Rainy days

Days like these...

I feel like putting on a dress from the 1940's; curling my hair; pinning it; with red lipstick; sitting in a tranced white room, drinking red wine and writing poetry.

i'll move closer to my piano and play a sad song of deep love and heartbreak from this poor make-believe girl. eat chocolate. and more wine. making my lips in the shape of a small 'o' to seem more sad, seductive or proper. and of course, i'll be as articulate as porrible, pretending there is someone there to notice.

grab a few blankets.
curl up in my chair.
hot coffee now.
don't 'cha think the rain drops falling on the windowsill are some sort of a cliche'?
sounds like a song.

i want to be kissed in the rain.

i'm quite ready to be painted, as if i was back in the old french royalty.

"andrea mademoiselle, s'il vous plaît soyez prudent de ne pas bouger. vous drap votre jambe dans le fauteuil de ce genre, s'il vous plaît?"

"oui monsieur, bien sûr."

rainy days are the best to live in.

i'm in a sort of sane insanity. only the rain makes this possible.
and more yet, romantic. i feel like i could fit quite perfectly in a french society.

Some sort of an intense passion as it bangs down on the roof.

I'm perfectly content. I'll grab Anthony Trollope's: "The way we live now" and devour it.

Cheers to the masterpiece.

Je voudrais pouvoir dire ce que je veux dire clair et évident. Rien ne dure, c'est peut-être mieux ainsi.

Come along, I'll hold you tight. Better be a good boy and not fidget too too much.

Yes? Oh, It's not something i'd encourage, rather just selfishness at it's greatest.

You shouldn't trust me.

I've always wanted balloons; in my own perfect world i'll be able to own a tree that grows balloons, excessively.

I went to our lake today. Where did you go? Maybe I left too fast to see you? It was in pursuit of coffee, please don't judge me too hard.
Why can't I ever get what I want to say out of my own head.
It's like they're all stuck up there, and only come out through the romantic intriguing nature of my piano keys.

Romantic? They thunder and bang.

Let me out! I'm the music's slave till you know what i'm trying to say.

Oops.

The road ends here.
This makes me slightly anxious.

I hope you don't breath too fast, that wouldn't be helpful.

kiss me quick.
falling...
okay, i'll stop.

Thoughts of Ann Landers :]

" Personality is the ability to say Yes; character is the ability to say No."  – Ann Landers

i hope to possess both. :]

l'amour

There's no way anyone, who can truely hear music, can be a bad person. l'amour.

se souviennent...

"Pensez à toutes les choses que nous avons partagées et avons vues - ne pensent pas aux choses qui pourraient avoir été. si vous trouvez jamais un moment, épargnez une pensée pour moi.

Se souvenir de moi, de temps en temps, s'il vous plaît me le promets, vous allez essayer. Si jamais vous trouvez un moment une pensée de moi."

No duh we're related...;]

Grrr.....

Smiling is the best medicine. :]


Oh hey! Everyone close one eye! Look mom! We are cute! :]



How Queer Man Is.

the person is not something one can study and provide for; he is something one struggles for. But unless he also struggles for himself, unless he knows that there is a struggle, he is going to be just what the planners think he is.

-Walker Percy

Discipline.

Wake up, the sun is shining thru my window. I march out of bed in pursuit of my daily routine: dancing before school, grabbing some coffee, and i'm off! Rushing to beat the Jccc traffic.

Sometimes there are no words to say. Life can take many forms, but perhaps the strongest in our ways of discipline.

As a dancer, strength is neccessary.
Every move-strong.
Outside I am strong. Inside, i'm mesmorized by the music; letting it carry me away.

Passionately. Violently.

1-2-3-4 and 1 and 2 and 3 and 4 and Plie´,Eleve´, and Coupe´ landing in second. Again.

As i'm listening to the familiar waltz, my mind wanders...like i'm highly intoxicated, I obligingly let the music carry me away. My feet-tight. My arms-strong. Strong but graceful, I dance for myself. I dance for those watching me.
My feet ache.

I cannot tell a lie: I have a long ways to go. And like any athelete, i'm competitive and arrogant.

Discipline.
Passion.
Pain.

...and I let the music take my body away.


Tonight, I'll prepare to do the same thing for tomorrow. Discipline. Discipline.

A dancer...

My obesssion with coffee is hardly tolerable.

have a crush on a barista;

swear by a grinder, at a grinder;

spill while driving;

get a cupholder;

spill;

get a fat-bottom mug;

spill again;

try wearing brown pants;

believe whoever invented iced-mocha's & chocolate covered graham crackers should be canonized;

chafed at the foreign names;

ordered a large; been shunned;

and, while giggling at a Triple-Tall-Half-Caff-Skinny-cappuccino-Splash-Almond-Splash-Orange-Extra-Hot-Extra-Foam,

remember that once,

the only choices were Here

and To Go...

                       a poem in the bathroom at toads.

Passion: [Beauty] When a person is completely overcome with beauty and loses all sense of morality.

PASSION. 

My passion?

 ...Music is pouring out into this cold afternoon air: Beethoven, Bach, Schumann, and Debussy. My practice room windows are now open to let the cold January wind in. This damp, high ceilinged room smells of dust, smoke and candels. [Sigh.] In spite of everything, a slow reluctant joy is rising once again.

AND...

I really don't know what i'd be without my little old piano. It's at the least: intoxicating...More than drugs. 

Intoxicating myself with the sound of my piano keys and the smell of you still lingering on me. And here I'll stay, perfectly content.

Me? I'm a mirage.

Floating from one place to the next. Stumbling, i should say.

...as I play these haunting melodies, my piano is a comfort. "Play on, keys! Your pianist has broken the trance." I hear screaming through the melody. But, I'll play the keys this time, instead. 

My old piano is a comfort tonight. Maybe it'll distract me...enough. </3

charlie.