Dear diary,
It's not everyday we get to dream of something so meaningless, so lacking in substance. However, ideas do come every so often in a nebulous form of a dream and most of my stories, to be honest, are usually inspired by the little plays that I conjure up in la-la land. Here's one for instance:
I call this a "Pot of Stew."
Uncle James wiped the pot of stew with a cloth,
It was overflowing with its content,
While the rest of his kin stared in wonderment,
And hunger.
His sister snatched the pot he was cleaning,
A greedy glint in her eyes,
Daring him to look her way,
"Hey, what was that for?" he asked,
"For not listening to my story," she said.
Off she goes weaving her tale,
Of how she wanted to see a play,
But none would,
But one,
Her cousin sister said, "O' but I do."
The rest of the folk said naught,
But shook their heads instead,
In unison they said, "You're just being nice."
Before they could start again,
About something so pointless,
I scooped a little stew
with my wooden spoon,
And into Dear Cousin's mouth it went,
"Hush now," I looked at her, "you're too long-winded."
Now everyone's attention was on me,
And how I love to be basked in it,
I finally said, "So..."
And looked at papa, "When will we be going to Wisteria Forest then?"
To conclude,
That's how a Nimblehead passes his time,
By laying out meaningless questions,
And answers with matching asperity,
...in a nonsensical conundrum.
The end
Till next time,
Abigail.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Friday, April 15, 2011
Entry 1
Dear diary,
There's a kind of warmth which envelops my being, clutches my heart and does not let go. And I know exactly why.
I sat by the window, looking at the pale, round moon. Dusk seemed to have seeped below the horizon, leaving a sliver of orange light. If only I have my camera with me, I thought.
Looking about my cluttered room, I noticed something peeking out under a hodgepodge of bags and accessories. My camera! "Well, what do we have here?" I said with a smile plastered across my face.
Instead of scooping up my camera, I just left it there and continued to stare at the haunting, yet ethereal view. It was as if I wanted to drill the whole image in my head and yes, the idea really crossed my mind. Hence, the abandonment of the camera.
It was a sight, I believe that I would not forget so soon.
Until then,
Abigail.
There's a kind of warmth which envelops my being, clutches my heart and does not let go. And I know exactly why.
I sat by the window, looking at the pale, round moon. Dusk seemed to have seeped below the horizon, leaving a sliver of orange light. If only I have my camera with me, I thought.
Looking about my cluttered room, I noticed something peeking out under a hodgepodge of bags and accessories. My camera! "Well, what do we have here?" I said with a smile plastered across my face.
Instead of scooping up my camera, I just left it there and continued to stare at the haunting, yet ethereal view. It was as if I wanted to drill the whole image in my head and yes, the idea really crossed my mind. Hence, the abandonment of the camera.
It was a sight, I believe that I would not forget so soon.
Until then,
Abigail.
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