I hurt my finger. It was an ongoing process that lasted quite a few years and there was no band-aid around. I think the crust is still fresh and I don't want the blood to flow out of it again. I'm too old for it, you now?
Dramatic outbursts. Bad acting. I know. I don't like parsi drama myself. I like non-proscenium intimate spaces.
I hurt myself while reading. The finger was cut on some of the pages.
I recently realised how many of the children books should have been banned from the shelves. It's only now that I'm discovering how the childhood we had influences our present. Examples are many... thought I might tell you some over a cup of tea. They are very much there in that metal trunk and I think it's time to clean the house and arrange the space. I need it for myself. I don't like carrying extra luggage with me. I recently threw away and old dress from the metro station. It feels so light without it. It changes so many things.
You know, sometimes we tend to infuse our readings with meanings that aren't really there. We place a mirror in front of the audience while we perform on stage at the same time. I'm a gate crusher into a performance that isn't even mine.
I wanted to be a good reader. There weren't many books involved and I believe in reading them thoroughly...
They might be one that I would like to learn by heart. My silly little tail of cat's brain run so far that for a moment it even imagined an optional career in gardening. But it feels scary too. I don't want to cut my finger again. It hurts. I don't enjoy throwing stones.
There was a book of naturalism once. It started in a nice way, but then some characters underwent a sudden change of style which involved pills prescribed by good old Freud and one day the reader found herself lying on a floor of a room and the two hands extended from the book and caught the reader by the throat. There are those sudden moments in life when you stop carrying for a second... you just want it to be over... and then suddenly you discover how much you want to live and that you actually do have muscles to push those hands away... What followed was a sudden international phone call, that was only bandage available at that moment.
Do you know the feeling of being so connected with somebody that the very sound of that person's voice makes you feel how that other person feels? that international connection was that strong. And in the lands further to the west a sudden worry resulted in a sudden deterioration of an already ill body and somebody was holding somebody else's hand while standing on a wiping cloth.
There was also a gradual change in language in which that naturalistic book was written... I think it made the reader feel sick and she still hasn't fully recovered. It sometimes makes girls write those words infused with a mixture of fear and inability to comprehend that someone could actually understand the writer's sense of life and humor.
A few hand claps were also involved in the cutting process. People do tend to clap a lot at the end of a performance, isn't it? It wasn't a bad book. It's a sad book. The reader really tried to read it but one day simply couldn't do it anymore...She relocated to a small palace in the less familiar part of the city. The book is not there on the shelf anymore for many years. But I still kept the title. It was a compromise. I needed the title page because sometimes the library authorities ask for the titles if you want to stay in the library for more than just few hours. I love this library. Can't imagine myself anywhere else. I've been a member for so many years now...
I do get high on my trips sometimes... and green trees in the south do make me feel alive.
Many things were taken out from old chests of dreams that were shut for a number of years. The school, the trees, the room... They were there with me for such a long time packed neatly in my saris.
I need a doctor with a bandage very much. But then again... I don't like proscenium theatre, intimate space would be a better choice to stage a play.
Dramatic outbursts. Bad acting. I know. I don't like parsi drama myself. I like non-proscenium intimate spaces.
I hurt myself while reading. The finger was cut on some of the pages.
I recently realised how many of the children books should have been banned from the shelves. It's only now that I'm discovering how the childhood we had influences our present. Examples are many... thought I might tell you some over a cup of tea. They are very much there in that metal trunk and I think it's time to clean the house and arrange the space. I need it for myself. I don't like carrying extra luggage with me. I recently threw away and old dress from the metro station. It feels so light without it. It changes so many things.
You know, sometimes we tend to infuse our readings with meanings that aren't really there. We place a mirror in front of the audience while we perform on stage at the same time. I'm a gate crusher into a performance that isn't even mine.
I wanted to be a good reader. There weren't many books involved and I believe in reading them thoroughly...
They might be one that I would like to learn by heart. My silly little tail of cat's brain run so far that for a moment it even imagined an optional career in gardening. But it feels scary too. I don't want to cut my finger again. It hurts. I don't enjoy throwing stones.
There was a book of naturalism once. It started in a nice way, but then some characters underwent a sudden change of style which involved pills prescribed by good old Freud and one day the reader found herself lying on a floor of a room and the two hands extended from the book and caught the reader by the throat. There are those sudden moments in life when you stop carrying for a second... you just want it to be over... and then suddenly you discover how much you want to live and that you actually do have muscles to push those hands away... What followed was a sudden international phone call, that was only bandage available at that moment.
Do you know the feeling of being so connected with somebody that the very sound of that person's voice makes you feel how that other person feels? that international connection was that strong. And in the lands further to the west a sudden worry resulted in a sudden deterioration of an already ill body and somebody was holding somebody else's hand while standing on a wiping cloth.
There was also a gradual change in language in which that naturalistic book was written... I think it made the reader feel sick and she still hasn't fully recovered. It sometimes makes girls write those words infused with a mixture of fear and inability to comprehend that someone could actually understand the writer's sense of life and humor.
A few hand claps were also involved in the cutting process. People do tend to clap a lot at the end of a performance, isn't it? It wasn't a bad book. It's a sad book. The reader really tried to read it but one day simply couldn't do it anymore...She relocated to a small palace in the less familiar part of the city. The book is not there on the shelf anymore for many years. But I still kept the title. It was a compromise. I needed the title page because sometimes the library authorities ask for the titles if you want to stay in the library for more than just few hours. I love this library. Can't imagine myself anywhere else. I've been a member for so many years now...
I do get high on my trips sometimes... and green trees in the south do make me feel alive.
Many things were taken out from old chests of dreams that were shut for a number of years. The school, the trees, the room... They were there with me for such a long time packed neatly in my saris.
I need a doctor with a bandage very much. But then again... I don't like proscenium theatre, intimate space would be a better choice to stage a play.
