star gardens
Feb. 15th, 2009 11:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
methrowrockTekapo has to be one of the most beautiful places on this Earth. To be cheesy and cliched, the nightscapes are poems written in the skies. Haunting reminders of the impermanence of life. I'd probably be sick to depression there but I must be there. Sometime, somewhere in the future.
Most of the time though, I feel like a ship lost at sea. Directionless, aimless and least of all, lifeless. All I have been done in the recent months is to hoist up the canvas sails and twirl the steering wheel free, free to the whims and fancies of mighty big winds. The compass dial may be spoilt, gyrating threesixty in drunken frenzy, for all I know or care. I can't be bothered to give much of a shit about anything anymore. If that is the way the currents are coursing, I'd do just enough to skim across the frothy foam and bump upon some unknown port somewhere. Heave away and ho, behold and lo, she who sells seashells by the seashore. Usually. But perhaps, it's The Grand Line now (One Piece fans, you'd know). Roiling waves like pickaxes upon blue crush, gusty gutsy gales, foggy brocaded drapes, ceaseless rainfrowns, horned creatures with yawning mouths, the usual nightmare scenes from a thrilling pirate escapade. Alas, pluck the breezes, wave the white flag high and fly and beat a hasty retreat. Except, this is reality. Run to the starry skies and hide in the illuminated heavens but no matter, they will hunt you down.
Most of the time though, I feel like a ship lost at sea. Directionless, aimless and least of all, lifeless. All I have been done in the recent months is to hoist up the canvas sails and twirl the steering wheel free, free to the whims and fancies of mighty big winds. The compass dial may be spoilt, gyrating threesixty in drunken frenzy, for all I know or care. I can't be bothered to give much of a shit about anything anymore. If that is the way the currents are coursing, I'd do just enough to skim across the frothy foam and bump upon some unknown port somewhere. Heave away and ho, behold and lo, she who sells seashells by the seashore. Usually. But perhaps, it's The Grand Line now (One Piece fans, you'd know). Roiling waves like pickaxes upon blue crush, gusty gutsy gales, foggy brocaded drapes, ceaseless rainfrowns, horned creatures with yawning mouths, the usual nightmare scenes from a thrilling pirate escapade. Alas, pluck the breezes, wave the white flag high and fly and beat a hasty retreat. Except, this is reality. Run to the starry skies and hide in the illuminated heavens but no matter, they will hunt you down.
