Love Story

We spread out a pink blanket - not the picnic type, just one from a bed that I had found in the boot of my car. I lay on my front and you on your back, by the red, blue and yellow of the playground. Running fingers through your hair, it felt as if the only two in the world were we. And I wondered how it could ever be any other way. 

Photo sourced from J. Colub

Quotes by the Master

Blunt. Uncompromising. Gutsy. Sharp. Difficult. Extraordinary.

Oriana Fallaci

'On every professional experience, I leave shreds of my heart and soul.'

When covering the Vietnam War, she was asked where she would like her body sent if killed in action. She answered, 'The White House.'

'I am sick and tired of wars. Wars are always the same.'

'Writing is a despicable thing to do. It's an unbearable thing. I hate writing. It's such a masochism that I become a masochist.

'They're gone [my family], so who is going to hold my hand? It's okay, it's okay. I'm ready. I'm going to hold my own hand.'

'Happiness is a lady I never really met.'

'I never gave a damn about a successful life, I wanted an adventurous life, an interesting life, a life in which I would write...success is something that deprives you from freedom and the most important thing for me is freedom. If you deprive me of freedom I'm dead.

'I sat at the typewriter for the first time and fell in love with the words that emerged like drops, one by one, and remained on the white sheet of paper... every drop became something that if spoken would have flown away, but on the sheets as words, became solidified, whether they were good or bad...'

Flashes in Time

On the weekend, a friend asked me 'If I can't remember things that I experience, what's the point of them even happening? If I just forget these things, do they even really happen?' I thought this to be a...well, profound question. It took me a minute to process. Eventually i told her if a moment evokes a certain emotion, does that not give it significance? If this forgotten moment has at one point created happiness, agnst or anger (etc.) it has to mean something.

...Days later i'm sitting at my computer, still thinking of this question. Thinking of the weight of memory and time. The memory is hardly infallible; things are lost through the holes of consciousness all the time - I mean, i'll often walk into a room, look around and think 'now why am I in here again?' But to question the purpose of those many forgotten instances - that is unsettling. All the kisses, the touches, the tears, the moments of laughter, the moments of agony that have been left in the past, they cannot be completely worthless...can they?

A Little Birdie.

I have a little birdie friend, he is small, and black, with a face the colour of summer skies.

I watch from my desk as he taps on my window, flirting with his reflection. He momentarily flits about my mandarin tree, before taking off for wherever he so chooses.

He is a pretty little birdie, of a breed I am unsure. I wish to take his picture, but his visits are short and spontaneous.

I like that my birdie friend always keeps me guessing; our relationship shall never be a monotonous one. He comes and goes as he so decides - days are brightened by his sporadic visits.

One day I know he won't return, and a sad day that will be - but remember him I always will, my small, black and blue birdie.