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Discoveries with a rotten apple

Written as a eucalptus candle burns beside me, about an entertainment inflicted by a rotten apple 19/4/22 Tuesday, but this is about Monday @ a space in my bed against the big window (5 ft 2 in height- precisey because I stood on the sill and discovered my window is slightly taller) Dear world, I’ve been so eager to write down my thoughts lately, and today, two thirds of my attention were preoccupied by a flock of spurting ideas during work. But although my thoughts were theorised 'exciting' in my mind today, this letter is about yesterday- do you mind? It was bank holiday Monday, I spent the morning writing and editing my letter about the day before, Easter Sunday- a slightly out of ordinary day. But I already told you all about it so I’ll move on to yesterday. By 14:00, my letter to the world, aka my blog, was published. I wanted to finish it by noon at exactly 12:00 because I planned to spend the day out, under the sunshine. I’ve taken a keen interest in exploring the street...
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Pursuit of new experiences: A story of an Easter inspired discovery

Written to document a new experience of freedom  10:17 17/4/22 Sunday, an own form of resurrection @ places outside of my bedroom   Dear World, This Easter Sunday, at 10:17, I felt extra satisfied about catching the tram that was about to depart (in exactly three minutes) to Elmers End. I got there after 16 stops from Wandsworth on the bus, where I drifted on and off to a series of daydreams. I looked out the window as if I was watching the movements of my thoughts passing through London neighbourhoods towards the south east. I surprisingly stayed alert through another 15 stops and finally found myself at Wellesley Road, relatively on time to meet a friend from school, Eve.  Earlier in the morning, I woke up pleased for the day's plan, starting off with my routined activities before texting Eve: “Hi Eve, I’ll aim for 10:50 outside the church. See you soon!”. As I headed to the bathroom for a shower around 9, I found my flatmate, Hue, in the kitchen, preparing breakfast wi...
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Researched: Fleeting touch of strangers

Written on the day Facebook, Instagram and Whats app went down all day because someone 'leaked' how much they don’t care about anything but making profits- what surprise. 04/10/21 21:41 Monday, my first day at a new job. @currently under freshly washed cotton bedding sheets. Dear world, Tuesday, how the moonlight blurs in the rain, my palm grips a stranger’s, our pulses dance. Imperfect symphonies I can’t contain, this day turns water into a fire’s glance. A turn of body, locks eyes with another, while there’s no way against nature’s exchange. To protest is to deny the summer, bright feelings of frisk, blues and greens ordained. What more could I ask of Tuesday, truly? the evening spoke without flowery words. When did time pass me by so cruelly? unknown scent, julio, you’re fused in my nerves. It’s real, declaration of love to you, brief seasons of touch, like flesh in hot spring. Sincerely, Strange loves
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On the chase of waterfalls.

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A story of endless questions to likes and dislikes. Written as a declaration of true being.  02/10/2021 13:56 Saturday, leaves turn lilac in nature, winds blow colder than yesterday. @ blue doored house of 26. Dear world, Untamed thoughts, people of immoral hearts, nothing but servants to fleeting passions. To know oneself is to confess its arts, yet branching minds are to protest seasons. Finite days of pretenses what are we to walk by; to love it or to love them? What source of mastery to feed the fury? All, but hopeless points to algorithm. Flawed nature, shall bow to perfect beauty, an unseen craft, yet felt in mountain beams. Wings to bring waters fall up from below, through the wind, I, myself, stand here and truly. If to love is to see cracks in all blow, everyday my road turns a crystal flow. Sincerely, Not chasing waterfalls
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A research on insufficiency: 'The Pursuit of Problems'

Written on a day of seizing and winning, and running, and smiling. 27/09/21 Monday, a 24-hour opportunity to make something @a room, reeking of turpentine from oil painting  Dear world, Luckily for you I’m not solving a problem today with the abstract dialogue of my ‘poems’. They are just incredibly fun to write but I'm hoping that I can still connect my dots with you through them. Today, my problem is something like this: What is a way around insufficiency? I’m currently standing in the middle of the least agreeable part of the month, when the cost of breathing is under my neck. I’m talking about council tax, gas, electricity, water, phone and rent- you name it. I’m an adult at 27 at last- it feels like a scene in those movies labelled ‘based on a real life story’. So I’ll make today my very own adaptation.  The plot: I have less than 4 hours to come up of a sum or I will get thrown out of my house. Although it’s not actually the case, I do need to come up with a sum to pay m...
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A research on a breathing stone.

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Written while sharp rays flicker in tangerine, through leaves of autumn spirits. 26/09/21 17:39 Sunday, a day that feels like a road trip in the country. @infront of a 5 feet one glazed window, reflecting moving shadows of a tree Dear world, Paralysis of heart, here comes for lunch, what have we to feast upon this daylight? Storms of flaws, if you may, here strike your punch. For a polar flame will shake or ignite. Follow another’s dance or the latter, what do you breathe? To bear, or to propel? A plate of bittersweet, is yours neither? Known days are rich in fuel or quarrel. Creamed farewell to the sun, or feed a wheel? Blues arching to catch apples or repel. Endless squared days, or swim through cold water, only to hesitate is to protest your exhale. What can mere rain take from a stone walker, when time holds the rail road to reconstruct? Sincerely, A self proclaimed stone  
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Researched: The Ghost.

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Written as sunlight rips through noisy glass window, enroute far down the unseen horizon 24/09/21 Friday, summer soon meets the end of pleasure @a place of confident hope Dear world, I, as clay, a carved blossom of A ghost, pose what puzzle is left here to ponder? Its light, bearing godly scenes of the coast, fault unseen in all points of high delight. ‘River river on my ground, who’s fairer, of us all?’ Cries a white swan with all might. Wings without words, seeking to intervene,  for all life placed, bow to find Fairest, dear. Here of numbered days, game of unknown rein, for what grand price are we to run along? A trade of obedience, pays skyline flow, for time here quests for bare feet to belong. And what reap, The glass being, is to sow? His clays to tame lions: all He raptured. Sincerely, A clay taming lions
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