You Die 5
WATCH the waves crest and fall - simplicity, because the world remembers how it used to love.
Things To Do Before You Die 4
LISTEN to the sound of children laughing in the playground as they run around in circles trying to chase their shadows and the light that holds even those back.
Sepia Footprints 4
IMAGES that stick in my mind's eye like band aids for wounds of old times and past tense.
Four. A rainbow of all the seven colors they always told me were there for me to find myself. Like a bridge of some brand of light that seemed almost afraid of fading too fast, it clings on to the edge of existence and begins to resemble, in the eyes of a carbon atom watching so intently it would seem her life depended on the fragile thing, a bridge not of light, but of life and death and everything in between. It came from over the mountains behind which the sun hid the previous night. It came from all sorts of places and the dreams of people who might well wake into nightmares but believe, even just for a moment, that they should enjoy this time, of peace.
Four. A rainbow of all the seven colors they always told me were there for me to find myself. Like a bridge of some brand of light that seemed almost afraid of fading too fast, it clings on to the edge of existence and begins to resemble, in the eyes of a carbon atom watching so intently it would seem her life depended on the fragile thing, a bridge not of light, but of life and death and everything in between. It came from over the mountains behind which the sun hid the previous night. It came from all sorts of places and the dreams of people who might well wake into nightmares but believe, even just for a moment, that they should enjoy this time, of peace.
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