Wicki 的个人资料A Pigment of my Imaginat...照片日志列表更多  |  工具 帮助 |
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3月26日 Black River - Lyrics by Amos LeeWoah, black river, Woah, dear saviour, 3月25日 The Perfect Weather to Die.I have some bizzare thoughts from time to time. I still think Mom musta dropped me a few times. Last night I was thinking about what would be the perfect weather to die in.
I decided that I don't want to die on a bright, beautiful, sunny day. If the weather is that nice, I want to be outside doing something; gardening, fishing, or somethin! Anything except laying around dying somewhere. Right?
I've also decided that I don't want to die on a rainy, cold bleak and miserable day. It's just too damn depressing. Those kinda days are for warm blankies, and an old movie on TV, or a good book. Nah, death on a yucky day isn't for me either.
I've actually selected as my perfect dying weather, winter. Close your eyes, place yourself in at the end of winter, just before spring. When all the holidays are over of course, because no one wants to ruin the family holidays forever by dying during them, so ya gotta wait past Valentines Day. Imagine there's about a foot of fresh snow on the ground. Big fat snowflakes are falling slowly and gently, silently hitting the gorund like feathers. It's not cold outside - just a heavy sweater will do. Everything is is quite, and the fresh blanket of snow sparkles. The perfect time would be a dusk when the sky is that kinda orangy-pinky color that makes the snow glow a soft pink.
Yep, that would be the perfect weather to die in. Just a thought. 8月25日 Attempting the MoonTonight we attempted the moon, my white mare and I. We went to a field far away from city lights, where only stars shone in the sky. I rode my white mare in slow circles around this field, letter her find her own path, for I could see nothing of the ground. My eyes grew wider and wider as they tried to drink in the starlight and find any features of the landscape in the great darkness. There were still none I could see, and so my eyes grew wider; my pupils overcame my irises and then the whites, and when my eyes became all staring darkness, then I could see.
A faint false dawn grew in the east. I knew the sign. I spurred my white horse, my white mare, and we raced around the field now, galloping. I took control, guiding us with my liquidly dark eyes. We rode in vast circles, transiting the field once, twice, three times, trying to build our momentum, trying to reach the necessary speed.
The moon crested the eastern hills, and I drove the mare forward, lashing her withers with the reins until her mane became the wind. Towards the hills we raced, towards the moon we rode. My hair became a banner behind us, the mare's tail the same. My dark eyes pointed forwards, great gaping holes that stole the light, my mouth a gaping hole as well, crying encouragement to my white mare. We reached the top of the hill - I dug in my heels - the mare's muscles bunched - we jumped. We sailed forward into space, my white mare and I, attempting the moon.
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