REALIZATIONS.
Realizations in an open room, open to the world, the wind and the ocean but sheltered from time. Turn from the balcony and you'll see a chair, half on half off an intricately woven rug with earthy colors, patterned in ways that would indicate brilliance.
Colors mixed together around it fell into shadow under a table, square outline of the frame showing on the floor, penetrated by a sharp square with three darker shapes. Looking on it, you could find three books piled atop one another, a vase with dead or dying flowers and an ashtray - empty of what it usually holds, full of a mixture of herbs, aroma penetrating the surroundings to make it smell vaguely of mint and rosemary - perhaps cinnamon.
Candles - white in color - were gathered around the edges, hardened wax dripping down the finely polished and stained wood, showing that they were frequently used.
Accross from this piece of furniture was a two-seated couch, fabric matching the chairs. It was a dark, wine-colored velvet, soft and unmarred. Like it was neglected, just there for looks, even though it was used quite frequently.
Behind it was another table, simple in cut and design with a cloth draping over it, creme, blue and red with off-white tassles hanging from the corner. It fell down perhaps 9 inches, hiding the drawer that held various half-written scripts, half-formed ideas put away for another time.
On top of the covering there was another vase, dark grey with blue designs twisting and writhing up it's sides. Arching up from the opening was a strange combination of pussywillows, unidentified white flowers and dead leaves, water still sitting in it to nourish any livin thing that might be there. Above it sat a picture, framed in gold. Subject of it was dark blue, nothing completely defined but for the sky, thought had not yet been put into the main section of it - though it would always be wonderful once it was whole.
This all sat to the left of the doorway leading to the outside. Left again and large, impressive bookcases wound around the curve of the room, filled with multi-colored books of all ages, sizes, generes. Some were well worn, others looked to be un-read, though they all would be. Some even had covers made of a rough fabric, those were mostly faded reds and oranges, frayed at the edges and over the spine. Titles printed in gold leaf were all but worn off from time, and love.
If someone dirrected their gaze to the ceiling they would see a dome, painted with clouds that would literally move, swirling about slowly as if unphased by the fact that they weren't real - colors would change, darken, lighten and fade out, matching the moods of the person that owned this odd structure. Hanging down from the flat part of the roof would be golden chains, holding up crystals that were alligned around an unidentified, gently glowing light source, some hanging down further than others.
A doorway was hidden behind one of the bookcases, triggered by a leather-bound book, cover dyed a dark, jade green. This went to no-where, only a fuzzy grayness as it had yet to be created, though it would be some day. Straight accross from the balcony, another doorway stood, great, doubled doors made of sturdy wood and iron nails atleast one inch accross. Handles were plain rings, attached a little above the middle beam so you could pull or push them open as you wished. Once open, it would lead to a great hallway, ceiling oh so high so you could hardly see the detail. It would come down eventually to better shelter the five doorways, but not just yet.
Once again back in the reading room, the right side of the room was unfinished. Shapes were hazy and slowly churning in the semi-darkness, walls creeping to a slow halt, hesitant to go on as all things were - this side was full of confusion, wonder as to how to go on with the strange beauty that the owner was so fond of.
This is the house that is slowly, ever so slowly being constructed. Only three rooms are formed, and not even completely. But they will be, the sanctuary from the outside world expanding on a daily basis, sometimes in small ways, other times in huge, bounding leaps.
---
I was.. Not going to put this down. But I needed to, just.. Desperately. It's where I go to feel safe. And hey, you. You there! This whole place is only possible because you just randomly asked me what was going on in my head and my thoughts compiled into this room. I have no idea how to thank you other than to update you on it as everything grows. Yeah.
---
I sent this to Kai earlier because.. I knew she'd want to be the first to know.
--
Okay so I’m taking this little bit of time to tell you WHAT I FOUND OUT TWO NIGHTS AGO ROFL. :O
…Like. Uhhh. I was thinking because I’d just finished Hannibal and you =know= stuff like that makes my brain crank out truths about myself ..And I ended up thinking something like this.
"You deny yourself everything, you’ve done it for years. You’ve denied yourself natural human emotions such as violent sadness, where you just sob and sob - you’ve denied yourself certain amounts of happiness at that, and you can’t stop. It’s why you have so much trouble with writing, drawing.
You think you aren’t good enough to do it, that you aren’t worthy of doing something that good, that awesome. You, in a way, box your own creativity because you think you don’t deserve it, though you have no clue what to do when this happens."
..I’M SILLY.
--
Because it's all true. I deny everything to myself when it gets too good, you know. Roleplay, writing, art, poetry, music hell even individual thought.
I run with ideas just long enough to see that I've outdone myself and then I stop because I'm afraid that if it keeps going I'll reward myself for being..
Well I don't know. Being what I've always thought I couldn't be, what I've been afraid of being just incase it would get ripped away.
Yeah.
Colors mixed together around it fell into shadow under a table, square outline of the frame showing on the floor, penetrated by a sharp square with three darker shapes. Looking on it, you could find three books piled atop one another, a vase with dead or dying flowers and an ashtray - empty of what it usually holds, full of a mixture of herbs, aroma penetrating the surroundings to make it smell vaguely of mint and rosemary - perhaps cinnamon.
Candles - white in color - were gathered around the edges, hardened wax dripping down the finely polished and stained wood, showing that they were frequently used.
Accross from this piece of furniture was a two-seated couch, fabric matching the chairs. It was a dark, wine-colored velvet, soft and unmarred. Like it was neglected, just there for looks, even though it was used quite frequently.
Behind it was another table, simple in cut and design with a cloth draping over it, creme, blue and red with off-white tassles hanging from the corner. It fell down perhaps 9 inches, hiding the drawer that held various half-written scripts, half-formed ideas put away for another time.
On top of the covering there was another vase, dark grey with blue designs twisting and writhing up it's sides. Arching up from the opening was a strange combination of pussywillows, unidentified white flowers and dead leaves, water still sitting in it to nourish any livin thing that might be there. Above it sat a picture, framed in gold. Subject of it was dark blue, nothing completely defined but for the sky, thought had not yet been put into the main section of it - though it would always be wonderful once it was whole.
This all sat to the left of the doorway leading to the outside. Left again and large, impressive bookcases wound around the curve of the room, filled with multi-colored books of all ages, sizes, generes. Some were well worn, others looked to be un-read, though they all would be. Some even had covers made of a rough fabric, those were mostly faded reds and oranges, frayed at the edges and over the spine. Titles printed in gold leaf were all but worn off from time, and love.
If someone dirrected their gaze to the ceiling they would see a dome, painted with clouds that would literally move, swirling about slowly as if unphased by the fact that they weren't real - colors would change, darken, lighten and fade out, matching the moods of the person that owned this odd structure. Hanging down from the flat part of the roof would be golden chains, holding up crystals that were alligned around an unidentified, gently glowing light source, some hanging down further than others.
A doorway was hidden behind one of the bookcases, triggered by a leather-bound book, cover dyed a dark, jade green. This went to no-where, only a fuzzy grayness as it had yet to be created, though it would be some day. Straight accross from the balcony, another doorway stood, great, doubled doors made of sturdy wood and iron nails atleast one inch accross. Handles were plain rings, attached a little above the middle beam so you could pull or push them open as you wished. Once open, it would lead to a great hallway, ceiling oh so high so you could hardly see the detail. It would come down eventually to better shelter the five doorways, but not just yet.
Once again back in the reading room, the right side of the room was unfinished. Shapes were hazy and slowly churning in the semi-darkness, walls creeping to a slow halt, hesitant to go on as all things were - this side was full of confusion, wonder as to how to go on with the strange beauty that the owner was so fond of.
This is the house that is slowly, ever so slowly being constructed. Only three rooms are formed, and not even completely. But they will be, the sanctuary from the outside world expanding on a daily basis, sometimes in small ways, other times in huge, bounding leaps.
---
I was.. Not going to put this down. But I needed to, just.. Desperately. It's where I go to feel safe. And hey, you. You there! This whole place is only possible because you just randomly asked me what was going on in my head and my thoughts compiled into this room. I have no idea how to thank you other than to update you on it as everything grows. Yeah.
---
I sent this to Kai earlier because.. I knew she'd want to be the first to know.
--
Okay so I’m taking this little bit of time to tell you WHAT I FOUND OUT TWO NIGHTS AGO ROFL. :O
…Like. Uhhh. I was thinking because I’d just finished Hannibal and you =know= stuff like that makes my brain crank out truths about myself ..And I ended up thinking something like this.
"You deny yourself everything, you’ve done it for years. You’ve denied yourself natural human emotions such as violent sadness, where you just sob and sob - you’ve denied yourself certain amounts of happiness at that, and you can’t stop. It’s why you have so much trouble with writing, drawing.
You think you aren’t good enough to do it, that you aren’t worthy of doing something that good, that awesome. You, in a way, box your own creativity because you think you don’t deserve it, though you have no clue what to do when this happens."
..I’M SILLY.
--
Because it's all true. I deny everything to myself when it gets too good, you know. Roleplay, writing, art, poetry, music hell even individual thought.
I run with ideas just long enough to see that I've outdone myself and then I stop because I'm afraid that if it keeps going I'll reward myself for being..
Well I don't know. Being what I've always thought I couldn't be, what I've been afraid of being just incase it would get ripped away.
Yeah.
