I secretly think your talent lies in your excellent taste, your ability to find and string together amazing things from diverse sources. You would make an great editor of a magazine, or the head of a small, independent publishing house.
Small, independent publishing house is like the secret dream I never let myself think about. Seriously. xx
Oh my god! Brave is coming out tomorrow? I’ll go see it around dinner time so I can have the popcorn as my meal. Then I will see the movie and I won’t have to cook. It’s like the best date with myself ever.
Based entirely on your blog, I'd honestly peg you as one of those hipsters who wears old-man glasses and scribbles in their Moleskeine notebooks while sitting in a free-trade locally owned coffee shop sipping on double espresso vegan lattes.
You just made me sound WAY cooler than I am. Like WAY WAY cooler.
So I’m not going to refute anything. Except the vegan thing… because CHEESE.
I wish we were neighbors. I'd bring over snacks I'd made. And if you were sad I'd invite you for tea to talk about it. Or if your were bored you could come over for tea w/ your bf anyway. I'd be like a nana, only in the form of a young person.
OMG BEST NANA EVER!
I’d leave the bf behind so I can talk about him behind his back though. Plus, more snacks for me :)
I wish we were neighbours too. Then I would have somebody when I feel lonely. Oh wait, I have tumblr… But hey, tumblr can’t drink tea with me, and last time I drank wine I ended up aborting a lot of very inappropriate posts so…
I will stop answering questions about how to connect to your inner landscapes, or if this thing is alright or that thing or whatever, okay? This is NOT a spiritual thing (if you want it to be than go ahead, make it your own). THERE ARE NO RULES. THERE IS NO GOOD OR BAD.
It’s just a simple way I have found to explain how I connect and see my own creativity, my own inner life, my own creative process. How I see these things in others. Actually, I didn’t even come up with the concept. I read about it from Charles de Lint and Neil Gaiman and it resonated with me and made sense and I thought it was the perfect way to explain it and then I rolled with it, changed some things, and MADE IT MY OWN.
And if it resonates with you, if you find that it works to explain how you process your own imagination, world, life, then good, use it. If you don’t, then fine, find your own way. And that’s okay. It’s all fine.
STOP LOOKING FOR EASY RECIPES. I don’t know you, I don’t know how to connect with you. How you connect with your own world. How you see it. I do believe that everyone has inner landscapes, that’s how I explain people’s individuality and craziness and boldness and creativity and everything else that makes them who they are and what they are and more.
I CANNOT EXPLAIN THIS TO YOU I CANNOT GIVE YOU AN EASY EXPLANATION I CANNOT TEACH YOU HOW TO CONNECT WITH YOUR OWN SELF.
I am not, and this is not meant to be, a self-help thing. It just…is.
It’s not a THING. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s not like “meditate on this and you shall know your spirit animal” or “do this and you will open doors in yourself”. It’s just a way to explain in words an INSUBSTANTIAL CONCEPT.
It’s big and beautiful and it’s your own. You are your own person and I want to know you. I want to learn about your inner landscapes and the people that live there (or not). But you can call it whatever you want. You can connect to it however you want. It doesn’t have to be cute or deep. It doesn’t even have to be artistic or anything. It doesn’t have to be made of places and characters. It can be colours or sounds or music or anything. And you connect in your own way. I mean if what you like to do is play soccer than chances are you connect when you play. Simple as that.
And there doesn’t even have to be a specific image or specific characters or anything. That’s just how I personally deal with it. That’s all.
I’m sorry if this come off angry, it really really isn’t my intention. I just want to share what’s inside me and how I see the world, but I cannot help you by giving you “5 easy steps to your inner world” or anything. I just can’t. It’s not how it works.
since it seems to interest a lot of people, I went ahead and tagged all my entries about my inner landscapes for your perusal (also trying to keep track of them, since some answers to ask are on my other writing blog so. Some kind of organization was in order)
What if you long for love but fail to find it? ( I mean romantic love)
Most people long for love. Not all find it, yes. But what else can you do? You will never find it if you stop yourself from loving. It will pass you by.
To find love, you have to love first. You have to crave it somehow. But you can make it feel better by loving other things too. By doing things that make you happy, by loving friends and silly things.
It’s about not being consumed by your desire, but carrying it with you. Like a rock in your pocket that you forget is there most of the time. But once in a while you brush your fingers against it and are reminded.
Why would you want to cure your desire to love? Is it because it’s unrequited? Or you just want to get rid of this need to be loved and love in return?
I find that, for me, I just want to love more. I want to love more fiercely things that people say I should not love so much: books, characters, friends, the sky, the light in the morning, blackberries, TV shows.
I’m *this* close to get in full satanic mode and sell my soul to the devil for the ability to write these stories. *This* close. But then, I’ve seen enough movies to know these deals never go well and I’ll end up clinging to the ceiling, foaming at the mouth with my head doing happy 360s.
Still, the thought is appealing. I wonder how much I could write before the, undoubtedly impressive, spiderwoman-like behaviour starts. How long do you think it takes to get used to the smell of sulphur?
How big does this pentagram has to be anyway? My living room is rather small.
This made me laugh out loud first and then read it to my husband. Brilliant! ^^
I am happy that my existential crisis and early foray in supernatural dealings has amused you. Now if you don’t mind I have to go back to my chanting. Latin is so very hard to pronounce. And Satan is enough of an arsehole to be a stickler on proper demon-rising etiquette. Bastard.
writing more seriously you mean? Maybe last year, or two years ago.
I mean, I’ve always liked writing, and I used to scribble little poems and whatnot all the time and wrote those absolutely awesome self-inserting fanfictions with my best friend when we were young teens (we still have them. They are magnificent).
Beside, I’ve always wanted to write in English, and only in the past 3-4 years I’ve I thought that my grasp of the language is good enough to do it in a half-decent manner (though I was writing stuff in English before that as well)
But yeah, writing in a way that I need it, In a way that makes me happy but hurts me too, in a way that the more I do it, the less I can think of doing anything else, though I still fail miserably at doing it properly in a serious and dedicated fashion? Really not that long ago.
I remember you once wrote about an old mermaid living in a cottage by the sea, or something like that. I hope you revisit that story one day.
Oh yeah. I visit her all the time and we have deep meaningful conversations. Or not. And I tease her about her paramour, and she tells me to shut the fuck up and she smokes and I drink and then we visits worlds we wished existed and we look at the lake and I wonder if she misses the ocean but I never ask.
So yeah. Maybe I will one day. She’s a great friend.
I don't mean to sound creepy or anything, but I had a dream last night and you were a part of it. Much of it didn't make any sense as dreams tend to have minds and wills outside of this world, but there was one dazzling scene that displayed nature at the finest I'd ever seen both in dreams and in reality. You and I had somehow become children once again, and along with a dozen other youngsters we ran in our flowing summer dresses along a field dotted with wildflowers, laughing and running about
as the scintillating leaves on the trees surrounding us seemed to hum ancient lullabies, and the trees themselves swayed back and forth to the music of the wind. Clouds tinged with fairy dust from Neverland blotted the sky above us. None of us children knew each other at all (except I did recognize you), but it was this moment, this sense of MAGIC, this recognition of beauty beyond our comprehension, that brought us together
I thought that by telling you this, somehow…I’d be able to hold onto this fragment of a dream longer in my heart, instead of having to watch it slip through my fingers like water as my dreams tend to do. Thank you so much for taking the time to read this, and I hope it brought a little joy in your heart today. I don’t always agree with the opinions that you post on your tumblr, but I’m happy that for a moment, we got to be two carefree children together running in the wind.
Oh. That sounds wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. I’m feeling very strange today, all lonely and ecstatic at the same time. Your message (and dream) made me smile and I wish we could have that, just for a moment :)
And it’s okay if we don’t always agree. Life would be boring if we did and I totally respect that.
And I don’t think it’s creepy at all. I wouldn’t even think it’s creepy if you had told me you had a sex dream about me (which for a second, when I started reading your message, I did…) It’s all fine :)
Thank you for sharing with me. It means a lot. I hope you have a wonderful day. x
Sometimes some people are just so fucking beautiful and push all the right buttons in you (with just a smile, or a quirk of the eyebrow, or their sharp cheekbones, or their perfect jaw) that you just want to punch them in the face.
I really don't know the situation with your father, or how well you guys get along. If things are not that bad, just don't take him for granted. You are so lucky to still have him on this earth. My dad died in December of 2011. Your message hurt me a bit, because I'd give anything to talk to my dad again. I really like you, and i didn't mean this maliciously.
Oh dear. It’s so…complicated. And I’m so so so sorry about your dad and that what I wrote hurt you. Really. I just…um, our relationship is frustrating and awkward and stilted most of the time and yeah. Emotional baggage and all that. I make it sound worse than it is I know.
And don’t worry, I didn’t think you meant it maliciously, and I’m sorry I hurt you. xx
hello there! an out-of-the-blue question for you. i'm not sure whether you've answered this before. do you read a lot of poetry? do you have any favourites?
Oh poetry. Yes, I think I do read a fair amount of it. Though not enough. Never enough.
Except I’m really not good ar remembering any of it. My consumption is fast and anonymous, grabbed quickly on the internet, at the bookstore, an opening of the pages, a poem read here and there, barely looking at who wrote it.
I guess I gulp it down, but I’ve yet to learn how to savour it properly. Meaning I have several favourite that I can barely remember. Like I let the words and rhythms sit in me, but ignore their origins. It doesn’t make sense really, given how much I love it.
Books of poetry I actually own: a Mary Oliver collection, the complete Sylvia Plath, some Jacques Prévert, an Edna St. Vincent Millay, some scribbled Dylan Thomas, Victor Hugo, Robert Frost, Anne Sexton and Margaret Atwood here and there. Some Yeats and some Keats. Other too, that I can’t remember.
I don’t know I don’t know. I consume poetry in wrong ways and spit out my own all mangled. It doesn’t make sense. I should keep better track of the ones that move me. Should make my own personal collection.