T.S. Eliot

Blogging by phone - I finally got the Blogger app

Well, it required me being a fricking temporary cripple, but I finally searched for and downloaded the Blogger app for my phone! I can blog on the go now people!

Stay tuned for more posts void of content and full of random pictures!

When you ask who the hell I've been texting all night the answer will be no one! I was blogging!

Oh...Facebook has lost a little more of it's charm.

The girl

(photo)

The cheerful are seldom attacked

(photo)

The B.W.O. Yo!

 I would like to take advantage of the fact that I am sitting in front of my computer not for work, and inspired all at the same time to tell you a great idea brought about by one of my favorite artists.



Look to your right. You see that cute little badge? It makes me feel all the better about writing when I  feel the inclination to do so.


The Amazing Tiffany Electra X, the brains and beauty behind Tartx. I have a few of her gorgeous necklaces, love them! (I am not being paid for this shamelss plug, I really do love this gal's stuff). While rummaging through her blog I came across this great POST and that great badge about Blogging without Obligation. 



Ms. X talks about how much she hates to see (read) people stressing out about not posting often enough, or how bad the feel about not producing enough content or at the prescribed pace you have set for yourself. The thing is, you have set it for yourself. In a forum you have created, originally, for yourself, no? If this is your creative outlet, you should enjoy it! Blog without the stress baby!

The Shower

(Photo)




Hot water shoots through the calcium covered shower spout, hitting the ice-cold tile. Over time staining it the same orange-rust color as the water when it first bursts it’s way through the pipes. Hot, steamy water that washes over my skin trying to cleanse away the grime of I don’t know how many days.

Steam collects on the mirror, the frosted over cobblestone glass doors of the shower. At first a light cool frost that assembles as warm steam meets chilled glass, then a heavier condensation as the warm mist of the shower tumbles and curly-cues over the top of the sliding glass like clouds of dry ice.

The moisture builds and stacks till it is a layer of cool water on the mirrored finish. It pools and slides long, crystal clear tears down the glass. Like the salty, sweet suffocating kind that pool up and spill over my eyelids. Forming trails of wet, disrupted peach fuzz facial hair and grayish, black mascara that has taken this opportunity to release itself from it’s dried bondage of my eyelashes. Gathering together again at the corners of my lips. Pausing momentarily before rolling into my mouth and sliding down my throat. Swirling like the then ice cold shower water rolling round, and round, and round the drain after I shut off the spout.

Watching, as I tower above this miniature hurricane-black hole before it guzzles the last drops of water from the shower floor. Standing and taking in the remaining steam and warmth before sliding back the glass. The fog encapsulated in my little tile and glass box rushing forth, propelled by the crisp air in the room outside.

Reaching for the fuzzy comfort of the plush towel and catching my blurred reflection in the mirror opposite the open door. Refreshed and clean, soaking wet stringy clumps of hair hang from my head and sticks to my shoulders. H2o rivers running their way down my body before being stopped, sopped up and absorbed by a sea cotton loops.

~Sydney