Bratislava Shortcomings/New Year Rulin's by Tanton, literature
Literature
Bratislava Shortcomings/New Year Rulin's
The Dalai Lama - I can’t really remember which and, given the nature of reincarnations, I’m not really sure how polite it is to keep count – once said (as is often quoted on top of pictures of a beach somewhere on inspirational websites) that in order to live a happy life you should “once a year go someplace you’ve never been before." Now, as this is being written, nearly 35 hours into my visit, I feel as if it’s in its place to add a small annotation that Bratislava, Slovakia need not be that “someplace.”
It might seem harsh and unfair, but so far the city is, more than any oth
Everything is Average Nowadays by Tanton, literature
Literature
Everything is Average Nowadays
“Can you believe,” Nick said, juggling his legs along until he managed to rest his large bottom on the ledge, “can you honestly believe there are people in Greenwich still interested in buying videotapes?” He sat down, shaking his head, fiddling with his lunchbox.
“I mean, what decade are they living in? D’you think they go to the newsagent, asking for news about the Falklands?” he scoffed, and started to eat. “And they always look at me like I’m the idiot for not selling them! I mean hello! You know, sometimes I wonder what the world is coming to.”
Pete sat up and
Deliberately, 42 thoughts whilst getting a tattoo by Tanton, literature
Literature
Deliberately, 42 thoughts whilst getting a tattoo
1. Is nowhere open?!
2. Fuck, do I have to book?!
3. Shit!
4. This isn’t happening, is it.
5. ----
6. Hang on. Fetish Tattoo? In a mall?
7. Wait two minutes?
8. Sure, keep talking Hungarian, I don’t mind.
9. Yeah, just like that?
10. You’re the one who’s doing this? God, you look dodgy.
11. You have no artistic input or any advice from experience to offer?
12. Rude or regret?
13. Rude.
14. Fuck, I was wrong, the first stencil was the good one.
15. This is it.
16. That’s it! No going back now!
17. Oh, he started off at the Y.
18. This isn’t all that bad, actually.
19. Seriously, this is
Dearest Pickle
You are a spectacular woman. I have told you this on many occasions, both when I believe you have earned the right to or when you’ve simply needed to hear it. Either way, and for whatever reason, I am convinced it’s true. You are spectacular. You are extraordinary, and whatever you’ll do and wherever you’ll go with your life, I am certain it’s going to be just that, extraordinary. You’ve had problems and challenges trying to hold you back, but you’ve come through them strongly and confidently. You are capable. You are resourceful.
And you are
Whilst lying restrained to my bed by illness for most of last week, I suddenly and wholly unexpectedly had the sort of happy epiphany that shakes one up enough to finally make one commit a text.
Restricted to my room by a weak body and a respect for the health and well being of my flat mates, I, naturally, sought refuge in my computer. I saw many films of differing qualities, read articles whose content I have already forgotten (though they seemed mildly illuminating at the time), looked at pictures both as art and as entertainment, and concluded that I am yet to fully get twitter.
And I did most of this whilst logged on to Facebook.
Lord, let me not pass like Winter's claw:
unwanted, untrusted, gray.
My breath to wilt with every draw
not this, my Lord, I pray
Nor let me pass like Spring, my Lord,
for kin just waits for June.
Don't let me go alone, ignored,
sans family attuned
My Lord to pass like Summer's breeze;
a welcomed, gentle, kiss,
though sweet, is soon forgotten. Please
don't let me fade like this.
Lord, let me pass an Autumn leaf.
When all seems dark and gray,
reignite my coulours in this grief.
For this, my Lord, I pray.
I prefer books to people, and have done so ever since I first became a reader. As such, it is only fitting that I should remember very clearly how it came about.
As I started fifth grade the world’s view of me changed, and though I was still considered a child I was no longer a small child in need of adult supervision at all times. This meant that instead of attending after school playtime, patiently waiting for my parents to come and pick me up, I would ride my bike home and be alone in our big, empty house until they finished work. I was scared witless. The world may have seen me as an older child, about to become a young adu
IT was still early fall, October had just about started, with traces of September still clinging on to the gentle breezes that passed through the boulevards. The summer tourists may have left, but only to be replaced by a fresh batch of cameras ready for Paris in Autumn.
I caught only a glimspe of it as we passed by. Remarkably unremarkable yet eternally unforgettable, this time, it wasn't my destination. It wasn't anything, really, just brief set of lights before I was left staring at my own reflection from the carriage window.
Aged. Matured. More at ease with myself, but, naturally, as a result, nowhere near as cool.