Archives for the month of: May, 2017

Book 8

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It’s not the long, flowing dress that you’re in

Or the light coming off of your skin

The fragile heart you protected for so long

Or the mercy in your sense of right and wrong

It’s not your hands searching slow in the dark

Or your nails with your lover’s watermark

It’s not the way you talk me off the roof

Your questions like directions to the truth

Shadows disturb woods

Could well have been Voldemort

No unicorns here 

Book 7 has been a place for me to quietly dip in to when I’m home alone, the window is wide open and some late or early light is moving over me. Every time I open it I find something new. 

Some of my team were in the gym and it made it a lot more fun. Even some free weights for my pathetic wings. 

Trying to grow into a stronger woman but just growing closer to a beetroot. 

No riding the last two days due to continuous rain and little sleep was definitely helped by the sun peering out this afternoon and my HR getting up and staying up. 


I usually need art to be dropped unsubtly into my lap for me to really appreciate and consider it. 
I just stumbled across William Eggelston while reading about something else and then I got lost in reading about his influence in getting colour film photography accepted and respected. 
Clearly, more important progress has been made in the last century but I never contemplated a dispute around photography, among other things, as art. 
Some of my friends make or have made art using photography. Some make art using photography and then just take a photo. I’ve seen others make something magical whether intending to or not. 
Is the idea of some of it being one thing and the rest of it being something else pretentious? Is the ‘art’ taking itself too seriously or is my observation of it only ever influenced by how they want me to see it or how I’m told what it’s supposed to be? 
Is it a matter of beauty? ☝🏼this photo is dreamy. MEMPHIS 1965

I’ve only taken photos, I don’t think it’ll ever be any different, nor have I hopes of anything else, but accidents happen. It’s just got me thinking about this business of art. 

I’m just trying to think about the future and not be sad. 

“Ah’m away fur a pee” 

I feel behind this week for a couple of reasons, one or two out of my control, but I’m trying to let it not be stressful and so far so good.

I did my job pretty well yesterday and that was rewarding despite the long day. An investigation came together around me in quite a short time and my decisions worked out well and there was a positive outcome with help from a very decisive supervisor. 

The job has made me think though; I believe the suspect (in a position of trust, so potentially viewed as extra bad) is guilty of an acquisitive crime against a man who is so well known and known to be a violent, nasty exploitative person. There was discussion in my team and the team I handed over to that we weren’t sure if we were disappointed that the job had all come together so well and yet, the victim is not someone who particularly needs or arguably deserves help. But I spoke to a wise man and he reminded me, “it’s not our job to judge”. We may suspect and we may believe and the basis for this needs to fit certain criteria in order to be processed fairly, but we are essentially gatherers and messengers. I said something like I hope we are all trying to be messengers of the truth. All be it seemingly unjust or undeserved. I believe in justice and fairness but I also believe in discretion. But I think my idea of equality trumps the disappointment we might feel in helping a man who seems to have done less than nothing to help anybody else in his life. 

Anyway, I’ve got the flat to myself and have spent a little while today listening to the intriguing Elon Musk and Serena Williams and the last in the wonderful Crimetown. 

Later in the week I’m hoping there’ll be time to think and write a bit about some more pressing issues to me than the fact I have no time and have listened to a handful of podcasts. I’m formulating and trying to tie down some opinions. 

“She found that, unlike other forms of writing, poetry had an efficiency and raw honesty that made it a fitting outlet for her observations as a trauma nurse. She says that writing allowed her to acknowledge her darker experiences in the ER while also taking care of herself.”

Meredith Rizzzo / Kristen Laurel 

“But she knows 

There is an affliction in the air

Even the snowflakes fall like ash

She washes her hands”