Bad intentions

Now this particular girl
During a ceremonious april walk
With her latest suitor
Found herself, of a sudden, intolerably struck
By the birds' irregular babel
And the leaves' litter.

By this tumult afflicted, she
Observed her lover's gestures unbalance the air,
His gait stray uneven
Through a rank wilderness of fern and flower;
She judged petals in disarray,
The whole season, sloven.

How she longed for winter then! --
Scrupulously austere in its order
Of white and black
Ice and rock; each sentiment within border,
And heart's frosty discipline
Exact as a snowflake.

But here -- a burgeoning
Unruly enough to pitch her five queenly wits
Into vulgar motley --
A treason not to be borne; let idiots
Reel giddy in bedlam spring:
She withdrew neatly.

And round her house she set
Such a barricade of barb and check
Against mutinous weather
As no mere insurgent man could hope to break
With curse, fist, threat
Or love, either.

Sylvia Plath - Spinster

http://www.americanpoems.com/poets/sylviaplath/1432

Whatever your bag revealed to me...

According to the one-and-only Wikipedia: in religion and theology, revelation is the revealing or disclosing of some form of truth or knowledge through supposed communication with a deity or other supernatural entity or entities. Some religions have religious texts which they view as divinely or supernaturally revealed or inspired. For instance, Orthodox Judaism holds that the Torah was received from God on biblical Mount Sinai, and Muslims consider the Qur'an to have been revealed word by word and letter by letter.[1][2] [http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Revelation]

 My landlady used to say, especially after her second glass of wine, when she was getting more philosophical: 'it's not what you wear, it's how you accessorize'. The things you carry apparently say a lot about you. I don't know what this bag is saying about Ania then - there's clearly a fairly world-weary, and rather unsightly guy (a jinn? an apparition?) peeking out the bag, if you have a closer look.

Chicken Korma, anyone?

If karma doesn't hit you, I gladly will.

— Grumpy Cat (@imdaGrumpyCat) April 7, 2013

Earls of Russia

Oh well, the Shodana is actually Japanese, I'm actually Polish and the ancient piece of jewellery was actually made five minutes ago with pincers and some super glue...but life's all about keeping up appearances, huh?

Happy Playlisting!

Ola looks gorgeous in her dad's white-and-blue striped shirt and knitted grey skirt against the backdrop of floral ironing board, table cloths and curtains. A vintage Japanese shodana adds some oriental flavour to this simple look, and I feel I'm allowed to make this comment since writing about fashion is like dancing about architecture and since I am essentialy talking to myself. Sadly, there seems to be a weekly allowance of how much I can actually say about anything, and as far as I'm concerned, it's Sunday and I have used up my bundle for this week. So, erm, let me fill the blank space with some Jane Eyre, she didn't seem to have problems like that.

CHAPTER XXXVIII--CONCLUSION

Reader, I married him.  A quiet wedding we had:  he and I, the
parson and clerk, were alone present.  When we got back from church,
I went into the kitchen of the manor-house, where Mary was cooking
the dinner and John cleaning the knives, and I said -

"Mary, I have been married to Mr. Rochester this morning."  The
housekeeper and her husband were both of that decent phlegmatic
order of people, to whom one may at any time safely communicate a
remarkable piece of news without incurring the danger of having
one's ears pierced by some shrill ejaculation, and subsequently
stunned by a torrent of wordy wonderment.  Mary did look up, and she
did stare at me:  the ladle with which she was basting a pair of
chickens roasting at the fire, did for some three minutes hang
suspended in air; and for the same space of time John's knives also
had rest from the polishing process:  but Mary, bending again over
the roast, said only -

"Have you, Miss?  Well, for sure!"

As vintage as the library

Doing the final countdown in style is losing count of the number of effervescent caffeine tablets you ingest in the library. I think I may have left my coherence there somewhere, or is it a side-effect of blood-caffeine reaching saturation levels? Mark that the library is vintage. Always make sure your library matches your bag, or something...

Possessed

I kinda always knew you remind me of someone...