A bloody Danube is on fire
below my skin, I burn
and wrap my monkey fingers
around my shoulders.
I dream of numbers in decimal
places reserved for critics
that speak in shivers. Shaking
and nodding my head of metal
I fiercely light my own creations
of dazzling echoes of inspiration
I am a writer
a writer I am, a poet
a poet I am a playwright
Right, No wait, I know I know
I am creative!
Oh it’s just a spell.
N.B. I really do have fever and this took a lot of effort to type. But the inspiration stayed with me for a blink of a second longer and I had to get it on a paper of sorts. Enjoy it.
After a whole day of traveling, preceded by night of utter paranoia and insomnia, I managed to get myself here in middle of nowhere UK to visit my sister. On the night before the flight, as always, I could hardly sleep, constantly fretting about whether I had remembered to pack everything.
[This proved a sensible thing to do, since I actually came up with a number of items I’d forgotten, but was too cold to get out of bed and jot down, so I found myself making catchy acronyms in my head so that I would remember in the morning. It worked.]
Meanwhile, add to that a sore throat, and mild fever, and general sleeplessness and that is basically the sum of the whole of my day in transit yesterday. But here I am. I’ve already located the local bead shop and I can’t wait to check it out tomorrow. Fever or no fever.
The week is off with thermometer in hand, cold compresses and sickness soup just when I was to say good riddance to winter. I’m not the one sick (yet), but something tells me to hold for the symptoms to appear on Friday, before I fly out to my sister because I know that life is not without a sense of sadistic brouhaha.
As I did my best trying to fruitlessly alleviate any form of discomfort the fever may have been causing my sick boyfriend, I didn’t for a second convince myself that I was making much of a difference. Between making soup, hydrating and keeping him company, I managed to make two new pairs of earrings that I’ve posted on flickr. I’m sharing one of those pictures here, because it is actually taken from inside my not-completely wrecked journal.
Chewed and digested
Credit for the chewing goes to The Little Anorak Girl’s illustrator, who couldn’t help getting his teeth into it. Thanks J.
As promised, I’m posting another picture from the Pink Milk Vintage photo-shoot. This is one of my favourites, and simply love the whole scene. The jacket is too elegant for words. Go ahead, chew on this yourself:
Hang on to this