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A Letter to No one	[Sep. 8th, 2019\|10:24 am]freewrites, dreams, memories...
I am writing a letter to No one.Because No one will help me. No one will listen.When No one reads this letter No one will know.No one will understand.No one will help.
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On the cusp	[Oct. 4th, 2018\|02:42 pm]freewrites, dreams, memories...
Sucks.Im about to begin a project that will create revenue. An endeavour of my creativity. But my fear of failure and fear of success are killing me.It's been hindering me for a few days now that all the obstacles have been overcome... THAT, those last 4 weeks of obstacles to beginning this project, has been a thorn in not only my side, but my self-esteem, as well.I'm full of anxiety.I am supressing the urge to smoke a joint. It will slow me down. My thoughts will be jumbled.I am supressing the urge to take my anxiety meds. It will also slow me down and I will sleep for hours, wasting precious time.It is 2:41 in the afternoon. Everything is set up.Ovrlock sewing machine and the table it is on all set up with implements necessary. Cutting table. Fabric. All sewing utinsels, ready and waiting. Ironing board and iron.I am missing from the picture. I needed to share what I'm feeling. This is the only place I can share it. The only place.Thank god I did.Off I go.
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On the cusp

[Oct. 4th, 2018|02:42 pm]freewrites, dreams, memories...

Sucks.Im about to begin a project that will create revenue. An endeavour of my creativity. But my fear of failure and fear of success are killing me.It's been hindering me for a few days now that all the obstacles have been overcome... THAT, those last 4 weeks of obstacles to beginning this project, has been a thorn in not only my side, but my self-esteem, as well.I'm full of anxiety.I am supressing the urge to smoke a joint. It will slow me down. My thoughts will be jumbled.I am supressing the urge to take my anxiety meds. It will also slow me down and I will sleep for hours, wasting precious time.It is 2:41 in the afternoon. Everything is set up.Ovrlock sewing machine and the table it is on all set up with implements necessary. Cutting table. Fabric. All sewing utinsels, ready and waiting. Ironing board and iron.I am missing from the picture. I needed to share what I'm feeling. This is the only place I can share it. The only place.Thank god I did.Off I go.

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Salty	[Oct. 2nd, 2018\|10:10 pm]freewrites, dreams, memories...
Going over and over why these tears seep out from my every pore. My skin is slick with grief I cannot shake away. There is not a sponge large enough to absorb the puddles of my twisted sorrow. Where have the days gone, flying by so fast like sideways rain penetrating my tattered flesh . This is life this is real this is me tumbling out of my mind and settling against ragged despair. Trying to stand slipping in puddles of weary thoughts. If I could squeeze the moisture from my water logged mind, the remnants that remain would tell the story of half fish half woman whole jumbled disaster, flipping and flopping on the jagged shore of a glass beach that holds the broken hope of ever being set free from the choking drowning of unwise dreams.
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Salty

[Oct. 2nd, 2018|10:10 pm]freewrites, dreams, memories...

Going over and over why these tears seep out from my every pore. My skin is slick with grief I cannot shake away. There is not a sponge large enough to absorb the puddles of my twisted sorrow. Where have the days gone, flying by so fast like sideways rain penetrating my tattered flesh . This is life this is real this is me tumbling out of my mind and settling against ragged despair. Trying to stand slipping in puddles of weary thoughts. If I could squeeze the moisture from my water logged mind, the remnants that remain would tell the story of half fish half woman whole jumbled disaster, flipping and flopping on the jagged shore of a glass beach that holds the broken hope of ever being set free from the choking drowning of unwise dreams.

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(no subject)	[May. 7th, 2015\|01:20 pm]freewrites, dreams, memories...
In a transient heart kissI fly with youto always fallin flamesdo I take to the sealet it enfold me in liquid solacewhen you go away from me?or stick to the warm earththat holds me steadyand comforts me like a blanket on a cold night?my questing soulfalls deeper and shallower every timeI want more and lessand know betterthan it allbecause...I don't really have wingsand sometimes the sky is emptyand the ocean can be coldand the earth can be hard and unyieldingbut flying feels like touching the infiniteswimming feels like easeand the earth feels like homeeven if it's only for a moment.
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(no subject)

[May. 7th, 2015|01:20 pm]freewrites, dreams, memories...

In a transient heart kissI fly with youto always fallin flamesdo I take to the sealet it enfold me in liquid solacewhen you go away from me?or stick to the warm earththat holds me steadyand comforts me like a blanket on a cold night?my questing soulfalls deeper and shallower every timeI want more and lessand know betterthan it allbecause...I don't really have wingsand sometimes the sky is emptyand the ocean can be coldand the earth can be hard and unyieldingbut flying feels like touching the infiniteswimming feels like easeand the earth feels like homeeven if it's only for a moment.

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My Good Old Friend	[Mar. 27th, 2015\|01:30 pm]freewrites, dreams, memories...
Originally posted by wymmwh at My Good Old FriendShe was 83 when I met her, and soon Vera Nikolaevna became my best friend. I was 12 but the big age difference was not an obstacle for us. Vera was my English teacher. She was born in 1906 – the very beginning of 20th century. She had a twin-sister Mary. Both women had white hair and looked alike. When they were talking, they liked to speak French and then switch to German or English. I still wonder how they survived the 1917 revolution when almost all cultural and noble Russians had been murdered or sent off.( read Collapse )
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My Good Old Friend

[Mar. 27th, 2015|01:30 pm]freewrites, dreams, memories...

Originally posted by

wymmwh at My Good Old FriendShe was 83 when I met her, and soon Vera Nikolaevna became my best friend. I was 12 but the big age difference was not an obstacle for us. Vera was my English teacher. She was born in 1906 – the very beginning of 20th century. She had a twin-sister Mary. Both women had white hair and looked alike. When they were talking, they liked to speak French and then switch to German or English. I still wonder how they survived the 1917 revolution when almost all cultural and noble Russians had been murdered or sent off.( read Collapse )

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Hello everyone!	[Mar. 27th, 2015\|01:28 pm]freewrites, dreams, memories...
Hi! My name is Denis. I write short stories and would like to exchange with other authors. I am not a native English speaker but I do my best to find proper words, to express my emotions and create something, which could touch.I will be happy to meet new friends and yes - critics as well.Have a nice day (or night)!DD
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(no subject)	[Jan. 20th, 2015\|09:32 am]freewrites, dreams, memories...
conceived perceived and received my broken finger harp sings sad songs of edited memories feeling the deletion of every brittle bone of hope that who I was and who we all are meant something more once upon a time fascinating now just fading worn to nothing by the wind.
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Turn The Pain Into Something Sweet	[Jan. 15th, 2015\|02:52 pm]freewrites, dreams, memories...
Writing letters I'll never sendTrying to turn the pain into something sweetBut you wouldn't get it, never got meMy meant to be, wasn't meant to be.Pen a line then cross it outA Rubik's cube mind of jumbled up thoughtsPaint the sky a Starry Starry NightDo you see what I see?I held onto hope, but you let it go.I want to apologise, but I'm not sorryI was nothing but a joke, a game, a foolHere I am, a fucking cliche A guitar in hand and an atrocious song.But here's the heart-on-sleeve honestyI want it all backThe horrible misery and heartacheThe angry silence and yelling in the streetI don't care.I just want it back.
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Turn The Pain Into Something Sweet

[Jan. 15th, 2015|02:52 pm]freewrites, dreams, memories...

Writing letters I'll never sendTrying to turn the pain into something sweetBut you wouldn't get it, never got meMy meant to be, wasn't meant to be.Pen a line then cross it outA Rubik's cube mind of jumbled up thoughtsPaint the sky a Starry Starry NightDo you see what I see?I held onto hope, but you let it go.I want to apologise, but I'm not sorryI was nothing but a joke, a game, a foolHere I am, a fucking cliche A guitar in hand and an atrocious song.But here's the heart-on-sleeve honestyI want it all backThe horrible misery and heartacheThe angry silence and yelling in the streetI don't care.I just want it back.

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Magician	[Jan. 14th, 2015\|11:08 am]freewrites, dreams, memories...
I thought you were the phoenix the shaman, the almost god. But that's what I was supposed to think, wasn't it? All too human you are.But, you do have a kind of magic. I met you and knew I was going to feel...something. Powerful. And you sensed it too. What I didn't know was that it isn't me you wanted or were falling for. It's the audience, the adoration, the attention. You feed off of it. So you create your illusions for an already willing audience. I set up barriers, flimsy ones. Which you knocked down. I suppose I wanted you to. But that's part of it. Once you have what you want, once it's easy, you don't want it anymore. I suppose most of us are like that. And you haven't really shared anything with me but the show. To this day I don't know what you feel about me, except maybe ambivalent. What's weird is I know so many of your flaws and incompatabilities and I still want you, still think about you. Even though I know I shouldn't. I can't seem to help it. And you said so many things, with a passion that caught my heart. "you're at the forefront of my mind, most days" "I heard this song on the radio and it made me think of you"the look in your eyes when you wanted to jump at me from across the yard when I was leaving, but couldn't because we had an audience. All because in that moment, for a second, I was denying and defying you, and us, fighting it and ready to fight you. Such fire. I wanted it. I want it.But for the most part, it's gone. Unless I find a way to provoke you again.None of this should have been in or still on my mind. But it still is. One day I might just be able to let it go. Until then, you are both the fire that burns and the wind that feeds the flame of all the things that are left in my soul for you. They turn to ash and return to be burned again.
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Magician

[Jan. 14th, 2015|11:08 am]freewrites, dreams, memories...

I thought you were the phoenix the shaman, the almost god. But that's what I was supposed to think, wasn't it? All too human you are.But, you do have a kind of magic. I met you and knew I was going to feel...something. Powerful. And you sensed it too. What I didn't know was that it isn't me you wanted or were falling for. It's the audience, the adoration, the attention. You feed off of it. So you create your illusions for an already willing audience. I set up barriers, flimsy ones. Which you knocked down. I suppose I wanted you to. But that's part of it. Once you have what you want, once it's easy, you don't want it anymore. I suppose most of us are like that. And you haven't really shared anything with me but the show. To this day I don't know what you feel about me, except maybe ambivalent. What's weird is I know so many of your flaws and incompatabilities and I still want you, still think about you. Even though I know I shouldn't. I can't seem to help it. And you said so many things, with a passion that caught my heart. "you're at the forefront of my mind, most days" "I heard this song on the radio and it made me think of you"the look in your eyes when you wanted to jump at me from across the yard when I was leaving, but couldn't because we had an audience. All because in that moment, for a second, I was denying and defying you, and us, fighting it and ready to fight you. Such fire. I wanted it. I want it.But for the most part, it's gone. Unless I find a way to provoke you again.None of this should have been in or still on my mind. But it still is. One day I might just be able to let it go. Until then, you are both the fire that burns and the wind that feeds the flame of all the things that are left in my soul for you. They turn to ash and return to be burned again.

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(no subject)	[Jan. 7th, 2015\|05:45 pm]freewrites, dreams, memories...
Imagine what it's like to be happyImagine what it's like to be lovedTo be loved without a price tag To just be, for the sake of beingAnd having someone come along for your dreams
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