sadalmelik
A new thing - colorful, spikey, hot, sparkling, blooming in newness. Shocking sometimes in its brightness. Radical opinions are those that, with or without firm basis, titillate the yearning in all of us for the controversial and the fringe.
The way we touch each other with our minds and empathy and soundless, weightless fingers of human feeling. I relate to you, you out there with the fingers numb from typing and the eyes hollowed and gaunt in the sheaths of your eyelids blackened from lack of sleep.
Made of sand or stone, it towers above lands claimed by its lords. It may reside in the clouds, where whiteness surrounds and the cotton touches of its walls invite all, or in the barren plains where no man may enter without a secret knock on the lion-ringed door and a cloak embroidered with the blood of fairies.
Together, us, inseparable. A mutual feeling is one we share, a bond across our hearts, the lightest of strings that holds us to one another. An ugly word - the 'chw' sound of the 'tual' - but it expresses honest feeling.
A word that sounds like itself; onomatopoeia, at least to me. Dull is the state of an object or mind without shine. Dull is the opposite of what we strive for -- it's the absence of passion, the light from the stars without its twinkle, the unbuffed stretch of steel on a long-abandoned factory that tells no story without the garnish.
It's sad and passionate, a burst of colored balloons across a bright blue sky, like bullets on a battlefield (b alliteration!). It's tragic, yet inspiring, invoking strife and striving. We're always embroiled in it--"war never changes"--but we'll always be lifted by it as well.
It lifts one to heights unbound, inspired by naught but the care for another thing. It expands a person, inflates them like a helium balloon to soar upwards, towards a neverending sky. For feeling is giving, and giving is getting.
Compassion is not only for other people but for things. A factory in abandon, a blue sky dancing, a forest polluted. We must feel for the beauty around us as well as the people.
A weighty metal, heavy in the hand and dullness betraying its use. One never speaks of iron poetically, yet we know of all of its uses. An iron-grip, iron weapons, iron glare. Hardness unforgiving. Iron is weight and strength and permanency.
It's about abundance - the excess of what we want. Prosperous in leisure brings images of a bubble bath, a chandelier, an elegant dinner in a vast dining hall. Prosperous in happiness conjures up associations with mountains, travel, companions to laugh and rock-climb with. Apple-picking, pies, cider. Fall.
writing since 2011 · 9 entries · 9 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Catherine showed up.
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the words Catherine reaches for
ironfeelingskyprosperousanothergivingfactoryblueworddullfingersabundanceexcessleisurebringsimages