# 5 || "I like too many things and get all confused and hung-up running from one falling star to another till I drop."

how does one stay in a consistent state of inspiration - always merry, never triste?

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# 4 || edelweiss

(images taken by a friend)


janvier has always been a curious month: a Coffee & Cigarettes, a wake-up-take-your-pills-dear, a put-me-on-a-plane-fly-me-to-anywhere . . . but we save our souls with barefeet and bike rides, Edwelweiss has flowers in her hair. i forgot how to write when i fell heart-over-head in lust, but with my sparkle learning how to twinkle brighter and brighter each day, i think i will be okay for a little while. there is more poetry in sorrow, i don't know if i wish there was as much literary magic in transcendence as there is in a dirty demise.

16 sleeps until a fleeting flight across the sea towards the tropics - i can't wait for camera play and guava juice and lotsa time with my family. coltish and coruscating, candid conversations and falling in and out of love with everybody and everything. my hair won't grow but it doesn't do to fret about things that will untangle themselves with a little encouragement and a lot of hope.

i'll never forget when she enchanted me with words in Amsterdam two years ago. everything made the most sense i thought it ever had and knew it ever would. her beautiful eyes were wider than usual as she proclaimed with all the sincerity i love her for: You've always go to have hope.



x

# 3 || sip on moonlight

lately i'm aching to fall in love with a human heart how i've fallen in love with the clouds. but the beauty and mystery seems to be sufficient, the one-sided conversations nourish my soul and the infinity in everything keeps wonder alive. chérie, you have to learn how to say, So be it ! with every fibre of your being you must believe it, that the morals you cherish, whatever they may be -- they're yours, so hold your head up (but not high), and love. love the thunder and sadness and difference in opinion.

do writers write to remind themselves of how things could be and how they should be, but not how they are? it's a curious blend of pessimism but also a glasse half-full. perhaps writing about it will help you understand, but sometimes i think all it really does is romanticise the emotions only in part. where does the rest go?

let's raise our teacups to a 2012 beyond anything you've imagined. dearest journal, i can't wait to see where you go & who you become.

x

# 2 || close your eyes right now and count to ten

"live on coffee and flowers"
the best little wallflower in the world
write and write and write and write and write
& the escape aesthetic

# 1 || we're all as mad as hatters here

every season glistens with ingenuity, you have to interlock with the elements and become a raindrop, a storm cloud or maybe a glittering star. to indulge in noël and pick fruit in the summer and be swallowed by scarves in l'hiver, it is better to marvel than moan. i can see that we are made from compassion and clay, with the blessed opportunity to become whoever we would love to be. while i haven't yet decided if happiness is a conscience decision, i can see that if i whisper to myself a regular reminder to breathe, that it isn't so hard to keep the ghosts in a land far far away. in saying that, i think it is important to evoke constant memoires of how lucky we are -- or how lucky i am -- to have the reasoning to remodel and reinvent. i am petrified of waking up one morning with my being trapped in a space - real or fantastical - with no escape. we have to keep moving, we have to keep loving.

next year will be easy-lucky-free, with live music and sunseeking and taking the lonely our of loneliness. there is some kind of sophistication in solitude, but i'm still figuring out how. all the teas -- chari-tea, humili-tea, integri-tea, reali-tea --, and me against the monde. nothing is as imperfect as you can imagine it.



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