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04 July 2015 @ 03:00 pm
I woke up in a panic from a long story dream. It was very visual with a few major settings. One was huge old mansion that a couple of old men lived in. It was very 1700/1800 in design with bits old ages past stored everywhere in its walls. The two old men were The inheritors of a railway fortune from one of the rail company mogul families. I had arrived at the house to collect research for a story I was writing on the mystery of the house and an event that had taken place somewhere in the 40s or 50s. A party had been taking place with some famous hollywood people and some very rich sponsors when they suddenly disappeared. No one but a few of the staff that went on an errand and the two boys that attended the event ever turned up again. Interviewing the staff was impossible because they were now listed as deceased, so I investigated some of the background on them (there were three. A woman and 2 men) leading to another mystery listed in the womans history. Somewhere in her ancestors time an entire town of people disappeared. A ceremony for a special train platform was held but no one knows where or what happened to it. The platform and all of the attendees vanished with only a single photo left behind. I notice that the woman in the platform picture and the servant woman I am researching look eerily similar. I eventually get back around to interviewing the old guys at the crazy house. I notice the house is full of museum pieces and oddball clockwork things including a room that looks like the picture of the platform ceremony. A space under a big metal oven that doesnt seem to quite belong looks suspicious but after moving it over I find a piece of metal bolted to the floor. I get lost in the house and notice some suspicious servants who from a quick look resemble the three I was investigating but I cant be sure. I then stumble into the younger of the two old mens rooms. Its huge and has a giant clockwork/steampunk looking cabinet with glass windows looking in. I stare in horror and interest when I notice it contains what looks like props and clothes and dolls but that the things in it are all related to the missing hollywood people. The dolls are replicas of the missing girls. The clothes are things that were worn by the attendees.... there is a cane with a distinct carved cane head from one of the sponsors. A small book with a news article is peeking out of the edge of the cabinet and as I reach down to get it I trigger something and the whole cabinet swings open to a set of stairs leading down into murky lit hallways. The article shows more of the platform story and gives a clue as to where it may have been located. I add a few facts up in my head and figure out that in all probability that train platform no one can find is under the Mississippi River. about 5 miles from the house I am in. I also realize the people I have been seeing dont just look like the old pictures ... maybe they are the same people. I stare in horror focusing at the cane and the starlette doll wearing its same outfit as the day she vanished...... then I wake up
14 December 2014 @ 12:57 am
Its taken me this long to change my journal layout. I'm so sentimental that I could not bring myself to change the layout my ex husband made for me. I have kept it all this time. I still keep the empty gift card lamby gave me in my old wallet, I even taped the envelope so the writing wouldn't fade as quick. I have poems my exs wrote me and receipts from moments I was together with people. Bus passes of yesteryear and sprinkles of the past I can still touch or smell. I know depression is a heavy dragging thing but it gets harder to keep that in mind while you are ... I dont know I feel like Im slowly just dying really. You get tired of dying slowly and wish that it could just be a painless snap moment where no one gets hurt but you could choose when it was. The lack of hope is a soul crushing weight. No energy to change things and no direction and nothing much holding you tethered. You dissect memories wondering how foolish you were. Why it is always you that simply isnt. The enormity of the feelings you have for others and the inability to express them and the .... emptiness in return in most cases. I think I stopped praying for things to be good a long time ago. I think I stopped praying things would get better, I think I dont even expect them to just be OK anymore. I started praying they were just over and then telling myself to just go to sleep and Id feel better when I woke. Im just lost.
11 October 2014 @ 12:18 pm
Funny how the sparkling moments at their high, the summit if you will, are the shadows of beginning and end. The light that moves alo cast much in darkness deeper in reflection to its own brightness. The butterfly, a ripe fruit, the rose in bloom. Do we love them for the the symbology? The taste of the here and now because it is a picture of the dying? What is only good for this moment that soon shall spoil, but forever taken in this one moment. Memories do what memories will in the harsh fragments of the mind clawing still and breathing heavy. The only immortality that man can provide, in the thoughts and hearts of others. In struggle we pit ourselves to preserving a record of our existence in the hopes that we will be remembered after we are gone and live on n the thoughts of those who come after.
20 September 2014 @ 03:58 am
and Skandar breaks up with me. shoe foot sky Dont think twice its alright.
*_______ *_______ , of stoic hidden heart, behind such careful construction made, in glimpses fleeting and moments rare are true won smiles briefly made

and as it should be

*_______ *________ , of stoic hidden heart, behind such careful construction"s fade, in glimpses fleeting and moments rare are true won smiles briefly made

That was a rather large oops in my typing. Doh, office of redundancy office.
09 August 2014 @ 01:00 am
If of thou earthly goods thou art bereft
Of thy meager store two loaves alone to thee are left
Sell one and with the dole
Buy hyacinths to feed thy soul
—Moslih Eddin Saadi
08 August 2014 @ 08:23 pm
on the abusive ways we fervently want to cling to our own ignorance and selfishness and yet another day where I win but doing the grown up thing hurts

fine is the biggest daily lie we tell
Current Mood: Fine
08 August 2014 @ 01:04 pm
I know why the caged bird sings
lines from plays and songs and things
a fish for a fish in opposition
sits a dish of indefensible position

Current Location: searching for brigadoon
Current Mood: melancholymelancholy
Current Music: Rei Yasuda - Mirror
06 August 2014 @ 02:03 am
even when we do not speak
do not rush do not move
silence is not something we ever really grasp
so few truly know silence
as we approach it, it loses cohesion
each sound amplifying till a heartbeat, our own breathing threatens to drown us in cacophony
This noisy silence is home
the whoosh of cars and chirp of crickets
the sounds of footsteps and squeak of wood shifting
the electronic hum thick thru warm night air
the buzz of power coating this city
and the passage of skyward traffic on flight paths overhead
16 July 2014 @ 10:29 pm
In curiosity we seek the brilliant emanation of color rising
Chronicled in pale reflections on blinded planes
Solomon's key in fit to locks of idiosyncratic devising
of details proliferation, in scale and measure