My thoughts on life, love, and the pursuit of - generally - happiness (or happyness, if you're whimsical like that). Poetry and kind-of-essays will abound!
I don't dream.
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Things are looking better than before but that doesn't mean they're better. Short entry today, can't think at the moment.
So I've heard that the difference between poison and medicine is in the dose. I've also heard that food should be our medicine, the front lines against disease. I've also heard (bear with me) that the quickest way to a man's heart is through his belly. Let's put aside the obvious problems glaring at us with glowing, unsettling eyes - of the literal relationship of constant ingestion of meaty, fatty proteins and heart disease - and let's just sit back, relax: take this on a more abstract level. Her words & actions were saccharine: thick dollops of gelato filling a generously large bowl. It took more than a few years to finish, but I got throu...
Because I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselves And Immortality. We slowly drove, he knew no haste, And I had put away My labour, and my leisure too, For his civility. We passed the school where children played At wrestling in a ring; We passed the fields of gazing grain, We passed the setting sun. We paused before a house that seemed A swelling of the ground; The roof was scarecely visible, The cornice but a mound. Since then 'tis centuries; but each Feels shorter than the day I first surmised the horses' heads Were toward eternity. Emily Dickinson "Because I could Not Stop for Death..." I stated in an earlier post that I'd venture into poetry - I never said I'd take another's. But this isn't a poetry post - this is one of those kind-of-essays. I have just recently been given the news of the passing of my grandmother on my mother's side. It's hard enough to deal with a relative's dea...
Her mind was reeling, in a state of retropulsion, as though stepping - no, leaping back would save her from dwelling on the implications of what just happened. The enemy - so-called - called for truce, even friendship. She has known him these past three years and not once has he made any indication of backing down. His sense of pride, like a wall, didn't allow the very idea to enter through the gates. And yet now, when she chances upon him in the streets, all she sees on his face is bewilderment, even confusion. When he chances upon her, his eyes fill with anger - but does she see a hint of embarrassment, dancing in the corners? Her curiosity is getting the better of her - she demands him, upon...
Keep looking up, it'll really help :))
ReplyDelete+ the poem could be a ditty!
Well EJ, things are looking up but not in all the ways I'd hoped. hahahahaha :))
ReplyDelete