The older she gets the more she awakes with someone's face......
03/16/2003 01:23 a.m.
Strewn in her head. Like petals which once made a flower.

Hmmm, I like Carol Ann Duffy, she sometimes comes off as a feminazi rather than your usual likeable femenist but some of her more personal poetry is really touching.

I can't sleep, too many images buzzing about in my head. I can't quite get them out or express them either, half-ghosts that they are. Times like this when you have so much inspiration and you can't pick up pen or paintbrush are really evil.

Instead, I shall light candles and sing to the raindrops which are threatening to rattle my window panes. Too sleepy to spell, to awake to really leave it at that. I have red pastel smudges under my eyes from fatigue, milk white cheeks and straw bale hair from some distant nightmare I was having fifteen minutes ago. Not that any of this is making sense.

Lala la la, la. See? No, I didn't think so. This is weird. Like being intoxicated on air, everything slow and soft, vibrating and pulsating but still thin enough to breath, just about. I'm not making sense. I think I shall go back to bed and listen to the trees outside. Windsong. Rainwalker. Sleep spinner.
I am currently Tired
I am listening to Alanis Morisette playing in my mind.