Vaatasin täna last. Homme vaatan ka. Arvestasin, et teen palju kodtöid järgi päeval kodus olles. Mitte nagu väga palju, aga vähemalt midagigi.
Aga ma magasin ikkagi umbes kaheteistkümneni. Ning arvestades, et ma vaatasin samal ajal last, siis tähendas "magamine" seda, et ma olin voodis teki all ja poolärkvel ning laps ronis vahepeal voodis ja pani mu otsa mingeid raamatuid. Süüa ei viitsinud teha ka, sõin lõunaks võileiba. Leila tuli oma pool tundi varem, kui ma arvestasin, aga see ei muutnud eriti midagi. Ta käis poes ka, mis on hea, sest meil oli kodus praegu umbes ainult mõni kartul.
Vaatan ikka veel Torchwoodi (Doctor Who spinoff) esimest hooaega, sest Dr Who (2005) osad on ära nähtud, järgmine, mis välja tuleb, on ilmselt jõuluosa ja pärast seda millalgi 2011 hooaeg, mille seas on kuulus Neil Gaimani kirjutatud episood.
Jep, see oli umbes kõik, mida ma täna teinud olen.
Ma plaanin millalgi maalimiseni ka jõuda. võibolla homme suudan varem üles tõusta.
Kui toit on valmis ja ma olen söönud, käin Ludos, sest mu telefon on seal. Ma ei viitsiks minna, aga ma pean poes käima ka ning mul on kuupilet, mis tähendab, et ma ei pea kogu teed kõndima. Ma loodan, et ma jõuan sinna enne kui see kinni pannakse.
Mu õde istus mu kõrvale õppima, ma ei saa rohkem kirjutada.
esmaspäev, 27. september 2010
reede, 24. september 2010
The smell of death is the smell of roses
Sometimes, dried roses are as dead.
I found some drying roses. Maybe today, maybe a while back. I picked them up and put them in a vase made partially of black lava rock and partially of ivory or stone of flesh.
Some of them still smell. Lovely as ever.
Some of them still smell. Of decay and death of fall.
I gave them water from my eyes but I don't know if salt will kill them (if they're not that dead yet that not even the glove of life can bring them back) or the water will nurture.
I wish I could sculpt roses. I'd make them as real as they come or even more so. I'd give them away, all and all and all of them. Until everyone has one and I wouldn't need any myself. But I can't. I've lost the tools.
I think I gave them away or hid them. I don't know where or to whom.
I wish...
My roses would be the stars to wish upon.
Sometimes even the salt of the tears can bring some back.
But sometimes... Sometimes dried roses are as dead.
I'll wait and wish upon a star that smells of sweet-sweet roses.
I found some drying roses. Maybe today, maybe a while back. I picked them up and put them in a vase made partially of black lava rock and partially of ivory or stone of flesh.
Some of them still smell. Lovely as ever.
Some of them still smell. Of decay and death of fall.
I gave them water from my eyes but I don't know if salt will kill them (if they're not that dead yet that not even the glove of life can bring them back) or the water will nurture.
I wish I could sculpt roses. I'd make them as real as they come or even more so. I'd give them away, all and all and all of them. Until everyone has one and I wouldn't need any myself. But I can't. I've lost the tools.
I think I gave them away or hid them. I don't know where or to whom.
I wish...
My roses would be the stars to wish upon.
Sometimes even the salt of the tears can bring some back.
But sometimes... Sometimes dried roses are as dead.
I'll wait and wish upon a star that smells of sweet-sweet roses.
teisipäev, 21. september 2010
Iz evil nonirish
You Are 74% Evil |
 You are very evil. And you're too evil to care. Those who love you probably also fear you. A lot. |
You're 45% Irish |
 You're probably less Irish than you think you are... But you're still more Irish than most. |
laupäev, 18. september 2010
To fly without wings
Lost.
Sometimes I think I'm falling. That I'm going to fall and fall and that the darkness of the pit is forevermore.
Sometimes it shines light upon me and I think that there's nothing wrong with the fall - the silvery grass on reach glitters beautifully when I stumble pass and the smiles on the statues on the walls are sincere, unlike mine.
I wish I were the sculptor, but the statues were created by centuries or millenniums of random patterns appearing in the rock. So am I and that makes me all that special.
And at times I try to break free. Break free from a fall. And that does not work. All that I seem to be able to do is to harm others and make them cry even if those are not tears that tell the truth about the weeping but the deep tender hurt in their eyes.
I wish to reach the bottom, even if it's in the darkness for now and no one can tell what lies down there - deep rich mud that is soft and tender yet as bottomless as the pit itself or the city of light, hidden, yet real. To find the truth is not what I'm after. It's the clear path where I can be free and not LOST. I want to be free, I want to be me. I want to be more than a mortal shell with a ghost in it. I want to see beauty and make people smile. For a twist of makers irony has made me empathetic without a will. And what yet puzzles me is whether I chose to fall or I was pushed. And maybe, just maybe, I have wings to fly with and I just haven't discovered them yet.
I fear that I don't have time to learn to fly.
And never ever want I be the one to break the box that was given to my by godly creatures who are as ordinary as anyone.
Sometimes I think I'm falling. That I'm going to fall and fall and that the darkness of the pit is forevermore.
Sometimes it shines light upon me and I think that there's nothing wrong with the fall - the silvery grass on reach glitters beautifully when I stumble pass and the smiles on the statues on the walls are sincere, unlike mine.
I wish I were the sculptor, but the statues were created by centuries or millenniums of random patterns appearing in the rock. So am I and that makes me all that special.
And at times I try to break free. Break free from a fall. And that does not work. All that I seem to be able to do is to harm others and make them cry even if those are not tears that tell the truth about the weeping but the deep tender hurt in their eyes.
I wish to reach the bottom, even if it's in the darkness for now and no one can tell what lies down there - deep rich mud that is soft and tender yet as bottomless as the pit itself or the city of light, hidden, yet real. To find the truth is not what I'm after. It's the clear path where I can be free and not LOST. I want to be free, I want to be me. I want to be more than a mortal shell with a ghost in it. I want to see beauty and make people smile. For a twist of makers irony has made me empathetic without a will. And what yet puzzles me is whether I chose to fall or I was pushed. And maybe, just maybe, I have wings to fly with and I just haven't discovered them yet.
I fear that I don't have time to learn to fly.
And never ever want I be the one to break the box that was given to my by godly creatures who are as ordinary as anyone.
pühapäev, 22. august 2010
I'm lost in the world of drowsiness and can't dream with my eyes wide open
What is the night but a burning embrace? Embers and darkness, glow in the night...
What is the life but forever a wait? Death, it shall come and get us.
When I close my eyes in the woods when moon does not shine... do I see more or a bit less then? (Don't know.)
My eyes are like fire. Tigress, embrace. Mind is too numb to believe. (Do I dream?)
When was it when things seemed to be so much easier? I think that perhaps never, but right now it's the hardest. I'm lost. I'm mostly just lost. And the only hand that seems to be able to grab mine and guide me... looks like it's just out of reach. (Come back. Please come back.)
I'm nothing without you. Nothing. I've already reached my destination, don't deprive me of my purpose.
Red is the dawn, red is the dusk. See? I know your name. Earth is waiting. You are awake.
The forest is my name, the trees are pieces of my mind; I'm lost in the woods.
I can't find the tree of knowledge.
Also... I'm not sure, but it seems that someone has hewed my precious memories. Some even that I've only just planted. Or maybe they just died while I wasn't looking. Or maybe I took the streams of life they fed on and altered their routes.
I don't know. Cursing oneself isn't a part of the great plan. Calling names is the plan. Unhappiness is a plan. Drawing down a pentagram on blood, with candles of blood blackened in time... Sacrificing oneself for oneself is not a plan. It's stepping off the rails and giving the train a finger. (All the while not being sure where the rails are or where the train is. This might as well be a step forward instead of a sideways step. You never know. Not ever. Not until there's somewhere to go. Anywhere to look at.)
How arrogant should one be to think that it knows life? That it knows life better than the eagles that eat the Sun and the Moon every single day? Yet the hope tingles in the back of the mind, for otherwise all the steps ever taken are taken in vain. Arrogance and vanity shall not be the way forward. Yet there's no reason to take any step at all without the frail hope of meaningless faith.
All we are is dust in the wind. And it seems that the wind has more ways of making it's own decisions than the dust. Useless, pointless, meaningless dust, trying to think for itself and hoping to accomplish something without realising that it's been the wind making decisions for it all along!
Useless. We're all lost in the woods (in the dark woods where moon doesn't shine and where there's nothing to see with open eyes). It's just that some of us realise that and some don't and some of us like it that way (and some of us can see and some can't and some can dream the sun and some look with their eyes closed and that makes all the difference in the world).
I'm more lost when no one is there to guide me with their presence. I'm more lost without the sun that I dream (or is it real? I think it's real.) and with the voices that I hear. I don't hear voices. It wouldn't be as lonely without them, but I'd either loose my way completely with them or they'd show me a sparkling rainbow way out of the woods and into the world and I'd go with them so far that no one could follow and I'd have to bring them with me by forcing them to follow (on a road that they can't see and it would be nasty and wrong and painful. And that would be bad, right? Right? RIGHT???) and that would be bad. Right?
I've got nowhere to go. I'll just play hide and seek with the others while I'm here.
I'll be hide, okay?
Nay. I'll play nicely while I can still grasp the idea and while the forest still grows.
I'm carrying an axe. It's got engravings in runes that I don't read. If it hits me, I'll be covered in shadows. The shadows lurk, hoping for a way in, but it's okay, 'cause I let them in a long time ago and they can nest in my head. Nest and breed and feel and smile. I'll smile with them. Where else should they go? I'll keep them hidden in my head. Safe. Safe from this world where they'd end up hurting someone by an accident. And we wouldn't want that. We get along so nicely. It's only a matter of time they get to trust me (I get to trust them) and they learn (start) to talk with their human minds which they borrowed from me (they have no souls) but only until I want them back (which I don't. Not yet. Not any time soon. Not ever, as far as I can see).
I smile, I dance, I float. I smile. So we'll all be happy. We'll all be free.
We'll all be free.
Pray to me, lost souls. I'll guide you, when I'm ready to follow the road that I cannot yet see.
Smile.
What is the life but forever a wait? Death, it shall come and get us.
When I close my eyes in the woods when moon does not shine... do I see more or a bit less then? (Don't know.)
My eyes are like fire. Tigress, embrace. Mind is too numb to believe. (Do I dream?)
When was it when things seemed to be so much easier? I think that perhaps never, but right now it's the hardest. I'm lost. I'm mostly just lost. And the only hand that seems to be able to grab mine and guide me... looks like it's just out of reach. (Come back. Please come back.)
I'm nothing without you. Nothing. I've already reached my destination, don't deprive me of my purpose.
Red is the dawn, red is the dusk. See? I know your name. Earth is waiting. You are awake.
The forest is my name, the trees are pieces of my mind; I'm lost in the woods.
I can't find the tree of knowledge.
Also... I'm not sure, but it seems that someone has hewed my precious memories. Some even that I've only just planted. Or maybe they just died while I wasn't looking. Or maybe I took the streams of life they fed on and altered their routes.
I don't know. Cursing oneself isn't a part of the great plan. Calling names is the plan. Unhappiness is a plan. Drawing down a pentagram on blood, with candles of blood blackened in time... Sacrificing oneself for oneself is not a plan. It's stepping off the rails and giving the train a finger. (All the while not being sure where the rails are or where the train is. This might as well be a step forward instead of a sideways step. You never know. Not ever. Not until there's somewhere to go. Anywhere to look at.)
How arrogant should one be to think that it knows life? That it knows life better than the eagles that eat the Sun and the Moon every single day? Yet the hope tingles in the back of the mind, for otherwise all the steps ever taken are taken in vain. Arrogance and vanity shall not be the way forward. Yet there's no reason to take any step at all without the frail hope of meaningless faith.
All we are is dust in the wind. And it seems that the wind has more ways of making it's own decisions than the dust. Useless, pointless, meaningless dust, trying to think for itself and hoping to accomplish something without realising that it's been the wind making decisions for it all along!
Useless. We're all lost in the woods (in the dark woods where moon doesn't shine and where there's nothing to see with open eyes). It's just that some of us realise that and some don't and some of us like it that way (and some of us can see and some can't and some can dream the sun and some look with their eyes closed and that makes all the difference in the world).
I'm more lost when no one is there to guide me with their presence. I'm more lost without the sun that I dream (or is it real? I think it's real.) and with the voices that I hear. I don't hear voices. It wouldn't be as lonely without them, but I'd either loose my way completely with them or they'd show me a sparkling rainbow way out of the woods and into the world and I'd go with them so far that no one could follow and I'd have to bring them with me by forcing them to follow (on a road that they can't see and it would be nasty and wrong and painful. And that would be bad, right? Right? RIGHT???) and that would be bad. Right?
I've got nowhere to go. I'll just play hide and seek with the others while I'm here.
I'll be hide, okay?
Nay. I'll play nicely while I can still grasp the idea and while the forest still grows.
I'm carrying an axe. It's got engravings in runes that I don't read. If it hits me, I'll be covered in shadows. The shadows lurk, hoping for a way in, but it's okay, 'cause I let them in a long time ago and they can nest in my head. Nest and breed and feel and smile. I'll smile with them. Where else should they go? I'll keep them hidden in my head. Safe. Safe from this world where they'd end up hurting someone by an accident. And we wouldn't want that. We get along so nicely. It's only a matter of time they get to trust me (I get to trust them) and they learn (start) to talk with their human minds which they borrowed from me (they have no souls) but only until I want them back (which I don't. Not yet. Not any time soon. Not ever, as far as I can see).
I smile, I dance, I float. I smile. So we'll all be happy. We'll all be free.
We'll all be free.
Pray to me, lost souls. I'll guide you, when I'm ready to follow the road that I cannot yet see.
Smile.
laupäev, 5. juuni 2010
A Post
I'm blogging.
In English it would seem.
Because I wrote in English in Twitter and there's Poirot in telly. Thus it's justified.
Just filling a gap.
By blogging.
My eyes are tired.
There, now I don't have to blog for half a year again.
Hurray!
In English it would seem.
Because I wrote in English in Twitter and there's Poirot in telly. Thus it's justified.
Just filling a gap.
By blogging.
My eyes are tired.
There, now I don't have to blog for half a year again.
Hurray!
teisipäev, 4. mai 2010
Dokid
http://topdocumentaryfilms.com/day-i-died/
http://topdocumentaryfilms.com/lost-worlds-vanished-lives/
http://topdocumentaryfilms.com/in-its-image/
http://topdocumentaryfilms.com/an-experiment-to-save-the-world/
http://topdocumentaryfilms.com/supernatural-science-previous-lives/
http://topdocumentaryfilms.com/cold-fusion-fire-from-water/
http://topdocumentaryfilms.com/heavy-watergate-the-war-against-cold-fusion/
http://topdocumentaryfilms.com/lost-lightning/
http://topdocumentaryfilms.com/a-crude-awakening-the-oil-crash/
http://topdocumentaryfilms.com/lost-worlds-vanished-lives/
http://topdocumentaryfilms.com/in-its-image/
http://topdocumentaryfilms.com/an-experiment-to-save-the-world/
http://topdocumentaryfilms.com/supernatural-science-previous-lives/
http://topdocumentaryfilms.com/cold-fusion-fire-from-water/
http://topdocumentaryfilms.com/heavy-watergate-the-war-against-cold-fusion/
http://topdocumentaryfilms.com/lost-lightning/
http://topdocumentaryfilms.com/a-crude-awakening-the-oil-crash/
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