thoughts are not true facts (unless stated). otherwise they would not be called thoughts: nothing is real, nothing is a fallacy, nothing is false

It is all very beautiful to open one's horizons. But what is it worth when you have several? it is difficult enough to make a choice, so why distress yourself with several?
What I'm trying to say is: - (unless you are overly naive) - the saying "you have it all or nothing" is false optimism. A truer saying would go forth as such: "you have the one and only choice or you choose to have nothing". I will admit the saying is not as concise.

You cannot possibly encompass two loves at once (schizophrenia excepted). So you may as well make the best possible choice. The opposite being the one leading to regret; regret being another step down from indecisiveness.

And now I am lying in bed, expecting something to happen. Whether it will appear from beneath my pillow or from above the low ceiling matters not. The only place anything worthwhile ever comes from is the imagination. True affection only comes from few living people, seldom from those you truly want it to come from. I am not trying to push people away; quite the contrary.
But plain complaints will hardly lead me anywhere. This is where I try to react responsibly and consequently without an optimistic result.
I have been finding it so hard to chase these words across the page these last few days. I try my best, but a failure will never account for a success.

The clock still is ticking round in its same old routine. And still: a glimpse is the most I can catch of you.

trailers are more exciting than real life

He was cycling fast through the city, wind rushing through his hair, three pints of beer running rapidly through his veins.
James crossed the river with its sleeping boats. He crossed the city square with its quiet fountains. And of the scenery he took no notice. Looking up to the large clock hung to the town hall wall he saw that it was twenty five minutes past midnight. He had just been to the cinema, early enough not to miss out the trailers.
It was quite an unexpected call from her that now led him to her apartment. It was on the sixth floor, so he hoped it would be worth the upstairs effort.
She opened him up, a fleeting smile across her lips. She then led him into the bedroom, got beneath the covers and said: 'I'm too tired, I'm going straight to sleep. Goodnight.'

splendour and splendour

Ideally, everyone has an ideal of charming. Whether it be a reasonable ideal or an outrageous one is entirely up to yourself though.
I find charm in the beauty of traits of character such as eyes overflowing with glee and pale green in colour. A hint of freckles is usually referred to as the hidden charm, usually hidden by fear of unwont.
However much these traits and others were part of my own ideals, and however much Helena perfectly possessed them, I could not charm her. What a terrible fate you might say! and rightly so: she appeared to be on her high-horse tonight.

neither daydream nor dream alone

Spring path was always particularly eerie, but in a beautiful sense only. There almost seemed to be an everlasting blossom hanging from the trees, and you could always hear a faint bird song in the distance.

As I advanced in the heavy fog, I could no longer see the shrubbery shrouded in mist. I hated to admit it, but I was probably lost amongst all the grey haze.

Then you appeared as a vision, with a tender look in your eyes and a greatly comforting smile. The sight of you was a true vision, it was nothing of a daydream, queer imagination or even a vision trick. Certainly, you must have been the most perfectly real unreal thing I had ever beheld. I realized so when I tried to kiss your pale lips: the shape of your very face vanished and spring path revealed itself once again.

All that now pervaded in the thin air was a great sense of comfort and a beatific smile.

j'ai l'impression que c'était hier, mais c'était il y a deux jours

The good, the bad & the queen

As I followed her light foot steps down the pavement, the streets were probably romanticized by the long waves in her fair-hair: we were only walking down a narrow lane strewn with the occasional streetlight. The dark grey sky was announcing nightfall and the clouds a light rain fall, and houses were coloured in red bricks and decorated with window panes. Yet however much the plain scenery seemed ordinary, I couldn't help but know that I would miss green field lane.

take me home and i will show you my strawberries

'Sometimes I raise my hopes, too much and too often - it must be said - for my own good. Well, I am a naive person, that is a certainty. Or is it?'

Helen was sitting in her favourite armchair: one covered in soft dark red velvet. She was drinking one of the innumerable cups of tea which she inevitably had on depressing days. Rain was beating against the window panes and the heavy clouds coloured the sky with grey light. This Helen didn't mind though, she had romantic thoughts on rainy weather.
Outside the window stood two Robins in the garden's bird pond. And although they were enjoying each other's company, their feathers were now completely drenched.

'How tedious clouds can be dear Talbot, don't you think?' said one robin to the other. This one looked rather more neglected than his friend, having not kept his plumage tidy for several days.
'True, my garment is quite a mess. But really, clouds are perfectly fine when not so furious dear Edgar. But unfortunately they seem to be rather easily offended and suddenly get exceedingly unpleasant for the wrong reason. That is when, without notice, they will tip down buckets full of tears.' replied the other Robin. Now, Talbot was smaller in size, but how he loved to give himself high looks!
'But Talbot, dear, what got them so upset this time?' said Edgar perplexed. 'I am pretty sure the Mountains haven't uttered a word and that the Red Rose Beds haven't whispered a thought on the subject'
'Dear Edgar, have you not heard? That young and frivolous Roger never stops complaining about the state of the clouds. His manners are so terribly unsuitable I can hardly bear it.' replied Talbot with great indignation.
'I must say I don't know anyone by the name of Roger dear Talbot. Does he live somewhere distant like Holland?' inquired Edgar.
'I'm afraid I couldn't possibly tell, Edgar, dear. You see, I have only just invented the presumed culprit Roger.'
'Well, that solves a great deal of mysteries!' Edgar said quite content.

During this time, the two Robins had caught Helen's interest. She admired their bright orange feathers, hung around their round necks, as they shined with rain water. Their conversation, however, was incomprehensible to her, so she imagined it instead. Helen's best guess (and most plausible one in her opinion), was that they had had intellectual conversation on french cheese, emphasizing on the importance of Roquefort and how Camembert was their personal favourite. Fortunately enough for Helen, her pretty looks excused the misjudgements of her imagination.

Adam, dear, you're tight already

'L'homme qui travaille, perd un temps précieux.' So was the saying of Arthur.

Arthur was a practical man indeed: he scarcely thought a word of what he said, merely explaining that truth and honesty weren't true to manners or moral. Hypocrisy is quite fashionable after all. And it helps to have a great many friends. Now, fashion and popularity are two great advantages in society which I'm quite sure you'll find are difficult to surpass.

But Arthur was not only practical and idle; his saying would suggest he is french. Actually he isn't in the slightest. Although the Englishman rather fancies the idea of pretending to be a Frenchman - as well as a traveler, a spy and being famous. However, his accent - especially his incapability to pronounce the french letter 'r' - just gives him away. It is true to say very few Englishmen are gifted with the aptitude to speak a foreign language. Properly, it must be said. Nonetheless his ineptitude was never given away among his ignorant surroundings. Ignorant surroundings being rather very apt for the unwise minded.

Ernest, sitting comfortably opposite Arthur, reached out of his jacket front pocket for another cigarette. It was usual for him to smoke unnaturally too much, but it didn't seem to cause any harm to his conscience.

'Precious time certainly cannot be afforded to be lost.' He answered to Arthur's statement, only half thinking what he was saying. It hardly mattered, he was certain it slotted in the conversation rather well. His full concentration was really required upon the task of lighting his cigarette.

'A distant member of my dear family once said that "If a thing's not worth doing well, it's not worth doing at all," he added, getting slightly interested. 'I can't remember who she was though I'm afraid, probably some boring - if not interesting - cousin.'

'Cousins do have a tendency to be either tedious or charming,' answered Arthur. 'One belonging to my family once mentioned: "anger starts here". Nothing whatsoever starts anywhere, especially things concerning anger.

But concerning your formidable quote, isn't the proper saying: "If a thing's worth doing, it's worth doing well"?'

'Well I suppose it is,' said Ernest, thin curls of silver smoke curling out of his mouth. 'But only if the proper quote is a proper lie, proper quotes are too often mistaken with truth. It's a terrible mistake.'

'Quite true dear boy. Although we are proper tight, are our thoughts worth a penny?'

These were Arthur's last words before the idle two of them fell asleep upon their respective armchairs, snoring too heavily for their drunkenness to pass unnoticed.

naivety and love don't go together from the start

I was in the blue horizon, between heaven and earth (The Lovely Bones)

Paris is awaiting me tomorrow, unfortunately you aren't. You dropped off a cloud floating by last week. It happens you fell before me, biting your lips with a beautiful smile, but now you're gone. My memory still holds on to you though, as if I had known how lovely you are all my life.

I already regret the things I didn't do. Whatever I do, I always seem to regret. I need to empty my thoughts, so that you can get out of my head. And I'm hardly sure forgetting you is the perfect choice - needless to say there isn't a perfect choice.

A bicameral world

'I live in two separate worlds: I refer to them as a real world and an idealistic world - created from my own imagination. I live in both as I'm not sure I could cope living in one alone.'

Ernest smiled at me hearing my words. He was probably thinking I was saying my usual nonsense; but being an incoherent person, I have a tendency to express incoherent thoughts.

'I'm not sure whether to think nonsense or truth or both from what you say Roger' said Ernest, in a surprisingly strange accent which I wasn't accustomed to.

'Was it necessary to employ such an unintelligible accent Ernest? Your voice sounds perfectly fine when not awfully altered'

'I thought it would give me edge, but then when I realised how awful it sounded, it was far too late to not say it'

'I don't think I know anyone as practical as you Ernest' I said, only slightly ironically.

A pale thin girl with eyes forlorn

A pale thin girl, with eyes forlorn
Stepped into the cold night.
She told Sleep not to visit me,
That she'd rather haunt my thoughts
And sway in the tumultuous winds.

In my dreams she came to see me,
She bore a golden crown but had no King.
And with her pale skin and emerald eyes,
She enchanted me,
So that I forgave her sweet soul.

It was a cold spring morning ...

It was a cold spring morning, and the small trees lay there still asleep, their tremulous branches covered in small sprinkles of silver frost. The early rising sun made everything shine with beauty and awoke Roger from a long dream.

He looked up to notice that the bright stars had left the sky and he concluded that the night was over. He felt very perspicacious at noticing this and decided he was in the mood for a wander in the woods.

Roger headed towards the thin stream that was flowing along the snow-drop covered banks, and the birds sang as they flitted between the tall tree trunks. As he got nearer, he felt apprehension amounting in him, but not in an unpleasant way, beacause he knew he would find her there.
Then, in the distance, the sun reached through the trees, producing long streams of golden light and a beautiful silhouette could be seen in the distance.

And a young fawn stared back into Roger's eyes, which seemed to be overflowing with wonder. He was fascinated by her her dark eyes and her soft brown fur, covered with white marks.

"I always thought it too distant a dream to ever behold her again," Roger thought, "but now I realise that we can never be torn apart."

And they were the two most beautiful fawns that ever lived, as eternity seemed to cover them with the blossom of spring.

A night in a gale

Nightingale, Full Moon and Plum-blossom - Uchiwa Shape

Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!
No hungry generations tread thee down;
- Ode to a Nightingale, John Keats

The hot summer night filled the room and bore heavily upon my bare thin back. I was lying in bed and I could hear the gusting wind beating against the shutters of the open window, whereby the moon's silver light was cast through.
I was trying to sleep, but I was only half dozing, as the rattling noise kept me awake. Thus, my mind had drifted into that state where you are still conscious that your dreams are only part of your imagination and not reality.

Then a small nightingale quietly crept in. I lay there unmoved, but the feathered creature intrigued me greatly. It's coat was covered with brown and grey feathers which shone beneath the moonlight. And they were slightly untidy, probably due to the wind blowing outdoors.

The nightingale seemed perfectly content resting on the window-sill, while I couldn't help but wonder: which between man or nightingale is most appropriate to start a conversation?

Through the looking glass and what Roger found there

"Well, 'slithy' means `lithe and slimy.' `Lithe' is the same as `active.' You see it's like a portmanteau - there are two meanings packed up into one word." (Humpty Dumpty explaining the meaning of a portmanteau to Alice, Through the Looking Glass and what Alice found there - Lewis Carroll)


Little did the 8 year old Roger know of portmanteaus. He had however created one himself, and he was rather fond of it. It fitted perfectly into his mind of adventures.

"Let's go on an exploriance!" he would exclaim early on a sunny morning.

Roger would then take jacket and hat and embark on his exploriance. He would put the word this way: "to undergo an experience whilst exploring." On these pleasant jaunts the young boy would spend the day running across meadows and climbing up trees: he loved the wide green expanses of the Yorkshire Dales and feeling the strong breeze rush across his skin.

Chasing clouds, racing alongside streams and jumping into cow pats in his wellington boots: it was all Roger dreamt of doing from dawn till dusk.

An attempt to pathetic fallacy - pathetic as in empathy

J. W. M. Turner. Snow Storm: Steamboat at a Harbour's Mouth

Tumultuous winds were blowing outside, and although I was indoors, supposedly safe from any harm, I hardly felt safe sitting by the fireplace. I could hear the wind howling it's way down the chimney and dancing with the red flames in the fireplace below. I stared at them in fear, as if hypnotized, whilst rang in my ears the banging of the wind against the window panes. And all the while, the light in the room was continuously flickering.

Could the frail roof of my country cottage stand the weight of such a storm? I hoped so, because it happened I was beneath it.

I then fell into a state of dizziness, as a snow storm was being stirred up amongst the winds and dark clouds. And suddenly I found myself engulfed in the raging storm, but no sound came to me, just complete silence. I was high above the ground, high above my small cottage, however I felt safe with the wind whirling around me, and from there I could seize the whole beauty of the scene.

And then the storm withered away and I awoke in my armchair. The remaining embers of the fire lay glowing in the hearth, providing the only light in the room other than the awakening sun, lighting up the small room with dawn. And looking through the window, I saw the usual sight of green hills and elm trees covered in a golden light.

Thoughts on idleness

"I sometimes hate myself for my idle ways. But I am an idle person after all."

People - whether they have an idle nature or quite the contrary - generally cannot stand idleness in the manners of another. I do tend to take quite a lot of criticism for that matter, contempt is a nasty thing when seen in the eye of another who dares not express his feelings.

"It gives you a sense of importance and of superiority proving yourself to be busy, don't you find Helena?"

Roger and his friend were sitting in the dim lit living room of his Victorian flat, the only light being provided by a small lamp. But Helena wasn't paying much attention to Roger's thoughts on idleness.

"Is idleness a sin Helena? I hope not."

People tell me I have an idle expression, why so? I work hard - in my own idle way - but I do things which are to be done and leave aside what isn't necessary. I think people create such necessities as they aren't satisfied with their own spare time and feel jealousy to those quite content with doing nothing. However, I feel I shouldn't believe a word I have said, they are just the result of my idle thoughts misleading me into idleness.

A Tree House In A Dream

"Ultimately, a writer owns one of the two things or both: style, imagination and wit. But wit only belongs to the genius."

I reached the foot of the enormous tree house and started climbing up the rickety staircase. The wood was well worn out,you could see the steps had been walked upon many a time. They would wobble as I set foot upon them. And as I moved upwards, every step I took filled me ever more with the fear of the whole place collapsing beneath me. Indeed, it all seemed extremely frail, too weak to support the weight of man alone, and I imagined the tall construction swaying in the wind, from side to side.

Every now and then, small openings would appear on the wall from round the corner of the spiral staircase. And from these windows, in the distance, I could hear her shouting. She was outside, running towards the wooden building, trying to reach me with her words. I wouldn't heed a word she said, instead urging myself to reach the top of the narrow staircase. For all the while I climbed up, the more frightened I became and the more insecure I felt.

But now she was catching up on me - my legs beginning to become weak upon the instability of the stairs - and her words came to me very much clearer. My pursuer was pleading me to forgive her, but how could I? She had left me at a time when I most needed her, and come back a different person, changed beyond recognition. Nothing was left of her wild nature, no longer could I gaze upon the love in her eyes when she stared into mine, all that remained was her bleak and empty expression.

I finally reached the top of the staircase, which opened up onto wooden landing, with the wide tree trunk standing in the middle of the circular room. I now wondered what had brought me all the way up this feeble construction, for now, more than ever, I was so full of fear and apprehension that I could barley stand. I held on tight to the thick bark of the tree trunk, my heart filling with anguish as I heard Emily rapidly climbing the staircase.

A minute later I saw the svelte young lady with her hazel nut coloured eyes reach the top of the stairs. She was out of breath, and stood there staring straight at me, a shy smile upon her lips, as if trying to say something to me, but leaving words aside. And then, in a flash, my mind was filled with every memory I had of her, overwhelming me with a feeling of immense joy, replacing the anguish in an instant. Everything had changed. I no longer felt the tree house swaying in the wind, and I could stand as if it had always been as stable and strongly built as a brick house. We smiled to one another, but at first didn't speak a word, it was needless to do so, from the look in her eyes, I knew she was feeling the same way as I was. We were more content with relishing this moment, with so many emotions running through ourselves that it felt like a lifetime. From then on, I knew everything was back to what it used to be, I had retrieved a lost love - one that I had thought lost for ever - and I felt greatly comforted. Or so I thought ...