Wednesday, October 10
I dreamt I flew. It was beautiful.
euphorian @ 10:18 PM
Sunday, July 22
And so the little boy frowned upon the choice words of reprimand and chide, belittling him. But funnily enough, he WAS a little boy; why should these words hurt him so? Never once had they, for he was tolerant and took them in stride. "Words make me grow," so he said, but not this time. Infuriated by the piteous quotes of those condescending voices, the little boy wondered aloud his persistence of his actions and seemingly indestructible faith. "Blind as a bat," a nagging voice murmurs in his head, "blind faith, blind loyalty, blind lo-" The little boy shut the voice out by clamming the sides of his head with trembling hands. He did not want to hear any more of the Voices. "What's wrong with persistence? After all, there's still hope, no?" The little boy quipped. Booming voices of incredulity and exasperation smothered the little boy, and he cowered in a corner. They scream ever louder and frequent: "No chance, no hope, nothing!"
The little boy pulled the covers over him and longed for safe warm arms but the Voices rang, and there was no comfort for the night.
euphorian @ 11:15 PM
Saturday, July 14
I love my camera, and I love my 50mm lens.
Mmmm.I think I prefer
photoblogging; it better encapsulates what's happening in my life.
euphorian @ 10:52 PM
Friday, May 25
In a small town filled with children, there was a park. And in this park, there were many, many flowers. In fact, the park was just filled with flowers; various shapes, sizes and colours. Some flowers had little tags with names on them. The children put them there, calling a respective flower their own. Some of the flowers had special abilities. Some sang, some danced. Some even changed in cilour in an instant. The children were all very proud of their flowers and would show them off with each other. The flowers, in turn, felt respected and very much larger than life for they had owners who would willingly show them around, care for them and love them. And all was quite good. In the small town filled with children, there was a park. And in this park, there was a tree. A small, weak tree. It barely had any leaves left, and it's branches were spindly and dry. The tree sighed. Each sigh was painful, for its trunk and braches creaked with the heavy exhalation. As the tree slumped, another leaf dislodged itself from its branch and floated to the ground. The tree gasped in disbelief and tried to grab the falling leaf, but as it stretched its branches, they snapped and hung limply. The tree wanted to cry out in pain, but had hardly any strength left to do so. Instead, the tree watched the falling leaf sadly. Only one leaf remained. The leaf was not large, but it was healthy and well. The tree heaved a deep breath. It summoned up the last of its strength and curled its branches around the leaf, shielding it from the environment. The tree gazed at the leaf. A small, pink note, a tag, dangled at the tip of the leaf. A little girl's handwriting. But the ink was fading, and the branches too weak to hold the leaf up for long.
In the small town filled with children, there was a park. And in this park, a single tree lived among many flowers.
euphorian @ 11:13 PM
Saturday, March 3
Mmmm! Daft Punk!
Yum yum!
euphorian @ 10:58 AM
Friday, March 2
On Love
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself. Love possesses not nor would it be possessed. For love is sufficient unto love. When you love you should not say, "God is in my heart," but rather, "I am in the heart of God." And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it find you worthy, directs your course. Love has no other desire but to fulfil itself. But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires: To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night. To know the pain of too much tenderness. To be wounded by your own understanding of love; And to bleed willingly and joyfully. To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving; To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy; To return home at eventide with a gratitude; And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and song of praise upon your lips.The Prophet Kahlil Gibran
euphorian @ 9:11 PM
Thursday, March 1
On Joy and Sorrow
Then a woman said, Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow.
And he answered:
Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that burned in the potter's oven?
And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
Some of you say, "Joy is greater than sorrow," and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater."
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.
Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.
Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.
When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.
The Prophet Kahlil Gibran
euphorian @ 6:04 PM
