sings hymns at heaven's gate

photos: 2) dripbook.com/petravanraaij

all others: dripbook.com/NicoleCorbett

Sonnet 29

William Shakespeare

When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf Heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featur'd like him, like him with friends possess'd,
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least:
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee,--and then my state
(Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings'.

http://confessionsofasineater.blogspot.com/

Visual Journals: inefficient, happy idling

When we packed up 3/4 of our belongings and sent them to storage, I made the inauspicious decision to send all my creative supplies as well. It seemed like a reasonable thing to do; after all, my craft room was always the least tidy messiest room in the house, and although I love the look of works-in-progress and inspirational materials spread out in full view, I understand that most home-buyers don't necessarily feel the same.

Besides, I fully expected to be reunited with my things and happily creating in the new house by now.

Now we're 6 weeks in, and I'm not willing to wait any longer. Last night I rifled through the (severely edited) contents of my desk, and came up with the following supplies:

4 Journal: blank, spiral-bound, mostly empty

4 Assorted pens/pencils

4 Tape: masking, cellophane, packing

4 Scissors

4 Card stock: assorted colors

4 Stapler/staples

4 Decorative box (for organizing supplies)

5 minutes looking through my formerly-used-for-crafts-but-now-virtually-empty-to-illustrate-how-roomy-it-is closet produced:

4 Tissue paper: assorted colors and designs

4 Tags, blank

4 A spool of twine, a length of ribbon

4 Cellophane gift bags, empty

4 Stickers, assorted

4 Safety pins

4 A tiny palette of watercolors and a tiny brush

I also have a large ridiculously huge stash of magazines that I couldn't justify packing, but stubbornly (auspiciously?) refused to part with.

Today I will begin a new visual journal. These images from the lovely Miss Thumbelina are inspiration for anyone who needs a nudge:

photos: http://missthumbelina.blogspot.com/

“The imagination needs moodling

- long, inefficient, happy idling, dawdling and puttering."

- Brenda Ueland

http://confessionsofasineater.blogspot.com/

breakable girl

http://confessionsofasineater.blogspot.com/

the peace of love

Sometimes it's good to be reminded...

Play me:

MySpace Playlist at MixPod.com

photos: alteredbits.wordpress.com, tumblr.com, thismortalmagic.com,

sfgirlbybay.com, imgfave.com, ahndrayaparlato.com, ffffound.com

Breakable

Have you ever thought about what protects our hearts?
Just a cage of rib bones and other various parts.
So it's fairly simple to cut right through the mess,
And to stop the muscle that makes us confess.

And we are so fragile,
And our cracking bones make noise,
And we are just
Breakable, breakable, breakable girls and boys.

You fasten my seatbelt because it is the law.
In your two-ton deathtrap I finally saw
The peace of love in your face that made me end regret.*
Then you drove me to places I'll never forget.

And we are so fragile,
And our cracking bones make noise,
And we are just,
Breakable, breakable, breakable girls and boys.

-Ingrid Michaelson

*Actual lyrics: A piece of love in your face that bathed me in regret. I realize I've got it wrong, but that's how I came to know and love this song, so for the sake of this post (and any singing along I'll be doing) I've chosen to leave it as is. Sorry Ingrid. -SM

http://confessionsofasineater.blogspot.com/

Out of the ash...

photos: noirfeu.deviantart.com, tumblr.com (& 6, 7, 9, 10),

sodahead.com, landofmeg.blogspot.com,

dvxuser.com, warofthering.net

"Out of the ash I rise

with my red hair

And eat men like air"

- Sylvia Plath

http://confessionsofasineater.blogspot.com/