Kaleidoscopes and Carousels

Brittle is the Beauty

Thu, 10 Dec 2009 07:17:00 GMT

I was walking home from the University tonight and the first line popped into my head so I thought I'd run with it and see where it took me. It wasn't actually first frost, but let's say it was, anyway. In similar news, it was so cold that my legs actually felt like they were burning.

Brittle is the beauty of the first frost
That lays upon the ground, blurring the edges of the grass
As the reflection blurs in the mirrored glass
With deep breaths, in and out,

Brittle is the beauty belonging to the cold
Winter's first touch, a caress, against the skin of the world
Blades that once bent underfoot now snap in surrender
Their coat of silver mere vanity that melts with the sun

Brittle is the beauty reflected by the moon
The thinnest hint of crescented glow sets the frost ablaze
It glistens in pallor offering gilded landscapes
To one who walks alone

Brittle is the beauty of a heart
That hungers for that frost,
Would gladly trade its warmth
For a coat of armour, chill,
To save it from your loss

sigh

Tue, 01 Dec 2009 08:54:05 GMT

So tonight I didn't get any homework done but somehow I end up writing a 2,500 word one-shot, in addition to the fic I'm already working on. I guess we all know where my priorities lie. Now if only essays were this easy to write.

Omegle Adventures

Tue, 24 Nov 2009 20:52:40 GMT

Dear Random Stranger:
You made my day by allowing me to do this

You: Who would cross the Bridge of Death must answer me these questions three ere the other side he see
What is your name?
What is your quest?
What is the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow?
Stranger: african or european?
You: I don't know thaaa
You have disconnected.

Blackbird

Sun, 22 Nov 2009 08:56:55 GMT

What would it take
To feel the music
As much as she does?

Sitting in the dark,
A cool glass
The only anchor
Holding me back

I close my eyes
Let the song roll over me,
Through me
It's not enough.

She sings
Like there's nothing else left
In the world
Just her voice
And the melody

An angel with broken dreams
Broken wings
Broken heart
Just a song to let her soar.

In Flanders Fields, by John McCrae

Wed, 11 Nov 2009 17:12:56 GMT

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders Fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders Fields.

- John McCrae

Lest We Forget

Tue, 10 Nov 2009 21:09:59 GMT

Tomorrow, the 11th of November, please take two minutes and observe the silence to honour our veterans.

Wed, 04 Nov 2009 08:01:27 GMT

There is a crack, a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in
-Leonard Cohen, "Anthem"

At first it breaks
The sting running unevenly
From end to jagged end
The crack that appears
pulling everything down

At first it scars
The pristine surface ruined
Becoming more perfect in imperfection
A welcome sign that nothing
Is ever forever

At first glance
It is blackness
A dense entity of absolutes
But then

In the moments of breaking,
stinging,
perfect imperfection

a light
like the first birth of stars
when man reached up his hand to name his world
a light

There is and always will be
a crack, a crack in everything
but understand, though it is so hard
that this is how the light gets in

Tue, 03 Nov 2009 05:40:39 GMT

Lewis Carrol
At the first sign of difficulty,
roadblock
I

Withdraw

Falling into myself

Through the looking glass of my own soul
So distorted by carnival mirrors,
Stained glass,
concave and convex:
I grow dizzy
By simply opening
My eyes

My world spins and yours holds steady
I can see your hand,
Reach for it,
Ready to fall

What is reality?
She asked me
Who am I to answer?
I became the White Rabbit
And my clock is winding down

Alice, I think. . .
I think I'm falling
Can't you guide my way?
I seek the mock turtle

The walrus shares his wisdom
And the playing cards look on
But I have already played my hand
No metamorphoses for this caterpillar
Butterfly winds turn to gossamer shreds
In the lightest breeze

At the first sign of trouble

I

Retreat

Into my looking glass world
"We are all mad here"

I can't reach your hand

Il Pleut

Wed, 21 Oct 2009 07:51:32 GMT

It's raining. Again.

Il pleut
et je pense à toi

la dernière fois que je t'ai vue
tes larmes comme la pluie
brillaient sur tes joues

J'ai vue la réflection de la lune
dans tes yeux

Maintenant les gouttes sont froids
ils me parlent d'automne, d'octobre
de possibilités qui existaient, mais n'éxistent plus

Il est tard
et je m'endorme à mon bureau

Mais je pense à toi
et je cherche encore la réflection
de la lune dans une flac d'eau

Je pense à tes yeux
j'entends la pluie

The blahs

Wed, 14 Oct 2009 06:02:18 GMT

I have been feeling incredibly unmotivated lately. And I mean absolutely unmotivated. I can barely get myself to go to class, and I never skip. I feel like I should post, but I can't get myself to write anything. It's really bad since I have an essay due that I have barely looked at. So, to try and get myself going, I thought I would post something older. This is a poem/story thing that I wrote about two years ago. Unedited.

Sunday Morning

She made me breakfast
eggs, lacy whites, soft
and the yolks staring up at me
like twin yellow moons
the kind you only see
mid-October when the air
is so crisp it has a taste
a taste like her kiss
at the corner of my mouth
She made me breakfast
even though she hates mornings
isn't awake until after the second
cup of coffee, strong and dark
one cream, no sugar
She's not yet said those three
words, the ones tossed away lightly
or given far too much weight
dropping to the bottom of the stomach
but she made me breakfast
and that's enough.

Sat, 03 Oct 2009 22:53:29 GMT

There's nothing like the smell of clean laundry to bring back childhood memories. I just wish I didn't have to fold it all. ;)

Thu, 24 Sep 2009 07:22:20 GMT

Have you ever missed someone so much that it physically aches, and then hurts more when you know that you really shouldn't feel that way because you know you'll only be burned again?

Quoting inspiration

Sun, 20 Sep 2009 07:59:28 GMT

"It's the saddest thing in the world, loving someone who used to love you." That's a quote I read from a fanfic author on one of the communities I frequent. I cannot for the life of me remember who wrote though, but I am more than happy to give credit where credit is due. I've just been thinking about that line over and over again recently. For some reason it resonates with me, maybe for the same reason I've been obsessing over "the Girl and the Ghost." Who knows? Let's see what comes out of this, shall we? All free written. I only went over it to bold the lines from the quote. I think I'll leave it and edit it later, if at all.

Just a second too late, or too soon.
It's

A glance not returned until
Maybe weeks, months, a year? . . .Later
It's the

Feeling of a door slammed shut. One you pushed yourself
The breeze of Mercury's winged feet
Closing the gap
It's the saddest

Music. Hearing it echo and die
the band has disbanded
Instruments lie piled in the corner. So many unused husks,
notes unplayed dimming into dust
On tarnished brass.
It's the saddest thing

To witness it. it is to feel helpless.
The undertow is relentless.
And is it some sort of karma, redemption.
Whose dogma, whose religion does it ascribe to?
Or to none at all.
Gods can be this cruel
It's the saddest thing in

Hope that dies out when cinders are all that's left.
Embers will not reawaken.
Look into the mirror of the mind
See the scar tissue has healed and will not risk reinjury
No new additions to an already impressive collection
Collecting second chances holds no interest
gathers nothing for the future.
It's the saddest thing in the

Way of blinking, tilt of the head
Betrays
What if it is so brutally honest
Obvious to even the oblivious
A continuous carousel and the melody is nauseating
It never changes
Only trades places
Again.
It's the saddest thing in the world

The sight of a happy smile
Not brought by you but someone new
the scuffed and well worn shoes
filled by another
and another
and another
you had your chance, it seems
Wasted, maybe, gone.
It's the saddest thing in the world, loving

It's the most painful, too.
Cliche though it sounds
Though it is
Sometimes cliches exist for a reason
When you hurt too much to make up your own expression
Self-expression of doubt, anger, betrayal
All of your own doing.
No use being used
It's the saddest thing in the world, loving someone

Whose face reflects an unreal joy
unreal to you, perhaps
She's glowing.
Artemis in full regalia
bow curved against the night sky
Apollo has no comparison
Stars have always held more fascination
It's the saddest thing in the world, loving someone who

Shadows every step, every breath
Sharp and catching in your chest
No doctor's medication will stem
The pain from the trainwreck
the screeching metal
Heavy
Unresponsive
Won't crack under the pressure
Or maybe already has
It's the saddest thing in the world, loving someone who used

You like you were nothing.
At least it felt so at the time.
You couldn't see grey from shade of grey
Blinded by the flashing lights
Razzle dazzle disco
It's always shone brightest in your eyes
The audience taking the final bow
Instead of the chorus line
It's the saddest thing in the world loving someone who used to

Hold hands with you in the playground
Whisper secrets
Bury treasure in the back yard
Kiss away the pain from skinned knees
Palms raw
From falling too hard and too fast
But never in the right direction
Forwards
It's the saddest thing in the world, loving someone who used to love

Sharing her music
Her thoughts, dreams
Even fears.
Greatest one: losing
Control, feeling. . .you
What happened did
What didn't did not
Nothing changes now
The serpent swallowed his tail
And the mouse has run up the clock.
Tick tock tick tock tick tock
Too late.
It's the saddest thing in the world, loving someone who used to love you

Acoustic Extravaganza

Sun, 13 Sep 2009 07:08:44 GMT

I've been listening to a lot of KT Tunstall lately, and I absolutely love her song "The Girl and the Ghost". There's just something about it that I can't describe that pulls me in every time. So, I figured I might as well use it as a springboard into a short free write.

Am I the Ghost
Or am I the Girl
Sitting in the corner
Waiting

In the moment our fingers touch
Join, and pass through
What can be read in the press of palm to palm
Before ethereality disconnects the fibres of our souls

Being flesh I feel I am more ghostly
Than a being of spirit
I look to you, through you
My own future, and I see

What? What is there to see?
A ghost, a girl,
a corridor
Lengthening into forever

We know each other, like other people do

I has a radio

Fri, 28 Aug 2009 22:52:38 GMT

Why is "Radio Canada" so awesome? English CBC, you gotta catch up, man.
That is all.

Fri, 24 Jul 2009 06:57:36 GMT

I haven't posted in forever! Wow. Not that I really have much to say. I haven't written in a long while either. That's something I really need to work on, I think.

Circle line
Ghosts on the Metro
Ghosts on the Underground
Ghosts in my head

The plexiglass distorts as it reflects
Pixellated spirits of people I have never met
Empty shadows cast against cold underground mazes
Empty shells, until a backwards glance reveals

This solid object
Origin of reflection
Lives a life I'll never know
Never feel, laugh, run, cry
As these Underground ghosts do
Breaching the surface
Drawing in a human breath once again

A flash of recognition of another wandering soul
My mirror image in the scratched and faded pane
I am a ghost to them

Wed, 02 Apr 2008 04:54:48 GMT

Leave for last
it won't take long
each drawn out breath an
instant eternity
leave for last
here and gone
the knowledge solid and
weighing you down
leave for last
just leave

Mon, 17 Mar 2008 14:04:18 GMT

Brick Wall
I've hit brick wall solid
no space to turn arou
nd too high to climb u
p to thick to fight throu
g no gate no lock to pi
ck brick wall solid imp
enatrable brick wall of
frustration regret no to
morrow needs done n
ow brick wall stands a
nd laughs mortar ston
es at human desperat
ion and silly old failure

well, it was supposed to be a full block of text but I am full of fail and can't figure out how to align it properly

Thu, 13 Mar 2008 04:35:11 GMT

Language
tongue teeth lips sound
syllable\echoes in dark
spaces
filling filing falling fleeing
vibration vocal
chords
making
sense non sense nonsense
language
lost

Wed, 28 Nov 2007 07:46:02 GMT

Rien n'a changé
Illusions toujours
L'amour se cache encore
Je n'ai plus de force pour chasser
L'invisible, L'impossible
Mes rêves
Et je ne t'aime plus
qui suis-je maintenant
Sans toi?

Dream Quilt

Sat, 21 Apr 2007 06:19:42 GMT

The world sleeps
And I sleep too
Piecing a dreamscape
From fat-quarter memories
Darks of a thunderstorm
Lights of golden hair
Sandwich the clouds and bind
With lullabies
Needle of moonlight
Threaded with night breeze
Piecing a dreamscape
Those fat-quarter memories
Blanket the night
And the world sleeps
I sleep too
Under my dream quilted skies

Wicked Drabble

Sat, 07 Apr 2007 00:36:50 GMT

Title: Untitled drabble
Author: october_tempest
Rating: G
'Verse: Book with musical details
Word Count: 136
Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with Wicked or the Wizard of Oz. All that comes from minds much more creative than my own and to them I am grateful.

The witch never wore anything but black so when Liir, hiding from the other children in a game of Thieves and Soldiers, found a pink flower hair ornament in her clothes chest he was quite surprised. He was far more surprised when Auntie Witch caught him in her room and sent him scurrying out with a stroke of her broom. Liir was about to turn and go when he heard a strange noise coming from the witch’s chamber. Curiosity getting the better of him, he peered through the keyhole to see her holding the gaudy and ridiculous flower to her chest, shoulders shaking with what could be laughter or what could be tears. Confused and uneasy he crept away as silently as he could. Years later when Liir finally met the Lady Glinda he thought he understood.

This hasn't been beta'ed so if anyone has some concrit, suggestions, ideas, you are more than welcome to share.

crossposted to wicked_fanfic

Fallen Leaves

Mon, 02 Apr 2007 07:19:51 GMT

Fallen leaves
Autumn's calling card
Scattered in random patterns
Along pavement
Stone cold and grey
Fallen leaves
Kicked up
Careless
Autumn's child walks
Hand in hand with the wind and
Her solitude
Fallen leaves
Blazing red
A reflection of
The colour in her cheeks
Autumn's child pauses
Breathless a moment
And walks on
Fallen leaves
Cushioning the sound
Of her footfalls
Autumn's child walks
Throug the schoolyard gates
And out of sight

A rather odd poem to write seeing as it is Spring now but inspration strikes at the strangest times.

Firefly Poetry

Tue, 27 Feb 2007 06:05:16 GMT

In the glow of
A thousand streetlamps
Firefly reflections in tousled hair
the night speeding on, heading to nowhere
destination forgotten and nobody cares

Down by the river wading in eddies
Jumping down waterfalls
Dancing in rain
Who is more foolish? The fool or his followers?
Blind leading blind
None can see anyway

Picking up pieces
Puzzling the mystery
Chipped china mugs
And honeydew skins
Time is a-ticking
The white rabbit beckons
Fall down the rabbit hole
I've already jumped in

Shooting stars twisting a dance from the shadows
Mimicking distantly sodium glare
And a thousand bright streetlamps
Shatter rain-puddle mirrors
Liquid silk rainbows reflecting the stars

Faster and faster and further and further
Landscapes roll by at dizzying pace
Trying to grasp at that one missing meaning
Firefly poetry and a forgotten embrace

Interview

Fri, 16 Feb 2007 02:52:02 GMT

1. If you could live the life of any literary character, who would it be?
    You know, as soon as I receive a question like this my mind goes blank and I desperately try to remember every book I've read. Maybe Mary from The Secret Garden or Tonks from the Harry Potter series or Viola from Twelfth Night or Maeve from The Hidden World or...or... I can't decide.

2. If you could change one event in history, what would you change?
   I'm very wary of this question because as soon as you change one thing, the whole path of history is re-written. How am I to know if, by preventing some great tragedy, I don't create another even worse? Hmmm. I might prevent Bush from being elected. Or have the French win at the Battle of the Plains of Abraham, just to see what would happen if Canada were a French colony still. Weird.

3. Who is your favourite music artist?
This changes almost every day. Right this very minute it's KT Tunstall. For Broadway favourites I'd say Idina Menzel but getting ahold of one of her cd's is nigh on impossible.

4. What book do you think has had the greatest impact on you?
    Probably Am I Blue, Coming Out from the Silence which is a collection of short stories about LGBT youth. It helped me feel less alone and less guilty for being the way I am.  (Gregory Maguire has a story in there. It's one of my favourites.)

5. What is your favourite quote? (From anywhere)
Love is merely a madness
-Rosalind As You Like It Act III scene ii

There are bridges you cross you didn't know you crossed until you've crossed
-Glinda Thank Goodness Wicked

Wow, I'm indecisive. I have more than one answer for almost every question.
Thanks

timeboundpythia

for the great questions.
Anyone wanting an interview from yours truly just post a response in the comments.