Not an easel for once, no pencils or brushes, no paint, no search for beauty. Today Nessa was working on another pass time; playing the piano. Peter gave her regular lessons (oh, the man was more patient than a saint), but she had to practice in between. Admittedly she didn’t as often as she probably should ( Read more... )

It is with the strangest sense of freedom I walk the trails of the jungle island today. The air is not so thick with its usual moisture and is cooler given the recent rain, this brief reprieve from which I have decided to take make full opportunity of, and the sun, which already fights the thin and gently rolling cloud cover is fully tamed by that ( Read more... )

The Stardust. Harry’s club. Harry’s secret love. His connection to the legitimate side of life. A product of the fifties. Gangsters and stars having their pictures taken together. Frank Sinatra, Frankie Laine, Patti Page, Johnnie Ray, Georgia Gibbs and Elvis bloody Presley. Doo Wop and swing. Brunettes and peroxide. Pop art and Frisbee’s. Korea and ( Read more... )

Johanna didn't want to get out of bed, she didn't want to rush to dress, she especially didn't want to wear any of the still, too big, too heavy dresses that her drawers held. Eventually she was forced out of bed by Elizabeth, urging her not to sleep in because it was terribly lazy. Who ever wanted to wear something so ridiculous and uncomfortable ( Read more... )

( Links to therapy threads )

I am riding, the task to which I set most of my time here, and gladly so for the weather is fair and England has a lengthy stride and a constitution well suited to barreling both through jungle and over stretches of sand. Today we have been putting ourselves to the former, the abundant lengths of my wig tied in many tight loops at the back of my ( Read more... )

This had nothing to do with Guy's recent lies towards Willie. Nothing to do with baiting him into talking to a professional about the war he had been through and the nightmares and trembles he suffered. Guy was, as always, utterly unapologetic about his liberal managment of the truth. No guilt there.

So, that was not the reason Guy had decided to ( Read more... )

Gelt. Harry, like any other businessman, was drawn to money. In London it had been what everything circled, the centre of what mattered; money. Making money, to be more specific, and having money to make more money. He had lived in the Consumer Age, and no matter how the world changed, spending money never again did. Money to the common man. That ( Read more... )

"For Mister Dorian Gray ( Read more... )

- It's just a drink. Alcohol clears the mind, sets one up for the day, or for the next one, until evening falls and a nightcap gently eases one to sleep again. Alcohol cleans the mind, like medication, keeps it preserved, keeps it all in working order, up and running. Alcohol numbs the mind, what hurt will be less painful, what worried will be ( Read more... )