Archives for category: thoughts


… breakfast time. when the sun is gently seeping through the window, the tea freshly brewed, the heat from a warm oven kissing the bubbling goods, and a clean table ready to host the feast.


we left copenhagen on a cool autumn evening. the carriage was warm and gentle like the friendly ticket man who is fluent in danish, german and english with a strong northern european accent. eye-to-eye, he walked over with a mighty smile, ‘excellent,’ he said after checking our rail passes and off we go into the fields of gold and a sea of glistening grey-blue. as we passed through a woody patch of flimsy trees, i glugged down a big mouthful of jordbaer yoggi, slowly crushing the tiny seeds of the small fruit, which slid down slowly in a flow of creamy white. the carton so large and the yogurt so thick i struggled to hold it up high with a long pause so yoggi can make way to my hollow mouth at its own pace.
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just like kids, we’d anticipated this moment all evening.
the air was still, and the sky was a swirl of rich chocolate,
sprinkled with diamond studs.
the air was cool, and the moon wrapped up in a soft curl of cotton wool.
she was round and soft, like a steamy ball of sweet dumpling.
twirling on soft sand, the lanterns filled with air.
as the orange glaze brewed, they puffed up with hot air.
up, up the lanterns went, they flew to the moon and
kisses they blew and sent.
the white moon blushed and the orange bled,
disappearing into the midnight bed.
we walked and talked and ran to the edge,
where the calm waves rocked, gently back and forth.
the white moon blushed and lit up the sandy cove
with silver streaks it shone.
we joked and laughed and home we went all mellowed and matt.
and there we met miss foxy who curtseyed,
and there’s her friend who bowed,
and there they vanished so briskly, just at the flick of a tail.

mid-autumn is one of my favourite holidays. it’s also one that’s filled with endless memories: my big white rabbit lantern with its bright red eyes and fushia-lemon stripy bottom. my sisters and i used to have different lanterns every year, sometimes mum makes one out of pomelo skin; sometimes we buy them from the little chinese incense stall at wan chai market; and other times we fight over see-through plastic ones in the shape of our favourite cartoon characters. we would buy them well before mid-autumn and look after them like our own babies and as soon as the moon comes out on mid-autumn night, we’d eat dinner extra-quickly and run downstairs to light our lanterns with our neighbours on the streets.
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20110911-110521.jpgi’ve just caught a bug and if i put it under a microscope it would look like a little blue bird.
as cute as it looks, this bug is ferocious, swallowing me up whole, taking over my mind, my body, my world.
my immune system had failed to defence as it binary fissions at the speed of light.

if you’re experiencing attentional biases and getting kicked in your butt for not paying attention to the girlfriend, high excitability in the case of a new follower, sleeplessness because you’re too busy tweeting, mental overload as there is too much you want to tweet about, oh, and back-/bottom-pain for staying in a single position for too long, then you may have twitter addiction like i do, which is probably under the umbrella of internet addiction.
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it’s two in the morning and it’s dark outside and i’m sat in bed with candles flickering and sail boats rattling.
everything seems surprisingly calm and at peace when all of a sudden the wind ran wild and the rain dashed ditto as if my thoughts were heard and jealousy throbbed like a blue whale, howling and swallowing green plankton and krills who once floated so freely in glee. and the storm muffled as if rage had skimmed out of the baleen plates and the wind and rain slowly lulled into a whale song, one that mesmerised the sea.

New York’s skyline lit up in memory. 911. by TJ Taylor Jones