Notebook Memories
Published: 10:10 PM GMT+12, Sunday, 30 October 2005 under:
poetry
sadness darkness depression poetry women
sadness darkness depression poetry women
I spent most of the afternoon tidying up the flat, vacuuming, cleaning, and going through old boxes and junk throwing crap out - amongst the crap I found 4 telephones dated 1990, 1992, 1994, and 1996 - I've not had a telecom line for over a year and doubt I ever will again so I don't think I need them, nor do I need to 4.3gb HDD I found. I did find an IBM ThinkPad that seems to work (albeit a HDD that goes clunk clunk clunk).
One item that did amuse was a tatty notebook with a massive TWO pages of content - a number of doodles, an upside down cross in a ghost busters style ban symbol, a reference to Opeth's "My Arms, Your Hearse" album, and the following unnamed poem/lyric:
I am a reflection of thoughts and lies and suffering abundundances
Hope and fraility follow me through the maddening gaze of life
You pierce my mind with a thought of hope
But still I fail,
I am frail,
I hurt and bleed
I am nothing more, and you are nothing less, you bring peace, the price to be paid
With anguish, forlorn I look to the sky with hope in my eyes and cry
Release me from the stench of desire
I am nothing - nothing that grows
I am something - something that dies
The cycle ends but starts anew
In the end we are nothing
We are frail
And we will fail
We are man made
We have holes
and she will open them
Hope and fraility follow me through the maddening gaze of life
You pierce my mind with a thought of hope
But still I fail,
I am frail,
I hurt and bleed
I am nothing more, and you are nothing less, you bring peace, the price to be paid
With anguish, forlorn I look to the sky with hope in my eyes and cry
Release me from the stench of desire
I am nothing - nothing that grows
I am something - something that dies
The cycle ends but starts anew
In the end we are nothing
We are frail
And we will fail
We are man made
We have holes
and she will open them
I remember writing this, but I can't for the life of me remember WHO I was writing about - I'm thinking that's probably a good thing.
It's funny, I did the same thing last weekend. Those bits of paper that start the creative process all over again are just a wonderful thing I think. I also think this writing is awesome. Thanks for sharing it with us.