Det blåser på månen.

"Until the accident, Byron had assumed everything was the thing it appeared to be. Now staring at the pond, and the sky within it's shining circumference, it occurred to him that people knew things only because they had been told they where true. James was right. It didn't seem a very good basis for believing." Ur: Perfect By: Rachel Joyce

My secret garden is where I lay, midst the leaves on the mossy floor. Where the wind rings like sacred bells in the air and my body feels heavy no more. Where colours reign in forever blossoming doom of all that is dreary and long; For everything here is in constant change, even my heart's ongoing song. Here I will wait, in the trees, by the lanes and build me a home of dreams; for as long as I live, and in constant wake and let everything be what it seems. In patience I'll wait although idle I won't, for someone to here come along on this path that I built with the dreams laid as stones, to join in my ongoing song.

The Dinosaur by Augusto Monterroso is considered to be the world's shortest novel, and it reads as follows: Upon waking, the dinosaur was still there. A personal note: I've always found it quite fascinating how we humans have the tendency to read so much into our surroundings. We can make the simplest phrase ring with ten different meanings; we see shapes and figures looking at us from the pattern made by a spilled cup of coffee; by receiving a look from a fellow human being, our mind instantly starts bugging us with thoughts of what the other person is thinking about. Everything we see and do, we dissect into its smallest proportions by way of discussion or thought. Or as is sometimes the case; make it larger than ever intentioned. wikipedia.org minifiction-blog.blogspot.se readerswords.wordpress.com booktrek.blogspot.se

"The only real failure is the failure to try, and the measure of success is how we deal with disappointment, as we always must. We came here and we tried, all of us in our different ways. Can we be blamed for feeling that we are too old to change; too scared of disappointment to start it all again? We get up in the morning, we do our best; nothing else matters. But it is also true that the person who risks nothing, does nothing; has nothing. All that we know about the future, is that it will be different. But perhaps what we fear is that it will be the same; so we must celebrate the changes. Because as someone once said: everything will be alright in the end. And if it's not alright then trust me; it is not yet the end." -The best exotic Marigold hotel.

Citatet nedan tilltalar mig i all sin enkelhet, då det känns relevant för mig nu, och hur saker och ting har känts sedan ett tag tillbaka. Jag har en strävan, ett mål att få arbeta med min konst; och som jag tidigare nämnt att få beröra andra, genom det jag skapar, så som andra med sina medel har berört mig. På senaste tiden har jag haft svårt att tänka på något annat än just det. Det finns dagar då jag tvivlar på min egen förmåga, ja för allt jag står för som den person jag är. Tvivlar på att jag har något att förmedla över huvud taget, och att det medel jag valt står över min egen förmåga för vad jag klarar av; att skapa någonting vackert, berörande, relevant. Att jag saknar de naturliga färdigheter eller det engagemang och den ihärdighet som krävs för att briljera. Så jag begraver mig djupare i min ambition, försöker hårdare än förut, men vad jag då misslyckas med är att vidga mig; att se utanför min egen ambition till vad som verkligen är relevant: livet omkring. Vad innebär de...

I wish I could write what I think; how I feel and reflect upon the world and circumstances that surrounds me, in a way I intend. But it seems I lost that ability a long time ago. In an age when I was still as young as my years. The time I've lived seem to have little effect on who I'd like to be yet it rules who I am. And what I am is lonely. I feel my thoughts, but I can't reach them. I want to make myself a part of the people around me, but no matter how hard I try to see how they think and feel, and how to play along with that, it will always be just what it is. A game, I don't know how to play. We're incomplete, and how could we ever be more. Thing is, I've always found people rather easy in their nature, but at the same time very hard to understand. We are so much alike, yet there's so many levels on how we can be different. But we have a tendency to view those differences by way of lack of communication, and by feeding our own projections of how we t...

"A wise old owl sat on an oak. The more he saw the less he spoke. The less he spoke the more he heard. Why aren't we like that wise old bird?" ~ A wisdom quote found here:  [Link]