Hello, pretty thing.


I have wanted to create a blog for five years now. And in my mind, post #1 unspooled seamlessly from the tips of my fingers, clacking on the keys, while my head issued them instructions to copy what I had so ardently written on paper.

This is the third version of that post.

I should probably delve directly into practicalities and begin telling you who I am, what to expect from this lovely little bloggeriness, and of course, then, we shall speak of the weather and I shall ask if your family is well- and I will be having one of those heartbreakingly monotonous conversations with someone I expect to know well.

So this is who I am. I just am.

Having said that, I feel my readers must have a wisp of an idea as to who I am. This might just be a testament to my existence-but I’d rather the testament weren’t just that. I’d like to blow through it’s cobbled streets, a wind that smells like my mind. You can tell me what it smells like, sweet traveller.

Let me fill you in on the details I think I should reveal. I am a lover of art. Beauty, really. I read books, for they have a way of making black and white seem coloured. I like the idea of wearing kohl only on the days that I feel like it. I believe feminism spans across equality amongst genders, humans and animals, humans and insects (I am still not a feminist in this aspect-for I fear the latter so), and thus, identify myself as a feminist. I think it stems from a want to be able to accept things as they are and not to judge, for we don’t always fully know why people make the decisions they make or for that matter, why things happen the way they do. I am a vegetarian by choice and also by way of my family having been so for generations.

And, finally. I love creating music. I am a singer and a pianist. I love the Arctic Monkeys, for Alex has taught me that songs can be poetry, and don’t have to rhyme or necessarily always possess cohesion. I’d like to say that Amy Winehouse is another favourite but those words seem too shallow for the way she makes me feel when she sings. When Amy sings, she is speaking to you. She isn’t in a studio, solely there to record a song-running through numerous takes and striving for perfection. Her voice breaks and quivers and is so heartcrackingly lovely. I listen to Adele. Because, I found her first. And because she introduced me to the music (a part of it, at the very least) that I love today.

There. Let me know how the wind smells. No innuendos. **wink**

You’re the first day of spring with a septum piercing,” –Sweet Dreams, TN; The Last Shadow Puppets.


2 thoughts on “Hello, pretty thing.

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