On days like this,

I write a love poem to the gloom, Asking it keep from my room.

Hollatchya.

I am back.

I was speaking with a friend about food and mentioned that food doesn't particularly interest me (a sin to mankind apparently.) She asked me,

"if food doesn't drive you, what does?"

This was a swell question and after pondering it, I replied,

"the Pursuit of Beautiful Things."

This is the chronicle.

A Few of My Favorite Things

To Be Obscured in Dilapidation

All of these fleeting recollections

A glimpse of a remembrance in my peripheral

Can only be seen if not searched out directly

They are ingrained in the rotting wallpaper

They are flaking away in the peeling paint

Or disintegrating with the dead mouse in the cabinet

Yet, these little testimonials of life cloak themselves in the growing mold spores and the intertwining vines fracturing the window sill, and the light that pours in through rusted windows, illuminating the dust that hangs heavy in the air, irradiating the dance between rebirth and decomposition.

Yes, there is life here in this house, if you look you won't see it. It is obscured in Dilapidation.

She would float among the daisies and search for deeper waters. Lost in her own world of being in some other world, she never noticed him. Until that one hazy summer afternoon where the sky was such a dazzling blue that it was if you could put your hand up into it and it would come back out covered in sapphires. On this day, perhaps by chance or by miracle, their eyes met. And suddenly, she found all the depth she needed in his jade eyes.

Slave To The Soul

There is so much beauty in this world. I just want to collect all of it and stuff it into my soul. But it appears impossible. That's the thing about beauty, it cannot be contained.

Everyday I see inspiration welling up everywhere I look and I get this feeling likened to a deep thirst. It becomes unquenchable, insatiable. I guess I'm a slave to the soul, of needing to create and give birth.

word of the day: Pulchritude: classic beauty, classic sex appeal.