Luminously Bizarre

There are moments, where, despite all that weighs unforgivably upon my back like so many lead dirigibles, I cannot help but smile.

Moments, delicious gems which gleam as brightly and brilliantly as a ruby cut from the sweetest crystallized cherry juice.

And it is in these moments I feel my person heal or improve by some measure, be it miles or millimeters.

And in those moments I take pride in myself.


For a wild child reared in the mountains who, albeit intelligent, but by no means the head of her class to eventually, not without struggle, find herself on one lovely day taking a leisurely bus ride down to the center of one of the oldest cities in the world to have a lunch of fresh sushi sprawled upon a sunlit grassy plot beside the river Thames within view of some of the most lovely and awesome architecture beholden to man; to adjourn later to a question and answer session with Noah Taylor-- I must say, in some ways, I do feel I've done well for myself, physical ailments not withstanding.

There are hitches and hiccups, snags and snares to everything I do; but sometimes-- just sometimes-- it falls perfectly into place like wispy ballerinas drifting down from the clouds to take their place on stage.

I wonder if my life would be more like this more often if my physicality was in better condition. I'm rather certain of it.


It has come highly apparent to my mind that I am not wholly honest with the lot to which I am familiar in the as of late not-so-rainy Londontown. Though perhaps honesty is not wholly the appropriate term. It is not to suggest that I with hold truths of reality or to questions asked (assuming they are not "How are you?"/"Are you alright?", then I will lie through my teeth) to the supposedly concrete facets of life. No to those I answer with the purest of tongues.

To the honesty of my character (an therefore the condition of person, when inquired after) and expressions, my lips and tongue wear the hardest of lock and chains-- iron jaw indeed. Iron clad, iron girdled and iron cast-- pried loose only by the expert lock-picking ministrations the closest of persons at which turn they will utter the bizarre and luminous, the dark and unbelievable and, therefore, truthful and honest.

Bizarre that when describing the nature of my breasts I would venture to compare them to homemade pancakes-- as those available at American diners universal would be too thin, and to call them American style biscuits would be too generous-- thick and burnt; and unbelievable that when reflecting on consuming my favored unhealthy food-- which to obtain getting drunk is necessary and is often half the motive for getting drunk-- the consumption of which in size and circumference I equate to eating a dick's head.

Things I could not, even with a liberal greasing of alcohol, bring myself to say among my associates here. Perhaps that is half the reason. Associates. Housemates. Peers. These are not friends. They may become friends, but as of now, trust and familiarity such that I need to consider them friends has yet to present itself to me.

With that I have nothing to say, and I remember that I have forgotten to take my vitamins. But it being only part 2pm, I still have a fighting chance.
The shower is singing my name and sunshine beacons me out to my small garden while work strives to keep me focused.
A shower and a cigarette, that seems as sound a place to start as any.
The rest will battle it out while I take a vacation from my clothes.