From Eden

Since the beginning of time, people have chosen their gardens. But you choose by growing it.

(Not some incessant stumbling, but willful action all the way into what will be your resting place.)

August but it Feels like Autumn

The weather is getting cooler and I was walking this evening. I’ve started to walk when I want to listen to new music, so I can hear an album through from beginning to end. On my way back, right as I was walking the last few metres before houses and trees start to close around you, the sun came out from under the clouds. Resting just above the top of the trees while the rest of the sky was still a dark grey. It made stripes of field glow in yellow as the rain kept falling. Weather makes me feel things.

Here’s a completely unrelated picture of a sketch I’m working on right now.

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Identity (The Garden Inside)

I have chosen dirt over flowers, and picked up the places I used to grow my values in, to move them inside of me.

I have been blue flowers, from the places I grew up in and the family I’m in.

I have been pink flowers, from what I found along the streets in new countries, from what I decided to be in new places.

I have been a collection, I have gathered them from around me, and (tried to) let the influence shape me into something I like.

I am now picking up the roots of the garden and putting it inside of me, so that I never run out of colours from different continents. So that I never have to starve in a place that’s barren.

Now, I’m growing (myself) up inside.

Vacation-ish

I’m happy now, which is nice. I’m at my grandmas summerhouse next to a lake and I got to sleep in the big glass room with all the plants. They only have candles out here. Candles and the strong scent of flowers I didn’t quite notice during the day. My body is itching with this, the need to get away, get out of places, maybe that’s why I’m happy to just fall asleep under a different roof, regardless of where I am. My wanderlust is so unpredictable, sometimes barely there and sometimes so strong that I get happy-sad just from talking about islands far away. Anyway, I’ve also been so fascinated with conversations lately. I’ve always been allergic to small talk, meaningless conversation, but I’ve realised I’ve got no clue what constitutes meaningless. A few days ago I went to pick up a friend at the airport, and on the way there I spoke for ages with another friend, conversations that might not always have been about the deepest stuff, but still were exactly the social interaction I needed. Today I spoke to someone else and I suppose the topics were sort of serious but I was just very bored. And this is no expected ’teenager bored of her family’ stuff, I just didn’t get anything out of it. Maybe it’s because the conversation was just different people speaking. It didn’t have any life in itself. Sometimes conversations soar and fly and run away to places you could never expect, and you get excited, because you want to catch up. And sometimes it’s just one person talking about something, and then someone else talking about something different. Don’t you want to spin on, dig deeper into the subject, speak fast or slow but have the sort of conversation that’s a journey instead of a silent destination? I love the run.

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Sweet dreams (or happy mornings)