exhale

When knuckles

bleed

And

tears well

up

In dark

internal grotto's

we

reside

Waiting

To

submerge

In

to

light

and release

from

chaos

Breathing

BlowUp - Taster

So, I decided to post a little snippet of something I'm writing at the moment.
It's not the full thing, obviously, cuz I want to keep the rest off the interwebz for the moment, but I thought I'd share a morcel with ya, see what you make of it...

Enjoy!

(^_-)



****


There comes a time in every person's life when at some point they stand in front of a mirror and go: "WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!

In the worst cases this moment entails some weird fungus procured via unruly conduct that you'd rather not tell your mother about; a sudden wart infection on the tip of your nose; an eye so red that your favorite lipstick seems bland in comparison; or whatever weird, sick and disgusting outburst you can encounter whilst searching the web for weird and disgusting outbursts in/on humans.

This morning, however, it was Shirley's turn.

Now, first let me tell you a little bit about Shirley.
Shirley 's a 32-year-old accountant who works at a loans and mergers bank, somewhere in a small town in Ohio.
Her life consists of;

* Waking up at 7 via her radio-alarm-clock (she's had it since she was in college and it has travelled extensively through several states, and two -lost- months in Mexico, before reaching its current location), it's invariably set to a '80 soft-rock radio channel.

* Eating a bowl of cereal in the morning (preferably Cocoa Puffs) with skimmed milk, and a banana side dish. Sometimes coffee, but only on Wednesdays, to cut the week in half.

* Taking a shower; not too hot, hot showers make your skin get used to heat, but also not too cold; hypothermia from taking a shower is NOT a way to go (she tried this out once during high-school, effect: the most severe cold she's ever had in her entire life)

* Putting on a dark-blue power skirt-suit accompanied with dark blue moccasins and a white shirt. Hair...well...whichever way it manages to look somewhat alright. (no haircuts since 2002 due to personal budgetary cuts. Scissors and bathroom mirror, however, don't always work their magic)

* Driving the 32 minutes it takes to get to work in her beaten down Toyota Corolla

* Spending 8 hours doing mundane and boring chores in an even more mundane and boring grey cubicle (which she adorned with a small poster of two kittens hugging, because it made her smile the first time she saw it, and a little plastic plant next to her computer screen), eating a crustless cucumber and peanutbutter sandwich for lunch between 12:31 and 12:57, and doing some more mundane work, until 17:01 when she would step out of the cubicle and get to her car via several grey passages, an elevator and a car park. To drive home again.

* At 18:12 she would take her microwave dinner out of the microwave (depending on the day: chicken curry, Swedish meatballs and mash, macaroni and cheese, lasagne, boeuf bourginon, spaghetti bolognese, and on sunday a ready-made hamburger) and eat it in front of the television whilst watching old re-runs of Dynasty.

* Weekends she would spend in her house, cleaning and doing other homely chores. Grocery shopping (which she did on Saturday for the entire week) and watching cartoon shows. All the while, dressed in a grey tracksuit with hoodie and a crisp pair of white sneakers.

* Bedtime, regardless what day it was, would be at 22:30.

It might sound a bit boring, but she liked her life that way.
No complications.
No distractions.
Nothing to break up the comfortable little bubble she had built for herself.
She had had boyfriends during her teen years, and some in college, but had decided to remain solitary, since she didn't seem to be able to figure out the romance part of it. And she didn't like how it made her feel lost and out of control.
Plus men were too complicated to figure out; she felt they never say what they want, always beat around the bush, and it thoroughly annoyed her.

Thus was her quiet life.
Uneventful.
And she liked it that way.

Until, that is; that one morning.

Boardwalk

He looked at her as she scratched her nose, and the wind played with an unruly lock of her hair.

She smelled like the sun on a shimmering ocean.

Warm.

And light.

He closed his eyes, trying to capture her essence,

as people passed them on the boardwalk.

Their footsteps merging with the waves beating against

the wooden poles on which it was perched.

Voices merged with the seagulls that drifted in the ocean air

like white paper planes.

They sat there for a while, eyes closed.

Breeze softly caressing their skin.

Sounds and smells merging.

Suddenly he felt an empty space on the bench beside him.

He opened his eyes as her skirt brushed against his leg when she passed him.

Fighting the urge to touch it, or maybe even grab it,

he watched it flutter in the wind, and the soft material contrast with his rough jeans.

For a split second their worlds merged.

Then she was a mere speck on the boardwalk.

One among many.

He smiled and slowly turned back, facing the ocean.

A seagull floated in the air before him, it's little orange legs dangling

helplessly beneath the grace of it's wings.

He couldn't suppress a roar of laughter....

The Honest Scrap Blogger Award

So...I was awarded a blog award of sorts...

The so called "Honest Scrap Blogger Award"

This by lovely @Angpang through her blog INCENSE AND PEPPERMINTS

However, my forfeit after receiving such a prestigious and lustrous award, is that I have to share 10 things with you.

Now, I must say I'm not a huge fan of these sort of things, as I prefer sharing my stuff at my own pace, more than being asked to. But, as I also do not shun from a challenge I hereby share those 10 things with the world.

9 things that are true...and one that is a lie...

1) I can roll my tongue up into a sausage shape. Not massively interesting, but from what I understand genetically predestined...which means that not everybody can "sausage" their tongues...I can...

2) When I was about 6 or 7 I had some bookshelves above my bed. One night, however, I managed to pull those loose, thus being buried under books, games, shelving, marble jars and whatnot. Suffices to say I'm not a big fan of shelves above beds anymore.

3) I hate, hate hate chicory. Why, do people eat that disgusting bitter leavage?

4) Had a secret crush on River Phoenix when I was a kid. Not only cuz I thought he was hawt, but also cuz I thought he was an amazing actor. Cried silently in my room for weeks when he died.

5) When I was about 5 years old I was in a Spaghetti Western. This was my first ever real acting experience. It was in the Spanish desert close to Almeria: they had built this Western town in the middle of it and my parents and I went there as tourists to look around (my folks knew I would love it, as I'd been declaring I wanted to be an actress since I was about 4, and rightfully so; I loved the Western town). But as it happens they were shooting some scenes in part of the Western town that day. So this lady asked my mum if I could be in it cuz they needed a kid for a scene. I got dressed into a Western-style dress and had to walk over to the bad guy and pull on his trousers, while I pretended to cry cuz I had lost my mommy. It was super weird to do this, I remember, but also a lot of fun!

And afterwards the lady gave me some fake dollars to play with, which I still have...somewhere...

6) When I was 10, my upstairs neighbor and I were best friends. He was my age and had a massive LEGO table that I envied ginormously. However tempting the LEGO was tho, we played outside a great deal. And at some point had come to believe that the garage in the street behind ours was building bombs to blow up the neighborhood. We'd go on reconnaissance trips to said garage to spy on the people working there and have lengthy discussions afterwards as to how we could save the neighborhood. At some point I even remember telling my folks over dinner about this scary shite, but (naturally) they wouldn't listen. So...we planned an attack.

I'd found some tampons in my mother's cabinet, and was sure it was dynamite sticks.

No idea why it didn't surprise me that my mom had dynamite sticks in her cabinet, but they sure came in handy...

So..we went to the garage, armed with tampons and matches...set some tampons alight and threw them into the garage (we were hidden behind a car, of course...secret agents we were)

What a day it must've been for those guys: working on a car, when suddenly...dozens of burning tampons get hurled at you...hahahahah

7) My maths teacher tried to help me with my exams during high-school. He had been harassing me for years, telling me I sucked at it, that I would never get my diploma, that I would flunk cuz of matths... And then, suddenly, come crunch time: he started whispering stuff to me...while there was an inspector in the room. I told him to shove it, and that I didn't need his help. And I didn't...asshole...

8) I have a shitload of music at home....so much so, that my computer was getting borked because of it, so I had to result to buying an external drive to put the music on. My computer's much happier, but it's annoying not having all the tracks in my iTunes....so I'm still looking for a way around this...

9) My name is Basque. The Basque country used to be a separate country located in what is now the north of Spain and south of France. It was completely isolated from Spain & France thanks to the mountains surrounding it. And kept its independence until in the 1800's it became a part of Spain & France, still, however, keeping its language, laws and culture. After the Spanish civil war, however, General Franco (the dictator who came to power) forbad any Basque activities, and also the usage of the language. Basque names were out of the question, and Basque law and traditions were forbidden. After he died Spain slowly gave back the Basques their identity, and now Basque is mandatory in the Basque regions, and they have their own government and police, within Spain.

Of course the history is far more complicated than this, and it's still in turmoil, but this is it in a nutshell.

Basque is a language on its own, just like Keltic and Latin...

It's not derived from anything, and studies have shown it's ancient.

In fact, my name: Itxaso, means "Sea" in Basque... In Spanish this would be "Mar", and in French "Mer".

Juups...it doesn't look like Spanish at all...

10) I have a turquoise star tattooed on my left wrist

So...there you have it... 9 truths, and one falsehood...

And with that...it is MY turn to choose my Honest Scrap Award Winners...

I have a select few, because I simply don't read a gazillion million blogs...plus I think it's nice to choose a select few...

So here goes (click on names to be directed to blogs!):

I nominate the 5 people that follow my blog:

JR Gibson

th3Maw

Simon

Kristen

And...I would nominate Angela Montague...had she not been said person who nominated me first...

Would therefore also wish to nominate:

Karacornflake

and

Ken

All of which are also lovely tweeps!!

Congratulations folks!!

I pass the stick to you....

(^_-)

Oh, and the official rules I'm deviating from are:

a. 'The Honest Scrap Blogger Award' must be shared.
b. The recipient has to tell 10 (true) things about themselves that no one else knows.
3. The recipient has to pass on the award to 10 more bloggers.
d. Those 10 bloggers should link back to the blog that awarded them.

Paper Cut

Copy machines whirr in the background

Muffled telephone conversations

Ringing phones

Bad coffee in styrofoam cups

Warm blood

Gushes from the wound in her thumb

Dripping onto her blue t-shirt

She looks down at it

The blood makes strange patterns

That change

With every drop that's added

People around her

Rush to help

Trying to stop the bleeding

Thinking she must be in pain

"Are you ok?!"

They scream

Panic

"But why?", she thinks

"It's just a paper cut"

She suppresses a chuckle

Pretends to be part of

The grey agony squad

Thankful for some

Excitement

In reality

However

She likes the changing blood pattern

On her t-shirt

They give color

To the dark, grey office

Repost: The Laughing Heart

Just saw that I accidentally deleted this blog post from a few months back...

So here it is again:

<3

Gallery visitors in the wild...

Whilst working in an art gallery, all kinds of people walk in and out.
However, I've come to notice that people who visit art galleries tend to fit in one or more of the following categories:

* The "I am VERY interested in art" look:
Frown, arms crossed, chin resting on one arm, finger/sunglasses in mouth or against lip (sometimes ticking against it), loads of pointing, nodding and mumbling

* The "I can't afford any of this but I wish I could" look:
Shy & appologetic entry, blending in with background, looking at objects in awe, quick dissappointed pricetag glances, nervous looks towards gallery personnel

* The "I'm a connaisseur and collector" look:
Quick entry, quick walk-by, selecting pieces in a matter-of-factly manner like you're choosing sweets; very blase and whateverish, bark at gallery personnel, look on face like you're smelling poo

* The "I'm a connaisseur but have no money" look:
Quick entry and exit, inbetwixt loads of showing off what you know about the artist to gallery personnel

* The "I don't give a damn about art but I need a place to hang/perv on gallery personnel" look:
Slow tigerish entry, ignoring artwork, looking at boobs, grinning and chuckling

* The "Oh my GOD, I can't believe you have [insert artist name] in your gallery!!" look:
Quick entry, loads of exclamations of joy, pointing, telling your companions how wonderful it is that you can see x's work in the flesh, doing the same towards gallery personnel

* The "I'm an art student, but believe me I'd rather be home playing on my XBox" look:
Slow entry, oftentimes in packs, with art history teacher, wandering around thinking about how you think your lover is cheating on you and that you want to eat pre-fab pizza for dinner tonite, whilst pretending you're interested. Asking if the postcards are free, taking a few to show you were there. Getting the hell outta there as soon as you can

* The "It's raining outside, do you mind?" look: Quick dripping entry, loads of umbrella shaking and clothes flapping, mixed-feelings walk-thru, loads of glances out of the window

* The "I'm an artist too, maybe you want to showcase some of my work?" look:
Nervous entry, quick look-see, slowly move towards gallery personnel, ask gallery personnel how they tend to find the artists they showcase, try to do this matter-of-factly but slowly dying inside. Pull out book with images of own artworks, try to do this matter-of-factly but dying a tad faster inside. Ask if gallery personell would be interested in exhibiting your work, try to do this matter-of-factly but completely dying inside. Walk away nervously

* The "I'm a tourist, I know nothing about anything" look:
Bewildered entry with backpack whilst looking at worn-out map, walking around lost, talking in tongues, asking directions as you leave

* The "A video! You have a video!" look:
Normal entry, walk around looking at artwork, suddenly spot the videoscreen, get overjoyed. Spend at least 45 minutes watching the video whilst changing positions. Walk away when video ends/starts over