Please Stay in the Picture Frame

Lovecats Dance, Boots Prance.

See the boots. I want these boots, in all their fiendish glory. Aren't they just darling? They most certainly are. I realised a new problem today when I was shopping in town with mother. That problem is this one: "Lief can not shop properly unless online".

So, it seems I am overwhelmed by the racks and racks of clothing mixed with the store decor that I just cannot see anything that singularly jumps out at me; it all melds together to form a mass of random.

Online/TV shopping is so much easier than window-shopping. I might see these brillig booties in a shop window and NOT EVEN REALISE THEIR AWESOMENESS. All because of my shopping anxiety issue. Lame, eh?

I think I will buy these boots, as they are my size and I only bought one pair of shoes tonight and those were "for work" and all.

I think I should introduce myself. I'm not really called Lief, (Ly-eff) but that name is of a more "adventure novel" nature than my own unfortunate title. So it shall do.

I'm falling asleep. I'll finish some other time, kids.

Lief does sleep. But her dreams are full of whim.

As I Sit, Typing

In my head, I see scenes.
These are the scenes in my movie.
Sometimes they are flashbacks with my after-thoughts as a voice over, other times they are live, happening right then and there except without the dialogue, without the voices, with just the facial expressions, the subtleties like body language, fidgeting... to explain everything.

I wish I knew how to explain everything. I don't think I can explain even the most basic things lately. I don't know how to explain how I feel because my mind seems to have recently climbed up the faraway tree and into the land of topsy-turvy.

Nothing makes sense for long enough. I think I have two minds in one place. Sometimes it's a good thing, I can understand some things instantly, but other times it's impossible and chaotic. Like two people working at the same desk, papers becoming confused and documentation being shredded by mistake whilst trivial things like shopping dockets are being filed away in my memory.

When I wake, I wake by the brook

I bought film yesterday, put it in the Minolta SRT 101, then I went outside. I saw my cats by the flowers and noticed the feel of the breeze in my hair, the sun on my skin. Everything was golden and ethereal. I walked along the path and down the stone steps, feeling as though I was walking on a cloud. Or floating.

I walked through Bunya and photographed the time, that moment. I felt like I was documenting history through a lens of beauty before taking away the filter of the camera lens and realising that the beauty was ever-existing. I was the lens, it was my state of mind that made things appear beautiful.

Or rather, the pure outlook, without the clutter of depression. I don't know what it was, maybe a combination of things, all chance, all part of the butterfly effect, but whatever it was, yesterday I felt warm, happy, beautiful and natural. Nothing mattered because life was art.
On another, note, yesterday evening I lay on my floor in my bedchamber and it occured to me that I had to make a movie or else deny my love.

I want dreamy, photogenic, film-ish, artistic friends.
Yoga and kite-flying friends.
The kind who take photographs of life.
The kind who live life like a movie.
We could go to yoga classes and drink tea and eat dainty macaroons in quaint little teashops.
We would spend afternoons laying on the trampoline talking forever about our hopes and dreams and great plans.
We would go to an enormous library with dusty old books and would explore mysterious towns and get lost in strange neighbourhoods and go rummaging through flea-markets together.

I miss having a friend. I don't know what happened or why I'm so lonesome.

Did everyone grow up? People seem to be moving faster. Every time I close my eyes, for a moment, I open them to find a different time of day, or on more worrying occasions, a different day altogether. Every time I catch up with someone they have progressed in life, become more successful... I am stagnant. People are getting serious jobs, looking at real estate, buying shares, whilst I am still hanging out in record shops and reading online blogs.

Where are all the dreamers in my town?











The following pictures, I did not take. But they inspire me, incredibly.

A thousand kisses deep

I'm good at love, I'm good at hate; it's inbetween I freeze.

My mother thinks I've lost the plot. I sometimes wonder if I have.

This boy from work seems to really like me. He's so nice, too. And he's attractive.

From what I've read in stories and seen in movies, this is supposed to be a perfect scenario. We would then "date" one another until the day we marry. And then we live in our little house with a white-picket fence and have two perfect children. I would bake cookies and throw dinner-parties. We would have a vegetable garden.

I don't understand how this is ever enough.

"Date him." say the girls from work who also know him. "He's a really nice guy and he likes you so much."

He doesn't know me. I don't understand people who like people they don't know. I just feel so conscious and separated from it all. I don't know why people persue relationships. How can they search so hard to find something they can't live without? Isn't it simpler if you don't?

Happy birthday to me

I know it sounds lame. It sounds pathetic; though the importance of my birthday teapot and cup from my highschool friends is significant. Why is this? Well, for one thing, buying crockery, let alone something as personal as a teapot, for a friend, is a precarious task.

It's a very easy thing to get wrong.

Though my friends got it so right.

I love my teapot and cup. They are magnifcent.

Letter

Sometimes I like to think people read my posts. I like to imagine that when I leave a room someone wonders why. Tonight I sort of realised that a lot of the feelings I had been feeling lately were really only ever in my head.

It's hard, I feel a lump in my throat, I don't feel ready... but I sort of know this time was coming, that I'd have to stop carrying on like this.

Not even "have to" by choice. It's more a physical change. I don't know the next step, I feel like you've gone away. I know we can swear 'til the cows come home that we were never close. But I knew you. I think you knew me a little as well. Which was amazing. You knew me. No-one ever knows me. I say I'm fine, people say alright. You asked if I were lying. You were cold but I knew you hid behind that. Like I do. You cared. You would try to hurt me but would let me know in the subtlest ways that you didn't mean it. I did the same to you. I want you to feel love and happiness and to know I cared and (I swear) that I understood. But we were afraid, hells bells, we were terrified, that we were just imagining it. What if one of us were to deny it all. I suppose we understood each other but we never voiced it in black and white so we could never be sure, we could never trust each other completely. Anyway, I know that you cared. You were just afraid, like me.

I don't know if you do anymore.... Maybe we are still going. Maybe even this, this what I am feeling and writing now, maybe THIS is part of it. I am enjoying feeling this. Maybe. I didn't when I first began typing. But now I'm hoping that it's still happening. Maybe you think of me like I think of you.

Or maybe I had imagined everything.

Come to think of it, you were braver than I ever was. You took chances on me, and I appreciate that. I'm so sorry I never responded the way we both hoped I would. I didn't know how to act any different.

But just so you know, should you ever come across this.