tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-91931560500926441202024-03-05T01:31:16.943-08:00Occasionally Tuesday Morning.Eliza Harthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13263245375093262291noreply@blogger.comBlogger38125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193156050092644120.post-66813276946039158752009-10-07T15:33:00.001-07:002009-10-07T15:42:19.381-07:00Unveiling.Folks,<br />My apologies for being a horribly inconsistent blogger. For this, I would like to make it up to you by unveiling another of my recent blogging endeavors: Something Pure and Infinite.<br /><br /><a href="http://somevicariousliving.blogspot.com/"><span style="color:#663333;">http://somevicariousliving.blogspot.com/</span></a><br /><br />Unfortunately, it is still very rudimentary, but feel free to take a look. I would love to recieve some of your feedback/suggestions for improvement.<br /><br />P.S... Occasionally Tuesday Morning's one year blogiversary is soon coming. Prepare for celebratory posts and hurrahs.Eliza Harthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13263245375093262291noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193156050092644120.post-88024125892264484022009-09-16T09:10:00.000-07:002009-09-16T09:12:16.613-07:00Lukewarm.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ4QZ71TNy05RgGx2zJCabMv4UtAuX-ram2fY2YX8G-_M7yi2bsTgIM7Vwwit6xwargDMvRdHjpC1O2dRajdoAoXjv6mJRozRsLGVrgHozzk5kke8b6bih8VoUQlN-E7WBWOtqLkVKqAM/s1600-h/34798dfie344324j.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382098693250217810" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ4QZ71TNy05RgGx2zJCabMv4UtAuX-ram2fY2YX8G-_M7yi2bsTgIM7Vwwit6xwargDMvRdHjpC1O2dRajdoAoXjv6mJRozRsLGVrgHozzk5kke8b6bih8VoUQlN-E7WBWOtqLkVKqAM/s400/34798dfie344324j.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">I'll set out in search of something between introduction and goodbye, safety purposes. You never offer a "Hello, my name is...", so you needn't live with the knowledge of a direct moment of beginning and end. Only that there was exchange of politics and ideaology, spaghetti and umbrellas along the way. And when ways part, you can't regret. Nothing concrete in the first place. All that is left is a treacherous stack of restaurant receipts and a dingy umbrella in the corner, a pity gift from that wheezing great-aunt. </span></div><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><div align="center"><br />The thunder stopped about an hour ago, rain still trickles from the gutter like a weeping child. Wind-blown leaves pasted to the windows from the outside, crying for sanctuary. Eerie gutteral noises from the refrigerator in the corner. Grey daylight consumes empty space, accessible rooms with ghosts. Skin is skin no longer. A maiden's paper veil. Heartbeats ticking like old machinery. Untouched breakfast. I can't say I mind the company. </div><div align="center"><br />The last sip of coffee settles, lukewarm and motionless. As am I.</span></div>Eliza Harthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13263245375093262291noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193156050092644120.post-81609901646697903112009-08-01T10:59:00.000-07:002009-08-01T11:05:03.698-07:00Flurrying.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">I sincerely apologize for my absence the last few weeks. </span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman'; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">I leave for a</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"> roadtrip </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">in just two days, so I must be packing soon. I think my life has become completely engulfed in job applications and school applications and redecorating and trips to the library. But I promise to update when I return! Just a few weeks left before I am swept back up into the flurry of schoolwork, but I will do my best to catch up on everyone's blogs and comments soon!</span></span></div><div><br /></div>Eliza Harthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13263245375093262291noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193156050092644120.post-22512237545036335812009-06-09T15:00:00.000-07:002009-08-01T10:56:10.462-07:00Storytelling On Your Terms.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjm1bFZQkGFeEmErymY2CVKWURxfjLkFomoONljPWpap6KmDt4ZkM0RWLCZ8eMB34N6spmUVmPCkkSdgR1-TD26e5QUqu356pgy3P8b1aQ42tnDbBYh8YJ8ysgw160aNfHiLER55DK7x4/s1600-h/marie-antoinette1.JPG"></a><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">it seems that today is one of those days when I often find myself without a single productive thing to do or say, so I get to answer these 21 (random) questions:</span></span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"> 1. What is your current obsession?</span></span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">as of the past few weeks, I find myself completely enamored with teenvogue editorials. I cannot tell whether it is the splendid world or perfectly magical people that dwell in it, but they make me want to fly straight to Europe for a complete wardrobe overhaul, after which I wish to enjoy sunny picnics and tea parties by the sea.</span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqNvSgka9E99SIFS7XRao2Vm5l42i5oZPZQpzyJFVSlgpb9jtilUG7fONMttqeKvqnol1GSSVb831EqCtKG4dgYmiOPPSU8ZzTtBX6MCR6WjSzMrjqOD1XM7aFVibfYt9WQUJ3_UzbnnE/s1600-h/thenewromantics2.bmp"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 309px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345455184938321506" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqNvSgka9E99SIFS7XRao2Vm5l42i5oZPZQpzyJFVSlgpb9jtilUG7fONMttqeKvqnol1GSSVb831EqCtKG4dgYmiOPPSU8ZzTtBX6MCR6WjSzMrjqOD1XM7aFVibfYt9WQUJ3_UzbnnE/s400/thenewromantics2.bmp" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">and the lovely Ali Michael is also completely beautiful and makes me envious every day. what a glorious pale-faced wonder she is!<br /><br /></span></span><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-9JyCrI2wmUXc6bf29_5yMro7OXc9HKobwnp4XsYOZrRnIoydUd8zMfPd7mSrZ81wm5h9ccJeQ4mA9K-UHTvgeEUvUXGVRR6M5KzAGBmk6HzLJ6SHJaGBfzmpqrDck4kgt7yWn1hORb4/s1600-h/thenewromantics1.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 314px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345455000312477170" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-9JyCrI2wmUXc6bf29_5yMro7OXc9HKobwnp4XsYOZrRnIoydUd8zMfPd7mSrZ81wm5h9ccJeQ4mA9K-UHTvgeEUvUXGVRR6M5KzAGBmk6HzLJ6SHJaGBfzmpqrDck4kgt7yWn1hORb4/s400/thenewromantics1.jpg" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">*photos courtesy of teenvogue, "</span></span><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic" class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">The New Romantics</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">" 2007<br /><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">2. What is your weirdest obsession? </span></span></div><div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">hmm! I really don't know. some people find it strange that I have loved jazz music since a child. i love Ella Fitzgerald! her voice is completely gorgeous, and her music somehow finds a way into the soul. i suppose that is weird?</span></span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">3. What do you see outside your window?</span></span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">sadly, it is a bit overcast today, but i can see the cherry plum trees that greet my driveway and are home to a boisterous family of robins.</span></span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">4. What is your favourite color?</span></span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">I must say that though it changes periodically, I love a soft blush pink anytime of year. I also love mint green and cornflower and buttery yellow. I do think that I could paint my entire house in them!</span></span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">5. What is your weakness? </span></span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">oh! my biggest weakness is old black-and-white films. i simply can't get enough of them. I am watching </span></span><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic" class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">Casablanca </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">tonight! I also have a fatal soft spot for dear sweet old men that smell like peppermints and pipe tobacco.</span></span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSjRazLJE2vdTGDRThyphenhyphenIqdOO3AdOzblD1af_O4bnMK3Ka3Tqq7-dFqZLuZEmVsEh4qiGA71lhAnMxLN0mrQoU7Ctqipfuf52VhIlCMLEN1CMnTSPJ8dcv4gFNnWgjN3kij7L-v7drs9Lg/s1600-h/casablanca.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 394px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 311px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345758263637611090" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSjRazLJE2vdTGDRThyphenhyphenIqdOO3AdOzblD1af_O4bnMK3Ka3Tqq7-dFqZLuZEmVsEh4qiGA71lhAnMxLN0mrQoU7Ctqipfuf52VhIlCMLEN1CMnTSPJ8dcv4gFNnWgjN3kij7L-v7drs9Lg/s400/casablanca.jpg" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQa_554k4W7Jzy5kJ0EuFWISCrB_U97rPdalrGv9bk9ZmwvGAvc2kO5pgaBzP6k9ys3ATTaXVRYjEC-r-h_X_bI-p2-Pz7PKnsIzmbQnajPxufWsogcIIMp1yYUF0sSOjVH5NOlYkDzcg/s1600-h/swing-dance4.jpg"></a></span></span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">6. What animal would you be?</span></span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">oh, I would most assuredly be a finch of some kind. I would love to be able to flutter around happily and be as free as I chose to be. I also like the thought of observing people from a afar, and I would not have to be so social. But my sweet dachshunds do not have such a hard life, either. ( though I know I would be horridly predisposed to laziness if I was one.)</span></span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">7. What would you like to learn how to do?</span></span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"> I would very much like to learn how to swing dance! I wish very much to have lived in the forties, the bandstand days. I think I envy my dear grandparents very much! though I am unsure whether I would be good at it, I would still adore to learn. a darling friend of mine has asked me to take classes with him, and I think I would love to try it!</span></span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span style="TEXT-DECORATION: underline" class="Apple-style-span"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,238)" class="Apple-style-span"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 293px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345759112931837138" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg300e47XjntyZyklKyrHrxGxlHVikSMBMwiGnGRyt1hnw9V3eMC9N5_IAfpoYQYIoGIpGOz_6V2teUd38uH9EDhPWmedlwmdpZXCIAn0rt3tnilbmj_3FcxMcmCyGOiavxClrtngeIDE/s400/swing-dance4.jpg" /></span></span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">8. What do you want never to happen in life?</span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">I would never want to fall out of love with my dear family. and I shouldn't like to become a weepy and lonely old woman either. </span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">9. What is on your bedside table?</span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">aside from the fact that I do not have a bedside table at the moment, (it is down in the garage recovering from a recent Humanities project) I usually keep a sufficient lamp and my current read and some knick-knacks. I also love fresh flowers, so whenever I can, I love to keep a vase of them around.</span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">10. What is the last thing you bought?</span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">I believe it was either a cup of white tea or a French coin purse.<br /><br /></span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">11. What was your favourite children's book?</span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">as a child, I couldn't get enough of </span></span><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic" class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">. I also adored Beatrix Potter stories.</span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div align="center"><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,238); TEXT-DECORATION: underline" class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhuF-svcGjFeXunSX33IMtX5Wim_Yz4KEmDKQinLXNQpUDFH02sw_7auuryqQNM35s1Q5ULlcT0fJagEBSaHLp-GFxYfUFJIQ4uZylNnVuwxEcITxNHwF22qY9HohmhYYjt4VSP77BadI/s1600-h/beatrix_potter3.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 344px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345762521235740226" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhuF-svcGjFeXunSX33IMtX5Wim_Yz4KEmDKQinLXNQpUDFH02sw_7auuryqQNM35s1Q5ULlcT0fJagEBSaHLp-GFxYfUFJIQ4uZylNnVuwxEcITxNHwF22qY9HohmhYYjt4VSP77BadI/s400/beatrix_potter3.JPG" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">12. Who do you want to meet in person?</span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">I would have loved to have met Jane Austen or Beatrix Potter in my lifetime. they are two of the loveliest authoresses, and both my favourite.</span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">13. What did you want to be as a child?</span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">ever since I was a little girl, I wanted to be a travelling "gypsy-girl." I loved the thought of travelling the world with nought but a guitar on my back, meeting all kinds of people. that, or a sophisticated english lady, with a small cottage and a garden and a library of my own.</span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">14. What did you dream about last night?</span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">most of my recent dreams have involved running away from something for extensive amounts of time, but never towards anything. </span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">15. Which do you prefer, day or night?</span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">I prefer dusk, right as the sun is leaving the sky and the stars are just coming out. when the birds are quiet, and the cicadas are chirping a song. it gives me a chance to be quiet and simple about things. to think about the events of the day that has passed.</span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">16. What is your favourite piece of clothing in your closet? </span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">right now, I am obsessed with cotton summer dresses and sandals and straw hats. all of them are my favourite!</span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">17. What is your plan for tomorrow?</span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">it seems that this week has been a week without any planning at all, so i cannot tell for sure. most likely, i will make a trip to the movie store to return </span></span><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic" class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">Marie Antoinette</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"> and pick up some new ones, and finish some job applications.</span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div align="center"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjm1bFZQkGFeEmErymY2CVKWURxfjLkFomoONljPWpap6KmDt4ZkM0RWLCZ8eMB34N6spmUVmPCkkSdgR1-TD26e5QUqu356pgy3P8b1aQ42tnDbBYh8YJ8ysgw160aNfHiLER55DK7x4/s1600-h/marie-antoinette1.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 265px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345773065840842962" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjm1bFZQkGFeEmErymY2CVKWURxfjLkFomoONljPWpap6KmDt4ZkM0RWLCZ8eMB34N6spmUVmPCkkSdgR1-TD26e5QUqu356pgy3P8b1aQ42tnDbBYh8YJ8ysgw160aNfHiLER55DK7x4/s400/marie-antoinette1.JPG" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI8XHr6iwEfG_vK0XF7bPXBZQtSeEWbowkMdr6ZSBq3cFj4rCXfeq8NZpdqab1km7s3rS3vMUW6h9KtsMBwgkHnUSzgh6FaPXdthDNXuHMLHCfjdqMkGzs7lV45QgsT8vR9tfQI8Uq8Ko/s1600-h/audrey_wayfarer.JPG"></a></span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">18. What would you like to get your hands on right now?</span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">I would love to find an old yellow bicycle, like the one my mother used to ride when she was younger.</span></span></div><div align="center"><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br />19. What is your must-have of the moment?</span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">I have been on the lookout for the perfect pair of sunglasses. I love my old knock-off wayfarers, but they seem to be nearing their final days.</span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div align="center"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI8XHr6iwEfG_vK0XF7bPXBZQtSeEWbowkMdr6ZSBq3cFj4rCXfeq8NZpdqab1km7s3rS3vMUW6h9KtsMBwgkHnUSzgh6FaPXdthDNXuHMLHCfjdqMkGzs7lV45QgsT8vR9tfQI8Uq8Ko/s1600-h/audrey_wayfarer.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 299px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345771918648136482" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI8XHr6iwEfG_vK0XF7bPXBZQtSeEWbowkMdr6ZSBq3cFj4rCXfeq8NZpdqab1km7s3rS3vMUW6h9KtsMBwgkHnUSzgh6FaPXdthDNXuHMLHCfjdqMkGzs7lV45QgsT8vR9tfQI8Uq8Ko/s400/audrey_wayfarer.JPG" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2I2RyG-bZMKae_eBvdEM3NdQQNZmVaLPU9EKvoOb7fUvcejqZIc9Gc2DuhigaaK-iyHv4HpLmUmZTzeOPlVUwcnhxrsVgxfQsFJgKlbqTA243lwcw3l-i-HQpTvi9NgtdfwdoIPvSvMY/s1600-h/brighton_cottage.JPG"></a></span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">20. What is your favourite tea flavour?</span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">I love white peony and golden chai! they brighten my darkest of days.</span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">21. If you could go anywhere in the world right now, where would you go?</span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">I would love to fly to Brighton, to be by the sea in a small cottage where I could read and be quiet and write as much as I want.</span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuISVqtKQUYqoo-m5IqKgFmy49j7SFiatcxXwdBmUk1A11Ko9DQuMWTfsiRHKnkFibG1k-jZpMKkbpE7tu9fFEL_EGZ3jL6f4JBCblKtlBDmNp3ckW1NnnInxAAjEvY3Ma-PO21kQQHPA/s1600-h/beatrix_potter1.JPG"></a></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSjRazLJE2vdTGDRThyphenhyphenIqdOO3AdOzblD1af_O4bnMK3Ka3Tqq7-dFqZLuZEmVsEh4qiGA71lhAnMxLN0mrQoU7Ctqipfuf52VhIlCMLEN1CMnTSPJ8dcv4gFNnWgjN3kij7L-v7drs9Lg/s1600-h/casablanca.jpg"></a></span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span><div align="center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span></span><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Eliza Harthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13263245375093262291noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193156050092644120.post-49199269473274762512009-03-11T14:04:00.000-07:002009-08-01T10:57:04.273-07:00A Hermit's Secrets, The Royal Gossip.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIjMz1rnYJDaqgHp-_kqWDViKBQQ7VVL7RH3PcTo4Z7veYnYYpDP9_HjsN5zpvd1TRehTgS90KeRE4si2Ruk8iDoeZEV3Leylf1jbG1sOeiWS22DpqqLe-2TBG19ZuWv2pHhwLWa9_Cys/s1600-h/20090406100133.jpg"></a><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">i have begun to marvel nearly every day at how very quickly the days have flown since my last musings... i feel the need to apologize most sincerely to all, for i have dreadfully neglected to write and ponder upon the vast and insurmountable snippets of tete-a-tete that have ventured through my own distracted thoughts. the days have grown weary, it seems, of my many ponderances and fleeting thoughts of philosophies and of sponge cakes and strawberries and tea. i am afraid i have indeed grown quite negligent in these couple of months, hardly able to spare the time enough for a sweet conversation and comments on all your beautiful and wonderful blogs. </span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZpSj3aJbREpI5dA_RvmBfAJMFDwjL6hMDtalz4Ze581RDD_RAiWGPEa5xyEYvVdGJq3ml4BYNnFuWgDbH7VOopeS4EFhXPD4M0ZPj9gUZfbnib9LaSvEW_UnzJzT63Tstxe5DwOdMYyE/s1600-h/31055_Untitled-1.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZpSj3aJbREpI5dA_RvmBfAJMFDwjL6hMDtalz4Ze581RDD_RAiWGPEa5xyEYvVdGJq3ml4BYNnFuWgDbH7VOopeS4EFhXPD4M0ZPj9gUZfbnib9LaSvEW_UnzJzT63Tstxe5DwOdMYyE/s400/31055_Untitled-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329422877140986802" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 352px; height: 400px; " /></a></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">as expected, the chill and frost of winter in April has nearly all but deceased in the wake of summer's onset~in just the past three days alone, it has been almost ninety degrees, this forcing me to store up my bundles of cozy winter coats and stockings and replace them with many airy and pretty things to stay moderately cool in the present haze. i have enjoyed many many cups of favourite tea and biscuits and read captivating books and taken far too many naps and been buried in piles and piles of work work work! i have been quite the busy bee these months.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIjMz1rnYJDaqgHp-_kqWDViKBQQ7VVL7RH3PcTo4Z7veYnYYpDP9_HjsN5zpvd1TRehTgS90KeRE4si2Ruk8iDoeZEV3Leylf1jbG1sOeiWS22DpqqLe-2TBG19ZuWv2pHhwLWa9_Cys/s1600-h/20090406100133.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIjMz1rnYJDaqgHp-_kqWDViKBQQ7VVL7RH3PcTo4Z7veYnYYpDP9_HjsN5zpvd1TRehTgS90KeRE4si2Ruk8iDoeZEV3Leylf1jbG1sOeiWS22DpqqLe-2TBG19ZuWv2pHhwLWa9_Cys/s400/20090406100133.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329431896265967474" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 209px; " /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4dK5pDnZqgDi1ejTIM2L9qKQ1jbEofghu9U7PJMCTJrefn5BejbO3Rfy9_qp95jFno5J0jf78IF6ylz0dpzoZzmPN50ElAD_PykMPriOedJed1K6Od8Tuyk_wJajlJmojhMLwYxouIWM/s1600-h/mikkelvang110.jpg"></a></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">oh, this year of life seems to be slipping through my fingers... beyond words, how i wish i could wrap it all up in a large and safe bundle of brown paper, tied with a ribbon for ensured protection from the outside world. only then could i hold it in my arms so long as to gaze at it in enchantment for its fleeting moments of pleasure and unadulterated joy in its own existence. the one thing i could be as selfish with as i desired, the only thing in the world completely mine.</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">*Recommended Reads:*</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">by Dave Eggers</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">by Dai Sijie</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">The Guernsey Literary and Potatoe Peel Pie Society </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">by Mary Ann Shaffer</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">The Importance of Being Earnest </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">by Oscar Wilde</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">Jane Eyre </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">by Charlotte Bronte</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">Wuthering Heights </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">by </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">Emily </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">Brontë</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">Tess of the d'Ubervilles </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">by Thomas Hardy</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">Life of Pi </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">by Yann Martel</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">by Mark Haddon</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">Fugitive Pieces </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">by Anne Michaels</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">Hotel Sarajevo </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">by Jack Kersh</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">The Cheese Monkeys </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">by Chip Kidd</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">Dreams of My Russian Summers </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">by </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">Andreï Makine</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">Requiem for a Lost Empire </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">by Andrei Makine</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">The Virgin Suicides </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">by Jeffrey Eugenides</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">Of Mice and Men </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">by John Steinbeck</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">The Thirteenth Tale </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">by Diane Setterfield</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">by James Joyce</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">White Rose </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">by Amy Ephron</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">A Cup of Tea </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">by Amy Ephron</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">Atonement </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">by Ian McEwen</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">A Year in Provence </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">by Peter Mayle</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';font-size:10px;"><br /></span></div>Eliza Harthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13263245375093262291noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193156050092644120.post-57660620050910502492009-02-20T16:01:00.000-08:002009-08-01T10:57:30.135-07:00The Holes in Your Pockets, the Secrets in Your Eyes.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4VOLSmy_m8rxkcSMTS1WgzVFHquiFejVVr_kR2l0jKpmriWQVV7Mbhn0rBHBl2KX7speOhrXbC3PGAVv84nRopiZUke8gIJ5i_yzQboYLRotwOtq7G2L4fNNDO8EvSYRZ7B_KZnsTvjQ/s1600-h/mosaic6873490.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 310px; height: 310px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4VOLSmy_m8rxkcSMTS1WgzVFHquiFejVVr_kR2l0jKpmriWQVV7Mbhn0rBHBl2KX7speOhrXbC3PGAVv84nRopiZUke8gIJ5i_yzQboYLRotwOtq7G2L4fNNDO8EvSYRZ7B_KZnsTvjQ/s320/mosaic6873490.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305035408249518482" /></a><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"> A dry evening and the forging silver stars mark the beginning of a splendid weekend brimming with curious smiles and secrets whispered underneath the covers. A bazillion cups of tea consumed from the daintiest little cups, hand painted flowers and gold-brimmed so one can run their fingertips across in utter enchantment. Unprovoked smiles are indeed the best.</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">Playing hide-and-seek behind ethereal masks, pretending to be a princess in another life. Wishes upon magical stars diminishing into the ebony carpet of sky between little puffs of warm breath in the cold. We made snow angels without any snow and a new best friend without imagination.</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">Sometimes I wish I could find some way to escape into a world where everything was just right. Where beauty wasn't just a word uttered from dispassionate lips. I wish by some miracle that I could inherit a small corner, an alcove in which I can be free enough to think and live.</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">But the world isn't stainless. There is suffering and darkness, where bad things happen to innocent people. But it is those things that are supposed to make us stronger, not just unveil our weakness. Though we should seek the simple and light things of the world, the beautiful things. The little things that make us smile, even when we don't want to. I wish we could cling to things like that. And maybe then, we could understand better how to love and take care of one another, and not just walk away when things stop being so convenient or easy as you'd like. Hang on for a little while. Seek the people and the things that inspire you. That's when you'll know. I'm not sure how, when, or why, but you will.</span></span></span></div>Eliza Harthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13263245375093262291noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193156050092644120.post-21779755157088693142009-02-17T15:02:00.001-08:002009-08-01T10:57:45.445-07:00You'll ask for the moon, I'll give you a moon pie.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhri7uK8G-Icfd4MQxS8kikjF0a-rKGHijq6z07H4JzrYiJwKpF1QClgwh_oMPk6PyW6_i0Lwll0Yats6PpVG1VaAbtXXFWlTObf9Wsggt6SU7y8TQewy31l4GEZlutJoUTEZ-7Lu5WmdI/s1600-h/20081106165939.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 205px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhri7uK8G-Icfd4MQxS8kikjF0a-rKGHijq6z07H4JzrYiJwKpF1QClgwh_oMPk6PyW6_i0Lwll0Yats6PpVG1VaAbtXXFWlTObf9Wsggt6SU7y8TQewy31l4GEZlutJoUTEZ-7Lu5WmdI/s320/20081106165939.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304653855647935586" /></a><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">My dearest friends and readers! It is good to be home, safe and cozy in my special little corner. So very much I have missed reading your precious comments and reading your delightful and encouraging blogs. Please forgive me in my absence. </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">There are no stronger words than to say that everything in my life has decided to take a complete reverse direction! I believe I referred to it as the teacup effect in my most recent post. This has been a large cause of my unseemly vacancy these weeks, though I am sad to have missed out on a great deal of your blog postings. They are always so lovely and sweet.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">Many cups of tea and animal cookie zoos involved, to the tune of a glorious valentine's day with dark chocolate and red velvet cupcakes. In my holiday, I also entertained some new ideas and possibilities for revamping my writing a bit. Perhaps not necessarily revamping, just making it a little bit more personal. A little more connection to my life, my world that is magically tied to all of yours. I am really looking forward to a fresh new opportunity with this! I do believe that it will (after quite some work) turn out favorably, if I can somehow scrape up the right words! I'll admit I am going to need quite a bit of help with this new project on my hands. Looking forward to feedback!</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';font-size:10px;"><br /></span></div></div>Eliza Harthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13263245375093262291noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193156050092644120.post-17607884218856359912009-02-12T17:13:00.000-08:002009-08-01T10:58:34.618-07:00A Disastrous Masquerade for the Elegant Undoing.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4WqPlthMhZK5aQVN0niTOGnSXWUB4ngkx5PGJf_HuL2uhGtG-eEOPouWG5HV16fAPDUDGCuOz-pLOxdfOhXtWYWV7bkQby8bDORHTzvmOimroQuARu8eVpYsbjTia2z7ERK9a16DS-TQ/s1600-h/2839917011_6102240687.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 220px; height: 146px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4WqPlthMhZK5aQVN0niTOGnSXWUB4ngkx5PGJf_HuL2uhGtG-eEOPouWG5HV16fAPDUDGCuOz-pLOxdfOhXtWYWV7bkQby8bDORHTzvmOimroQuARu8eVpYsbjTia2z7ERK9a16DS-TQ/s320/2839917011_6102240687.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302084698512146946" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">Many apologies for my peculiar absence this week. Life has seemingly boarded some sort of carnival ride, perhaps a spinning teacup. Everything is going to be different from here, and that scares me a little... and yet I know that it isn't such a bad thing.</span></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">In a silence full of life, I came to such terms with death. As if I looked the future in the eye through a keyhole to my past lives. Many brooding moments spent over delicious cups of warm tea and strawberry cupcakes with sparkles and creamy frosting. Not such a bad setting to come to terms with yourself.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">They have been truly remarkable, these past few days. I have so dearly missed that solace and bubbly joy. Something that I think got lost along they way when I started to lose myself. Perhaps there is even a small hope left for the hopeless romantics such as little me. Maybe even a road marked with days of warm sunshine and cozy snuggles under the covers with dear old friends.</span></span></span></div>Eliza Harthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13263245375093262291noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193156050092644120.post-35682528602538329882009-01-27T17:01:00.000-08:002009-08-01T10:58:46.455-07:00When Bricks Penetrate the Windows of Conscience.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqniy6eBsAnWNKBVBlT8j3SvTGdht8Hg33PiWacUXB-RbWo8TQBSunzR7rh3Rj7QTOSOU8CekiosbJDyA0OGoh2zRP18w-AOA8JdyUSWpNy-xmiZ6LCORxNRM2l28UOq7EKjfKv59BkMw/s1600-h/pool.png"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqniy6eBsAnWNKBVBlT8j3SvTGdht8Hg33PiWacUXB-RbWo8TQBSunzR7rh3Rj7QTOSOU8CekiosbJDyA0OGoh2zRP18w-AOA8JdyUSWpNy-xmiZ6LCORxNRM2l28UOq7EKjfKv59BkMw/s320/pool.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296150922114579522" /></a><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">"My business is words. Words are like labels, or coins, or better, like swarming bees. I confess I am only broken by the sources of things; as if words were counted like dead bees in the attic, unbuckled from their yellow eyes and their dry wings. I must always forget how one word is able to pick out another, to manner another, until I have got something I might have said, but did not."- Anne Sexton, (Said the Poet to the Analyst)</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">I wanted in, maybe not even "in" but a sort of halfway, perhaps between the kneecaps and my convictions. I, who was willing to be satisfied with the oddments of whatever the Beautiful could manage to leave behind, was left with little more than meager clumps of dust in my efforts to infiltrate the foreign system called the "norm." I wanted to understand it. I forced myself in a desperate attempt to decipher the intricate web of caste, and where might a moderately shy bookworm (such as myself) fit into this labyrinth of prestige and supremacy.</span></span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">My soul lusted after the glitter, the security that it had to offer. Perhaps even my own little cozy corner of the box. Or was that too much? Maybe just an envelope in which to keep my most prized of possessions in my back pocket… I wonder if compassion could pass the final rations. Perhaps not.</span></span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">I craved every inch of what I saw. It was so vividly perfect, like some flawless portrait of the evening sky at solstice. I could not manage to find any fault, though in reality, I need not have looked far. I was about to have the reason knocked into me by no gentle forces or means.</span></span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">Perhaps that is why I am the way that I am. I was thrust out of society's grasp, out of that intricate and supportive web, and thus have been left to weave for myself a cocoon from which I am not sure I will ever emerge. But I am more unsure if there will be anything there besides shabby flannel shirts and an unkempt mane. And maybe a substantial number of ramblings to match.</span></span></o:p></span></p>Eliza Harthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13263245375093262291noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193156050092644120.post-79351267510059913862009-01-26T11:58:00.001-08:002009-08-01T10:59:02.890-07:00The Science in Pitfalls.<img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtmrOfp6sk0vrBZ3zjEMhTWEhtQGwrUij1PLNF81nzpn8HGntZd2R1svFqEz3pig69fkbpRDv1Z7MzwRrwXwdLiEOVWtAK5ruc3twqYrPjXMJ0lHcqM3j8mBP93tKsXj2rfzW_0YBVxoU/s320/photo646.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295697868760401650" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">“Not that it was beautiful, but that, in the end, there was a certain sense of order there; something worth learning in that narrow diary of my mind, in the commonplaces of the asylum where the cracked mirror or my own selfish death outstared me. And if I tried to give you something else, something outside of myself, you would not know that the worst of anyone can be, finally, an accident of hope. I tapped my own head; it was glass, an inverted bowl. It is a small thing to rage in your own bowl. At first it was private. Then it was more than myself; it was you, or your house or your kitchen. And if you turn away because there is no lesson here, I will hold my awkward bowl, with all its cracked stars shining like a complicated lie, and fasten a new skin around it as if I were dressing an orange or a strange sun. Not that it was beautiful, but that I found some order there. There ought to be something special for someone in this kind of hope. This is something I would never find in a lovelier place, my dear, although your fear is anyone’s fear, like an invisible veil between us all… and sometimes in private, my kitchen, your kitchen, my face, your face.”</span></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Trebuchet MS';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"> </span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="Trebuchet MS"; color:windowtext;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">- Anne Sexton, (</span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">For John, Who Begs Me Not to Enquire Further)</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">For those who insist upon the reception of my reluctant and socially-suicidal answers, I can bring myself to deny the opportunity for a satisfying kill. I would not lay myself down on the chopping block for pure entertainment. I would not throw myself in front of an oncoming train for the show. That is the job of harlequin circus-folk, not me.</span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">I would beg of you not to make me emerge from the shadowed utopia in which I dwell, but I doubt if that would do much good at all. Asking nicely has never paid off too much for those who are determined to die, with a 9-mil at the nape of their pleading necks. It wouldn't be fair to consider it a way out or an emergency exit. Fairness has never really been a part of the game.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">So I will sit, left to eternally spy upon the beautiful people below, who by this point look near as ants from my mountain pedestal. I will watch as they hurry around, never stopping or wondering from whence the strong east wind blows about their crumbs. They will just scramble about to regather their scraps and proceed on with their autonomic lives, each consumed in his own.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">Maybe I will never know how or why the way thing are came to be. Perhaps I will never look upon the face of the Creator upon whom every creature depends for a yearly rain. Maybe I do not know or see anything at all, just a mirage created within my mind of things that I wish were there.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:13px;"><br /></span></p></span></div>Eliza Harthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13263245375093262291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193156050092644120.post-89691874055876621262009-01-23T14:17:00.000-08:002009-08-01T10:59:18.067-07:00Let’s chase moonlight until we fall through a crack in the earth.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq9PPHy62Y-Q0PSmHspfI5JHEk_E3jIjS0hNBneU48pzqueX3iIZ6q4t_NRnRhhDZiz9B2J6JHMQLsJ2kmLKxewq6RCbjvfcpT8D0gvCM6Ua5Z4PfAcgVpI4N_nw9I08UnKk7akcC8pPE/s1600-h/z38298542wp3.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 229px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq9PPHy62Y-Q0PSmHspfI5JHEk_E3jIjS0hNBneU48pzqueX3iIZ6q4t_NRnRhhDZiz9B2J6JHMQLsJ2kmLKxewq6RCbjvfcpT8D0gvCM6Ua5Z4PfAcgVpI4N_nw9I08UnKk7akcC8pPE/s320/z38298542wp3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294618203747326354" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBX6Kq8H2N2RaKhcrBiDU2SQBUBkO2vKqPMYTrvfm_0dyC2WQlyzKNMyL9MhBO35ZK1Hti1qQUj5jDvqzECoEDmLI-TYJ0yQ300BWSkgkQCsvRv-_bgz2O-Ie_ww_M0rp1_TO4c2FZLKQ/s1600-h/cha.jpg"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></span></a><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:windowtext;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';">I miss the old days of playing in sprinklers, trying to fry eggs on the sidewalk in the summer. But were we ever really children? Maybe we are just trying to make up for all that lost time. Trying to keep ourselves from moving forward, so we try to flip the clock backwards a couple of years. Sometimes it works, but our concerted efforts often seem to fail us. Maybe we will always be the same.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:windowtext;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';">But we are just children. Or at least I am. I have never really known what exactly I was searching for, but I know I believed in it with all of my heart. A sort of blindness that never really paralyzed me as one might think it would.</span></span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:windowtext;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';">So many times I have wished that I could figure myself out. That I could give some sort of definite answer as to why I am the way that I am, why I do the things that I do. Maybe I am rebellious. Maybe I just need something to hold onto for more than five minutes…or one more of my mistakes.</span></span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="Trebuchet MS"; color:windowtext;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';">My parachute never opened in time. I have fallen back to the earth, shattered into a million pieces. But I can still feel and experience somehow.</span></span></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';">When it comes down to the end, maybe it was I who was the </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';">impostor. Maybe I am the one who has been pretending without a conscience. </span></span></span></p>Eliza Harthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13263245375093262291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193156050092644120.post-11486813894106421092009-01-21T18:53:00.000-08:002009-01-21T19:20:00.097-08:00Go drink up the sky, it'll be our little secret.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8UMI7F4DrH6M4-vL1z3GymewkH6-2RmlcnYnJPjashEEiiDLE5DEgW0J6CasVf4m-2dHZ2bRjY29gwnUFLZdfhICRLK52EpElnQc0ukCh0b0A7FNrz1eKSsqBMDJmgguwbfXtqYAL6lA/s1600-h/100_5331.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8UMI7F4DrH6M4-vL1z3GymewkH6-2RmlcnYnJPjashEEiiDLE5DEgW0J6CasVf4m-2dHZ2bRjY29gwnUFLZdfhICRLK52EpElnQc0ukCh0b0A7FNrz1eKSsqBMDJmgguwbfXtqYAL6lA/s320/100_5331.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293952601150991106" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoOtMsIkE2TxQYunQN-gHQK1mtmWT-8GSO_DvTYiu9YfiE7EYPsKj0OXpdMFYmhgU_6wnoBoD9V3dfHKAbp8djbM1AvvVEcxqZrM65biNZKAtXp0OYq48rJKDza9XeUSU4u3IqYYDQ_nc/s1600-h/2134584357_cb9c714986.jpg"><br /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:13px;">In rummaging through the muddled and anarchic state of my psyche's unscathed file cabinets, I happened upon a handful of rootless dreams. They greeted me much as one would a long-lost friend, with familiar warmth and solace. Then something within me eased; as if I had leisurely reclined back into some old overstuffed chair. The pain was seemingly gone.</span><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="Trebuchet MS"font-family:";"><o:p> W<span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:18px;">e sat then together and reminisced over infinite cups of tea about the Better Days, or at least until the dawning sun began to cast little ribbons of light through the dirty window pane, painting patterns on the dusty floor.</span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="Trebuchet MS"font-family:";"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">I stole a second's glimpse at them, all smiling and glowing like. They made me want to</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"> remember.</span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="Trebuchet MS"font-family:";"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">In that moment, the incurable ache had restored itself to its fullest supremacy. I hate saying goodbye, and there was then still a daunting task before me. The stage had been set, with each actor precisely in place. The question remains: Would I leave?</span></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;font-size:16px;"><i><span style=" ;font-family:'Trebuchet MS';">"Not all who wander are lost."- </span></i><span style=" ;font-family:'Trebuchet MS';">Tolkien</span></span><br /></span></p>Eliza Harthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13263245375093262291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193156050092644120.post-11057854587095304622009-01-19T09:26:00.000-08:002009-01-19T09:56:45.447-08:00The Fishbowl Saga...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFh0E32IYxMhverI5kPONZ9SJhbJdc52EQipAuSPuLQi70H-DlkXNHBtm7EFGMAPS22E9fpowX7_v6FdQa_VRrGC6Y72IwnWwYMwXVjVyowh2U3wplHNe8N-bDpim_tEaQ1t-Nxt81yiE/s1600-h/airplace.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293057845909096194" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 214px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFh0E32IYxMhverI5kPONZ9SJhbJdc52EQipAuSPuLQi70H-DlkXNHBtm7EFGMAPS22E9fpowX7_v6FdQa_VRrGC6Y72IwnWwYMwXVjVyowh2U3wplHNe8N-bDpim_tEaQ1t-Nxt81yiE/s320/airplace.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;">We'll fly around in circles, waiting for the life that feels like an inside, but is in reality the furthest outside you could get. As the heart drops and chills surge throughout the extremities, we wonder when we'll crash and the oxygen masks will begin a successful operation. Tightened seatbelts leave red claw marks at a peculiar angle on the shoulders of those who are more and less afraid than some. A dive towards that inevitable fate begins.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">Could these be the final moments for those of us without a hope for the leftover parachute?</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:130%;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:78%;">Life as a fish would be both whimsical and highly peculiar to most who have never experienced it. My homely rainbow pebbles and Wal-Mart purchased castles stand quaint next to the sheer extravagance of the ocean. I may never know life outside of this cage. But I don't mind; it has never just been a cage to me. It is my own way of living, a veltanshaung of seeing and experiencing everything around me with heightened sensitivity. I can see people on the outside, floating around without much understanding of how lucky they really are. And then I can relish in the moments when it is just me, alone with my castles and nearly fantastic games of playing hide-and-seek with a reflection in the glass.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:180%;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">I couldn't deny the eternal bond that I share with inconveniently-timed pain.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:180%;">For those that have encouraged in the previous days, I applaude your undying faith in somebody that you have never laid eyes on. And thus far, there seems to be a light of sorts beginning to dawn on this shattered life once called my own.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:180%;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:180%;"></span> </div>Eliza Harthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13263245375093262291noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193156050092644120.post-64805282226649711842009-01-18T10:16:00.000-08:002009-01-18T10:44:42.943-08:00An Encore for the Unanswered.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Rs4JPnKBB2GdfSpua3daxBn0BE8Y1OZqJqKMbcAGY48FDVqxj2aoJF-HZ7YOyPWRcEbEeLPgthZS-BWb3clspfpsB1QxYVvCZs7qw-6aA0uB0cByCfYQUjuzl0-KtuSfegO6JI2S4bA/s1600-h/a29f116258839789.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 251px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Rs4JPnKBB2GdfSpua3daxBn0BE8Y1OZqJqKMbcAGY48FDVqxj2aoJF-HZ7YOyPWRcEbEeLPgthZS-BWb3clspfpsB1QxYVvCZs7qw-6aA0uB0cByCfYQUjuzl0-KtuSfegO6JI2S4bA/s320/a29f116258839789.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292702801619417394" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">This morning I laid between the sheets for hours, contemplating what new blind turn my life is going to take next. None of this was written into my plan, and I surely didn't expect to have to fight this hard. I don't know what I believe anymore, about the God-bird, about people in general. About myself. Do I even believe in anything more than what I can touch in front of me, or look at from across the coffee table?</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">I never used to be this skeptical. I never dreamed of everything falling to such pieces around me. And I am left only to sweep up the debris of my past lives under the sofa and pretend like all of this is so new. Maybe it should be, but it definitely isn't. I know that I've been here before.</span></span><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; font-size: 13px; ">But don't say you'll love me forever and then try to hurt me. Don't rip me away from all that I've ever known and expect me to be peachy-keen. There are too many secrets that just aren't worth it. And I'll walk away from it all before I'll let you make me hurt the people that I love.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">If I leave for a day, you're free to look for me, but I can't promise you that I would look back.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> I can't promise anything to anyone but my eternal devotion to always care.</span></span><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; font-size: 18px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I am suffocating in a world filled with nothing but black smoke emitted from the unswept spouts of those who wait for a show that was cancelled years ago.</span></span></div>Eliza Harthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13263245375093262291noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193156050092644120.post-41721420369569010152009-01-17T11:24:00.000-08:002009-01-17T12:51:51.470-08:00#24 on my list of things to admit before I die?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOGKXQ-DNHlwoRyDSqnIsOyvEVcXrLlKJnxRWyTYjKot8LW5jE1Gfh23PD5kzyELd8eaxJNeBA7UQUbi276HBt45yjr6kmJkCtTCzTavSrDmSuBZIo5An0ophONAj1kFfS9bQFKog_oEU/s1600-h/2475510568_a6a0b88338.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 274px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOGKXQ-DNHlwoRyDSqnIsOyvEVcXrLlKJnxRWyTYjKot8LW5jE1Gfh23PD5kzyELd8eaxJNeBA7UQUbi276HBt45yjr6kmJkCtTCzTavSrDmSuBZIo5An0ophONAj1kFfS9bQFKog_oEU/s320/2475510568_a6a0b88338.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292359083248963010" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilPOYUyEDOGviGR9ggN-VDLKmuFY9LhKwQV5hdOiScK4Xng67dBTlwxbnJEI4lE2VqJZ2O9KWkrgO5xy9XNrEE4_soPAVSOUl5Sh9_fRSRP6Akf0eFV6EDZ9jj3NiA53SyJ3tJGSujK8s/s1600-h/2492888922_afc33ec517.jpg"></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">I used to know what it was like to be normal. Well, somewhat. Maybe I never have been normal by worldly means, just normal for people... er... like me. </span></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">I guess you could say that I once was an introvert. Never said anything out of place, never fighting back. I could sit cozy between the shelves of the library for hours, reading until my neck and eyes began to scream "Stop it!" I took whatever life threw at me at whatever point in time. Deep down, I was fiery, stubborn, overly independent. Maybe even a little rebellious to some? But I tried my hardest not to show it. Have I just stopped trying by now?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; font-size: 18px; ">These achey pains are just so stubborn. I could consume a million cups of tea and yet they still will remain. My physical exhaustion, that feeling that it wouldn't matter how many days I could sleep and I would still feel icky, lingers constantly. BAH.</span><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; font-size: 13px;">I would still so much rather be snuggled in between the pages of Shakespeare and Jane Austen than to have my nose crammed between the pages of an encyclopedia. I hate thesis papers. I hate 12 degree weather and clouds without an ounce of rain (maybe snow?). I hate whatever this is that is fighting inside of me. </span></div>Eliza Harthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13263245375093262291noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193156050092644120.post-43877694657216840592009-01-15T17:19:00.000-08:002009-01-15T17:45:17.189-08:00A Wizard Couldn't Have Said It Better.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQp6RIz5F6H5l4TVeszbgInuC3g7wPnIdtuWF9TLTy4kqJL5NfzXdd8VjnvYlIGL5y3D3mL8ABEccKPcROJs3WqqrqXcYVqXXmQXhYnSM_MjO5vazSD-baXc6B6p7ER1DIgXI_2MW4Xes/s1600-h/vintage-1.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQp6RIz5F6H5l4TVeszbgInuC3g7wPnIdtuWF9TLTy4kqJL5NfzXdd8VjnvYlIGL5y3D3mL8ABEccKPcROJs3WqqrqXcYVqXXmQXhYnSM_MjO5vazSD-baXc6B6p7ER1DIgXI_2MW4Xes/s320/vintage-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291697563339132194" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXrLbZOe3hHAuyvepqJUO_ut4ZINI-qVZhpPTiEBWfHA6tCEw2C-GsBKxuIgOZs5TTUIhbf0Dgcrk9QLN4AEc_WCuXjmFVIYxcqjXD9SfEkDCtGgRT2SSBonOO-sJ9o5NeqpDdAXCJYZA/s1600-h/tree-bomb.jpg"></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"I know what you're thinking, but I'm not your property, no matter what you say. Move along, there's nothing left to see. Just a body, nothing left to see. A couple more for breakfast, a little more for tea... just to take the edge off. Move along, there's nothing left to see. Just a body, pouring down the street. Move along, there is nothing left to see. Just a body, nothing left to see. Move along."</span></span></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">-</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Radiohead</span></span></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">I think I could say what I was thinking if only I knew. There is something that claws at the inside of me, a sort of animal... a lion perhaps, or maybe a crab. It eats at my resolve as insistently as would a degenerate disease, waiting until I crack. A passionate flame emerged from long-indulged hibernation.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">There are just too many questions without any plausible answer. Eventually, I know I will have to come to terms with whatever these may be, though I am not too sure if I will necessarily like them anyway. Perhaps that is not the issue. Perhaps that is. Perhaps that is all they were intended for to begin with.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></span></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Verdana;font-size:11px;"><br /></span></div></div></div>Eliza Harthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13263245375093262291noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193156050092644120.post-56744363148578941852009-01-11T15:02:00.000-08:002009-01-11T15:26:24.198-08:00The Ignorance of Bliss and the Convenience of Pain.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYgPCgnGJB7SpmQbxTWK6VwepJ_-VRLvXpxRBly58n3B79K_HwZ4GYUL9MAIa3XgpeLIwOjRwBN2QJ4l-KcX6ZA-QvFLOyU5SO215KQygGPP9vl2deU_Sx_Pe7XfRuuB8_u57G4Zg-nrY/s1600-h/photography-3324er.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYgPCgnGJB7SpmQbxTWK6VwepJ_-VRLvXpxRBly58n3B79K_HwZ4GYUL9MAIa3XgpeLIwOjRwBN2QJ4l-KcX6ZA-QvFLOyU5SO215KQygGPP9vl2deU_Sx_Pe7XfRuuB8_u57G4Zg-nrY/s320/photography-3324er.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290175923638738882" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Here's to the gloriously broken, and those who helped them fall.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Here's to the cruelly successful, and those who have it all.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Here's to the forgotten, those left to their own vice.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">And here's to the remembered who quit on playing nice.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">How ironic. How beautifully we have fallen apart. I don't think we could have ripened with age any better than this. I mean, look at us. Look at what we put ourselves through just so we can scoff and internally say "Well, don't I look so much better than you?" Pride is the price we pay for a lifetime of throwing ourselves at the past. For coveting the lives of those we love and condemning the lives of those we hate. It is the most convenient of methods to achieving an eternally 'youthful' stamina.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We inject our imperfections with harsh preservative chemicals and airbrush away those that are stubborn. We've used so much gas between trips to the spa that we have virtually eliminated all that was left of the yin and yang in our lives. Or maybe that was just your lunch after a trip to the gym.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; font-size: 24px;">You would imagine that one would be trying to look older.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; font-size: 24px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Personally, I would rather be pudgy but filled with life than be a twig and have it literally sucked out of me. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Personal opinion. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div>Eliza Harthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13263245375093262291noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193156050092644120.post-63682373050603210242009-01-09T17:27:00.000-08:002009-01-09T18:03:48.674-08:00The Nervous Catastrophe At the Heart of the Downfall.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRHPG-OM3vYOndRKWBP6G_-l3fE_rwR_Wypm6ZIVicgDZm5w07X-EfPOjQ7-flksvF6wlPKjDZ5yBcSWzMlV9Dm3d3wCv0hyphenhyphenybnDuKilCjF8Qs63wVEoRSOBQf1kQa-jY9PJEjaazXbfM/s1600-h/b31529150fq6.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 204px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRHPG-OM3vYOndRKWBP6G_-l3fE_rwR_Wypm6ZIVicgDZm5w07X-EfPOjQ7-flksvF6wlPKjDZ5yBcSWzMlV9Dm3d3wCv0hyphenhyphenybnDuKilCjF8Qs63wVEoRSOBQf1kQa-jY9PJEjaazXbfM/s320/b31529150fq6.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5289471168008204978" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Nearly every priceless moment we live is spent ignorantly fighting or chasing some long lost hope of being something we are not, or labeling what we know we are. Each has our own vice... smoking and the like. Hardly anyone really lives outside their front door, they are so occupied with the comfortable and fantastic views from the inside, playing connect the dots on the ceiling or people-watching for hours from behind a frosty window in an abandoned upstairs bedroom. I am one of those people who was once miserably attached to the outside world, hardly able to bring myself to come inside at all. It just felt too open... maybe it was the breathability. </span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Something changed. I am still left to be the hopeless domestic poet that I have eternally been, occasionally catching a glimpse of the outside world through the dirty and breath-fogged glass of my window. It is hard to remember the times when I understood what it was like to see and understand the world. It feels so long ago. But who has ever really understood the world, inside or out?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Would it really be a waste of time to try to change the shape of what we know to be the "ideal"? Is it just the way things are? I would hate to imagine losing so much that is precious to a world that is too blind to value and understand it. Beauty is not so subjective as people make it to be. Each possesses his/her own taste, but it is really only ever understood the way it was intended to be by those who were born to appreciate it. Its sounds so cliche, but the artists, the ones who see and hear and taste and feel things that so many others can't... they are the ones that beauty was designed for. They are the ones who are going to pay attention.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I feel an urgent need to apologize... I did a terrible thing in a terrible dream, and now I can't look you in the eye. It started: we were out on a date and you turned to say, "I gotta tell you something odd... I know I said we'd get married, but I'm already married." And that's when you laughed so hard. So I turned and swung, woke up in a shock, nails digging blood from the base of my palms. Because people are so fickle, they fall in love at different angles. So really I could lose you just as quickly as I've gotten you, and that's the kind of thought that makes me nervous. And worried if you'll really think I'm worth it. When the rush wears off and you're left with this busted person. But if you tell me you will I will do what I can to believe it. So baby all the things that I've seen last night while asleep... this morning, they're messing with me, and now I'm anxious as hell and looking for help. Something pleasant and painless, some story to tell with a through-line of calm that could stop me from being myself. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">-Kevin Devine</span><br /></span></div>Eliza Harthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13263245375093262291noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193156050092644120.post-78993201246186540762009-01-09T14:05:00.000-08:002009-01-09T14:34:53.084-08:00The Glamourous Consequence.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgadbBt3ZKBGJIkBz2mxeSgJlQgxCsWnvGEvA4TjHgOp2dMiemkvLrAaJcHSHplxErJ72J9M0kvjdT7GnjR_SNBjIvKmouGuseiYJYa8o9f14TUfWg4vfoaoeVoJmB-ANYpo48inA99Fdk/s1600-h/photography-26.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 216px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgadbBt3ZKBGJIkBz2mxeSgJlQgxCsWnvGEvA4TjHgOp2dMiemkvLrAaJcHSHplxErJ72J9M0kvjdT7GnjR_SNBjIvKmouGuseiYJYa8o9f14TUfWg4vfoaoeVoJmB-ANYpo48inA99Fdk/s320/photography-26.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5289419974276286194" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I guess you could say there is nothing like some good old-fashioned inner conflict. *PONDER* It is nothing like time, so it cannot be squandered. In any sort of politically correct terms, it can't NOT be done properly. It's pretty simple to be considered so complicated. You'd jump off a building to grapple for the chance to catch a star, but you wouldn't do it for the chance to catch somebody's glance. Then again, what was all that performing for as a child?</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">At this juncture, it is safe to say that without a good daily dosage of inner conflict, we would be... well... normal, God forbid. Without the constant check-up on our niche in this democratic caste system, we might be relatively secure. Maybe then we wouldn't need uninteresting politicians to lead the interesting lives that the truly interesting people deserve, hmmm? </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Don't tell that to the struggling residential artists of the universe.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Bah. As a writer, you typically wouldn't be able to stand the thought of your insecurities boldly protruding in every word you thought, but as for me... it keeps me in check. It keeps me more deservedly human than I might seem. It is a sort of rare commodity, the ability to confront yourself. There just isn't any feeling like knowing your place in the grande scheme of things. Sometimes it is even nice to think that someday, somebody just might notice your supposed "modesty" about what you do. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div>Eliza Harthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13263245375093262291noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193156050092644120.post-28685076738217708262009-01-08T16:39:00.000-08:002009-01-08T18:21:54.792-08:00You would eat it up if it was low-calorie.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4cCri-OYISmdNB5DRG3YTMr7cnZvCB-AUgsWQGJk7rg_lV00E96x3ZFWSgBLVvP5-VI91pATVYz85GhUS3NZszAxBMQl9_DBuLdHM8Xx3rJja8CyulBY0JmNdSF3XOatkaENSpv4radA/s1600-h/mirror.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 278px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4cCri-OYISmdNB5DRG3YTMr7cnZvCB-AUgsWQGJk7rg_lV00E96x3ZFWSgBLVvP5-VI91pATVYz85GhUS3NZszAxBMQl9_DBuLdHM8Xx3rJja8CyulBY0JmNdSF3XOatkaENSpv4radA/s320/mirror.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5289113520425716978" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh4ETs8SqvnZVwofKuXvlCgBBKG3MIctWP6ubkEKiDRUXYsHXr8F3KJOAt156uy0Gj5Bb2W5tYE4rx4o9qu_uW1FH2r_OXFu7F6ZqF57sruOsNaNTHRy_lDkH6Xd3fEfANiHWZvpWL04g/s1600-h/photography-118.jpg"><br /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Today I found myself surrounded in a vast wasteland of sad and melancholy faces, all silently<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">screaming</span></span> at me for help. Each looked the same as the last, if they looked like anything at all. Their faces were almost transparent, pure and pale white, their eyes dark with </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">lack </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">of sleep. In a moment, I was lost into the eternal sea, with no way out... I am not even sure how I found my own way in. All that can be heard is the lonely words of the broken, the icy and bitter tears of the conformed.</span></span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family:'trebuchet ms';font-size:48px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family:'trebuchet ms';font-size:24px;">"Fashions fade, but style is eternal." Yves Saint Laurent</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family:'trebuchet ms';font-size:48px;">***</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">So I was rummaging through some old, old, old photographs and happened across a picture of my beloved grandparents in their high-school days. It was almost like being in another world to see my grandparents together... well, not really together, just together in an ancient and somewhat moth-eaten slip of black and white. She was absolutely beautiful. He was handsome. They met when she was just 15. Everyone still says that neither of them ever loved another. At least, not since they met in grade school, anyway. They were a rare breed with rare class. They lived peaceful lives until she was taken 7 years before my coming into the world. My father still insists that my grandfather died 14 years later of the heart disease, but I knew all along that his heart yes, was struggling, but I saw in his eyes every moment that he had to live without his "favorite girl", and it was spent in the worst heartache that a person could ever deal with. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">I think that would be the hardest thing in the world, losing the only person I had ever truly loved. But after a hundred years spent together, I don't think they ever doubted whether a single grey hair was deserved or a wrinkle worth the tears. They knew it was worth it.</span></span></div>Eliza Harthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13263245375093262291noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193156050092644120.post-38317181452419808552009-01-06T19:19:00.000-08:002009-01-06T20:13:21.174-08:00As Yonder Mourning Breaks Upon Your Porcelain Skin.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0w0AQe0yA0brl8a5nonetTxeTlSjPJH0kYVdYzD9pWM0haXVy5gQPAHAiLTygxQkn4vsUntnPgTjZ-JnrOhwmufqliHu82SgGAdKqDgWrsi0Cx3D4POEpDe7WT1AvgZx4xkWdnfyby40/s1600-h/Fashion-1-1.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 162px; height: 209px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0w0AQe0yA0brl8a5nonetTxeTlSjPJH0kYVdYzD9pWM0haXVy5gQPAHAiLTygxQkn4vsUntnPgTjZ-JnrOhwmufqliHu82SgGAdKqDgWrsi0Cx3D4POEpDe7WT1AvgZx4xkWdnfyby40/s320/Fashion-1-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288399998297633346" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidZfDdIwljVJI7oHsenPNHvRMu_IGKGkYOyAVA6w86g9gYMn9Y2JEpX3fyiklo5J5dKoJrEY3LnhVOEomM4Yer-1Fm_HCYNZ-R5zKP5UTPFOsW2kQuiWamNlhoI4uoGi7Fi_ZWpSvw3UA/s1600-h/Fashion-1-1.jpg"></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">I think the biggest thing I'll ever have to worry about is not losing time, but losing myself as the time goes by. As the clock keeps ticking towards some fateful day in the future, towards an exact moment that one could never really see coming. But until that day I will continue to remain hopelessly devoted to the trivialities of my youth, eternally engrossed in some new adventure of sorts.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';font-size:13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">I do not really fear dying, but I do indeed remember a time when I feared living and the very casualty that comes with waking up each morning. Now, of course, I am not bothered a bit at this inevitable consequence of my meager birth. After many tears and sleepless nights, I eventually accepted it as just the way things are.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';font-size:13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';font-size:13px;">I know that I'll someday laugh at myself in the mirror sixty years from now, wondering what I was thinking, not to fear growing old. I will gaze into my own eyes, tired and framed by a deep web of laugh lines, and smile because I am soulfully reassured that there will still be a hint of fire and sparkle left somehow. I will look at my feet, worn and weakened with age, and laugh because I will remember all the lovely places they have taken me. I will examine my hands, shaky and arthritic as they may be, and rejoice for every memory of holding a small child in my arms, or the late nights they spent helping me to write countless nonsensical blogs about the unforeseen future. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';font-size:13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">And after all this, I will cry. I will mourn, wondering how many precious moments I have lost, how many times I should have let somebody else win, how many apologies that should have been mine in the first place.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';font-size:13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">But after all this which I have inwardly acknowledged, I wonder if I should someday actually like having the appearance of a raisin.</span></span></div>Eliza Harthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13263245375093262291noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193156050092644120.post-65774500928907289862009-01-03T09:42:00.000-08:002009-01-03T10:44:25.282-08:00The Giraffe's Eternal Tribulation.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvM2F6Tlf1fwQaB8usmkGYd56GDLyz7f0pTEpir9oQomwII5XONdvZvjYLo4OR2hVUWzgzgwh4NRwDXltE9OfQR9ZpQ2MSBpFToCHPx_mwwugKtFhLVl8jsfpPzpMk84KVVaAJWEkjnZU/s1600-h/insomnia.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 276px; height: 275px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvM2F6Tlf1fwQaB8usmkGYd56GDLyz7f0pTEpir9oQomwII5XONdvZvjYLo4OR2hVUWzgzgwh4NRwDXltE9OfQR9ZpQ2MSBpFToCHPx_mwwugKtFhLVl8jsfpPzpMk84KVVaAJWEkjnZU/s320/insomnia.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287134393405949874" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">* IDLE* "Courage, teach me to be shy. You taught me everything else I know."</span><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">*Mood*: Adventurous :D</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">*Book*: The Norton Anthology of Poetry {Shorter Fifth Edition}</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';font-size:48px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I wouldn't say that I am really afraid of common things such as snakes or mice. Nope. Just things that make me vulnerable. Like trust, or letting people in. I hate it when my fear shows. Arrogance is completely different from my version of a mask. Someone chooses to be silent in their pain and they are called cocky and selfish. That's kinda the way the world works. That doesn't make it right.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><blockquote></blockquote></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I am not "indie" because I wear plaid shirts and hats every day. I am not considered "</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">emo</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">" because I am not always sad. You wouldn't call somebody "goth" just because they like black. Not fitting a mold to me is the best way to live: free of labels, free of smothering expectation.</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Everybody tends to label themselves at least a little. Yours might not be academic perfection, maybe not even a perfect reputation, but it is still all yours. Nobody could replace the way you laugh, no matter how stupid you think it sounds. Or that might just be me.</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">My laugh is completely bizarre. My sleeping habits are somewhat zig-zagged... like my Latin grades. I'll eat waffles any time of the day and I ALWAYS sort my skittles and m&m's. I am a thrice convicted chapstick thief and I love other cultures and languages. I seem to spend a lot of my time daydreaming and playing connect-the-freckles on my ninjatastic twin sister before she tries to snap my wrist with her knujmchucks. It also seems that I spent a great and strange amount of time stargazing whenever I get the chance. I think snoring is obnoxious, and I go to the pet store every chance I get. I am pretty sublime and mellow. I have a strange fascination with purple, green, and yellow. </span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I'm like a rainbow, mystery flavored popsicle. The not-icky kind.</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';font-size:13px;"><br /></span></div>Eliza Harthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13263245375093262291noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193156050092644120.post-6164004382566650842009-01-02T14:05:00.001-08:002009-01-03T10:39:38.279-08:00Let us make a toast to the misfortunes of Venus.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4NkdIuhyYRh-l7Gz8bjHjrWZs8hJd00galKKFXy-LyBE7RuWLXl7O4-PakaiywgOoASl-7IjrIWVjGRrP6Kbo4RfhpfWuswiQ2w6mGiN0MaBW62aiA1tmBgErOKOpo-Sal9dev-YWpEI/s1600-h/Photography_by_Coloresie.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 247px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4NkdIuhyYRh-l7Gz8bjHjrWZs8hJd00galKKFXy-LyBE7RuWLXl7O4-PakaiywgOoASl-7IjrIWVjGRrP6Kbo4RfhpfWuswiQ2w6mGiN0MaBW62aiA1tmBgErOKOpo-Sal9dev-YWpEI/s320/Photography_by_Coloresie.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287137222099898786" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Let us usher in a new year with bad high school dancing and way too many cheap toasts. Let's scream at the top of our lungs when a massive crystal ball amillion miles away touches the moment of the new beginning and offer praise to all the kissy-faced couples in the streets. It's all so glamorous. Can't you taste it?</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Don't you hate the humiliation every time you come out of your isolated corner of the universe to keep the world from falling apart and it still does?Psht... and we thought Robbie Madison had skills.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';font-size:18px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';font-size:18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Right under our sleep-filled eyes we let the world crumble because we all chose to be Greta Garbo. We wanted to be left alone to our own little corner, our own little conveniences. I guess that is the casualty of such a war.</span><br /></span><div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYN0pR1tRu9Z3mQ2Z5sLBoQj63jeCNTXrlQRSwduNhfaUlf7J4fvlDj17k-KGwjZiuZTOhIOuYjYkE5LrXSujRVl6BZUhBiorPPT6oTY3aeI7SK_83W5foakIe39sQPmAZ8b3QVoay_zY/s1600-h/z153670453.jpg"><br /></a></div></div></div>Eliza Harthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13263245375093262291noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193156050092644120.post-27865799586789312052008-12-27T13:36:00.000-08:002009-01-01T10:27:25.439-08:00I'm like a canary the way I'll never stay one place for long.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhignBfMwsIyPYIM_E3HosUqny06K8F8jgEtGTBJSPfgAqNaO0IG9TkQ6ZgbruogLAIJG5qQW_0yOJfpMvaw0Jd8Y3HeFxoNvtzMp8XpVYjbXCrKDIdY53_dMKPRqGQyizUkWZnuWBm_KE/s1600-h/Photography-13244.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 237px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhignBfMwsIyPYIM_E3HosUqny06K8F8jgEtGTBJSPfgAqNaO0IG9TkQ6ZgbruogLAIJG5qQW_0yOJfpMvaw0Jd8Y3HeFxoNvtzMp8XpVYjbXCrKDIdY53_dMKPRqGQyizUkWZnuWBm_KE/s320/Photography-13244.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286390837746719138" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I'll play in </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">finger-paint</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> and draw cities on the </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">bedroom </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">walls. I'll </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">splash</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> through rain puddles and </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">spin</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> in circles to</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> test</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:24px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">my new </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">sunday</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">dress.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> I'll </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">sing</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> and dance</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"> loudly</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> around my </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">room</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> to the Submarines. And yet I am </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">terrified</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> of never knowing </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">what</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> I am to do with myself. I am</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"> only </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">a child. Not particularly the</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"> ideal</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">... not </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">particularly </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">concerned</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">with the casualties of </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">such</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> a state. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">Maybe</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> even </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">somewhat</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> oblivious? Who</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> knows. </span></span><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 48px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">"They made a statue of us and it put it on a mountain top. Now tourists come and stare at us, blow bubbles with their gum and take photographs for fun, for fun. They'll name a city after us and later say it's all our fault. Then they'll give us a talking to, then they'll give us a talking to because they've got years of experience. We're living in a den of thieves, rummaging for answers in the pages. We're living in a den of thieves. And it's contagious. We wear our scarves just like a noose, but not 'cause we want eternal sleep. And though our parts are slightly used, new ones are slave labor you can keep. We're living in a den of thieves, rummaging for answers in the pages. We're living in a den of thieves. And it's contagious. "-Regina Spektor</span></span><br /></div>Eliza Harthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13263245375093262291noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193156050092644120.post-59297766016132918462008-12-25T13:36:00.000-08:002008-12-25T14:34:22.483-08:00Slower. Talk like we are children. Why? Because we are.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhELgSQLBfzpCjsdK2qpQDCS6s7KMCSaEbnUsrrj67qn6z3A8fSpsE2SuXN717NtUb2Mje1VAC2Zqw4AZlm5TRblCSO4tG1x_uuOm6UbkTr3tn0ZZrONU8Q4kVszFQqLCoyWS6LQAv9sHI/s1600-h/redballoons-1.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 232px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhELgSQLBfzpCjsdK2qpQDCS6s7KMCSaEbnUsrrj67qn6z3A8fSpsE2SuXN717NtUb2Mje1VAC2Zqw4AZlm5TRblCSO4tG1x_uuOm6UbkTr3tn0ZZrONU8Q4kVszFQqLCoyWS6LQAv9sHI/s320/redballoons-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283858122937344322" /></a><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Merry Christmahanukkah everyone! I find myself today completely exhausted after a long night with my younger sis and an early start with Santa this morning promptly at 6:30 A.M. Although I am indeed lacking on some much needed shuteye, it was still magical watching her open her gifts like a little kid. However, being the pyromaniac and aspiring photographer that I am, I was put in charge of 2 things:</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"> starting</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"> the fire and taking "memories"... better known to the outside world as photos. My camera is still pretty screwed up from an unfortunate incident last year involving great amounts of snow, concrete, and incoordination, and therefore was not having as good of a morning as the rest of us were. I eventually just gave up and grabbed myself a large cup of green tea and watched my sister kill at least 5 trees in 5 minutes. Almost a record. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';font-size:13px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Apparently I have this really weird and quirky habit with presents that comes from my grandfather... I absolutely HATE ripping my wrapping paper, and therefore become well-acquainted with a pocket knife for an hour or so. I swear, I have been like this my entire life. Shocker!</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';font-size:13px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">I am going to go finish up cleaning around here and then maybe sneak some extra sleep while everyone is watching old black-and-whites and finishing presents later. We shall see....</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';font-size:13px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">MERRY CHRISTMAS!</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';font-size:13px;"><br /></span></div>Eliza Harthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13263245375093262291noreply@blogger.com0