Almost thunderstorm

It’s nice to wake up thinking it’s late evening and feeling well rested. It’s nice to realize afterwards that it’s early evening instead, and there are clouds. And then you hear thunder and you feel it shake your house. And then huge raindrops start rattling on your windows. You run out of the house and see occasional raindrops, lots of clouds, and a little bit of sunlight. And that all makes you feel like you wanna write, but you start writing, and you don’t really know what to write about. Maybe I need some country music for a change – or maybe I need to go see the new Star Trek movie.


A boring post

Hi people. For those who missed my useless and annoying wordpress posts on facebook: looks like I finally managed to reconnect wordpress and facebook, which, for some reason decided to disconnect a couple weeks ago, so now you all will get timely updates on whatever random stuff my brain comes up with. So you can go and be all happy about it. Meanwhile, I’m gonna sit here and be sad because I cannot decide if I wanna take a nap or go shoot something – and of course I will do neither, because that is the point of just sitting there and wasting time. I also need to make food, but that, of course, is too much effort for how tired I am. *yawn* Cheers, people. I’ll come back when I have more smart and deep stuff to write about.

random sunrise thoughts

It’s a gray sunrise with black rain.
The sticky nastiness is falling down.
You look up – and you can’t see the sky.
Maybe today is the day you die.
You close your eyes and keep breathing,
You paint green grass in your head,
You imagine the colors of life –
The black rain still flooding your face.
You can’t open your eyes,
The black rain sealed them shut.
You live in your small pretty world,
And you forget what and where is real.
But it’s your world in your head.
Isn’t that what is real?
And why would you need to remember at all?
And how do you open your eyes if you do?


A lost song of mine

I can hear notes – notes of the old melodies I don’t remember. I used to sing those melodies and hoped someone will hear. I invented them. They went from my heart. They were trust, they were hope, they were love. And they were stolen from me. Now all I have are separate notes, notes that I cannot put together. I cannot remember those melodies. I wrote different ones already. They are the fake ones, the fake ones I need to let go of, and remember the old ones. Those are the real ones. But I am afraid. What if I am unable to remember the real ones after I let go of the old ones? What if there were no old real ones at all? What if all there is are those lost notes? Then I won’t have anything at all. I might be able to come up with something entirely new, but I’m not sure if and how I would be able to do that.