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the village silent, like a film
Attempting to handle a brand-new, formidable object such as my father's DSLR is both an exhilarating and daunting mission. I did not know how to hold it, how to pop the lens in (he said this rather breezily while my sister looked on with an intent suspicion which may rival Sherlock Holmes', convinced that it would no sooner fall to pieces when held ( Read more... ) -
you're my head, you're my heart.
Christmas makes its entrance tomorrow, barely five hours from now, and lingers for twenty-four before the twenty-sixth of December begins. It constantly reminds me of the nicest things - snow, freshly baked cookies which are soft on the inside and lights - which are beautiful no matter how artificial they are in reality, something perhaps more ( Read more... ) -
I can't hear you there.
Today I chanced upon synthalia, a really wonderful community by cherise stuffed to the brim with the loveliest of things that harken to a bit of spring, light rain and old films. Not literally, but it does have bits of poetry, and what I like best are the mixes which veer away from punk-rock and most of the noise in crowds, preferring to stay where the stripped- ( Read more... ) -
I am half-sick of shadows.
Outdoor smokers are the cruellest people in probably the entirety of humanity. Not only do they interpret interior self-mutilation as pleasure but forcibly impart their doctrine to everyone else, the student on the street behind them holding her breath, the old lady on the shores of Heaven pushed yet closer. Mass murderers. The only thing worse ( Read more... ) -
self-devotion
Today, I resolved not to lose my temper in front of my mother. It is just about the most uphill task, and one I always fail umpteen times. This promise, perhaps, is one of the tiny hill-bumps on the Life Graph which are those hours of inspired moments, which are as quickly dissolved in the aftermath of an 'inspirational' book (none of those self- ( Read more... ) -
(Untitled)
My music tastes change like the tides. Few months ago I liked My Chemical Romance, and Ludo, and Paramore - their entire operatic rock set-up where everything was pasted the label of torturous glamour with a generous dollop of guitar noise. Since then, this entire month finds me stripping off that punkish rock persona (for, unstrange as it sounds ( Read more... ) -
the forked path.
The end of examinations marks the start of a busy week - preparations for scholarship applications and UK university admissions ( Read more... ) -
flash fiction ( observations )
The face of humanity has shifted, he would concede to that. Hardly half a century ago the harsh of regimen of decorum had them bound to their social classes, immiscible. What had been proclaimed as ‘science’ was essentially the work of quack doctors, with the exception of a few visionaries, and sorcerers foolish enough to toy with forces whose ( Read more... ) -
(Untitled)
Two more days till the end of everything as I know it.
Excited, and apprehensive.
