hello to everyone, who still finds the time to read my scattered ramblings in these days of heat and stress and overwhelming global creations.
i will have to force myself to be quite straight forward with today’s daily prompt. and as much as i’d love to put some good effort and time into this post (much like with yesterday’s prompt, which i eventually skipped heavy-heartedly, for lack of time and thinking capacity), there won’t be no picture or poem or song lyrics. oh well; maybe i’ll quote a song, at least.
when i was ten, i went to fourth grade – like most kids my age. . at home, i had lego bricks lying on the carpet and between my pillows. . i had kept my barbies, although all i did was sew dresses for them. . i loved to draw, mostly because i had detailed ideas, ready to be put down. . i never quite excelled at maths, but once i understood, it felt pretty doable. . i studied french. i felt grateful that memorizing vocabulary was effortless.
when i was ten, i got asked what i wanted to become, once i grew up. in hindsight, i wonder why adults confronted kids my age with those kinds of questions. were the answers not entirely irrelevant, when i hadn’t even known secondary education? can kids even know what they want to become?
when someone knelt down before me and asked, i stuck with the activities i enjoyed. . i’d wanted to be an architect. . i’d wanted to be a designer. Continue reading →
by fine looms of amber ll remember the liquid gold ll plow up your pretty pink you fondle the flames those long lost luxuries ll for on this pyre it will claim to fuse in their heat what if l your passion and flesh they linger buried pray, you know within you lllll go spill your sickening scarlet your patina peels off lll soiled with sorrow and age if only to your irish green you blend in your blue irises they are say, what is it now to you but nobody buys it lllll invisible if not all the same stabbing pains.