Photos

Here are a whole bunch of pictures from Photography this year.

Many thanks to my two friends, Emily and Nat for allowing me to upload the pictures of them.

(Emily is in the first pic and Nat is 4th from the bottom)

Poetry Part 2

Because you aspire.
Because you interpret words into feelings.
Because you live across the world.
Because you chose your name.
Because you are trustworthy.
Because you were there through hard times.
Because you gave me a place to call home.
Because you became a friend.
Because you became family.
Because you helped me recover.
Because you know the real me.
Because you make me laugh.
Because you make me cry. 
Because you are perfect.
Thank you.

(Yes, this is about Blogland)

Poetry Part 1

My brain is a galaxy, 
My thoughts vast and unexplored. 
Every idea is a new star,
A bright spark in the night.
Each word is a planet,
A new life form created.
Every action is a language,
A new word on paper.
Every voice in my head is an alien,
Trying to invade.
My brain is a galaxy, too full for words.

Stains.

Look at those beams, just lying across the ceiling. It’s a nice break from the white of the rest of it. Though, granted, the white is interesting too. It’s got stains and marks and little holes. All of those marks, those stains, they have a story behind them. They have a little history of how they got there, completely unique to them. And we’re all like that, with our own unique story of how we got where we are, so maybe the stains and the holes are nicer than the beams, nicer than the things that stick out about the roof. Maybe it’s the little things that count, and not the big, obvious things. Maybe it’s not all about the surface, and if we look a little deeper, we can see the stains and holes in everyone and we might finally find an interesting story.

Write a one hundred word story in which no word is repeated.

Use the word Demure (shy and reserved)

Words. They hold immense power. Without them, where would we be? It’s a challenge in itself to write a story where no word can be repeated. But I know everything is possible, though some things seem hard. Just like now. So, let’s see how this goes. Already half way through. Running out of verba, mind. Guessing other languages are fine, yes? Good. Twenty more. Brain aching. Slowly stalling. Not sure what’s coming from my head anymore. Five. Four. Three. Two. Done.

use only 50 words

use word inured

Do you know what it’s like to become completely inured? To become utterly fatigued? Do you know what it’s like to be without sleep for days on end?

Because I do. It ‘s the worst feeling in the world.

Everything fades until, eventually, sleep takes you into its steel grip.

There hole in my ceiling. I don’t know how it got there. I don’t know how it got there, when it got there or who put there. And it drives me nuts. Because I just want to know. I want to know about that hole, I want to know the story behind it. Who knows, maybe the story will be the best one I’ve ever heard? Maybe, it’ll be about pirates and zombies and invasion from space. Or maybe it’ll be as simple as someone accidentally throwing a ball too hard at the roof one time. Who knows? But until I find out the story, it’s always going to bug be. Always going to get on my nerves. Because there is nothing I like more than a good story.

Perhaps it happened when a girlfriend and boyfriend where lying down in the room, talking, smiling. And then the boyfriend stopped smiling and sighed. He might have turned to his girlfriend and said the hardest words anyone ever has to hear, “I think we should break up”. And then, maybe, the girl – because that’s all she is now, a girl –got angry. Maybe she started throwing things and screaming and asking why. And then, maybe, the guy ran. But, before he could go, the girl through something at his head. He ducked, but it sawed over it and it the roof, creating the hole.

Or maybe it happened when the boy proposed to the girl, and she said yes, throwing her arms in the air. And maybe when she did that, something flew out of her hand and hit the roof and made a hole.

Or maybe I’m just a romantic.