Gila-a-a-a-a

Therapy by Rebekka Guðleifsdóttir

Hoping for the last ship to arrive
I’ve been blessed with a kingdom, half-mine

Gila-a
Gila-a-a-a-a
Gila-a
Gila-a-a-a-a
Gila-a-a-a-a
Gila-a-a

Playing with irony there. Beach House’s Gila.

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Do you know that quivering feeling as if when you speed up the shutter speed of 24/25 fps footage? Everything going jerky like Saving Private Ryan war theater.

That’s how I define irrational jealousy.

Uncontrollable fear and insecurity.

Then you hit the shutter speed below 1/30 with ND 8 on a bright day light of those raging jealousy.

You control the flaring fear, you eclipse the insecurity vignette.

Smooth cotton sea at long exposure at 12 o’clock.

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Lucky bastard.

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Afterthought. Those feeling is also true when you’re zombified from sleep deprivation. Your senses assaulted by a manic Drill Sergeant out of nowhere.

Blaring horn at the side of the road like screaming banshee to you ears. Uneven light blinding you like psychedelic trip. You pushed your step from the hard asphalt road to the cold concrete to the warmth edge of your bed.

Sleep. Solace.

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Still. Lucky prick.

Eat, Pray, Love, Sleep: Bali

Eat ♨

Pray ☪

Love ❤

Sleep ✿

Bali ✈

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Eat Pray Love

Haiku Wednesday: Pillow Talk

Silent hush fall deaf,
Still pillow confide with trust,
Awake after dawn.

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The drugs (hush) don’t work, they make me worse – o ye faithless one — who hit the snooze button 3 times today in the morning.

Alright, I’m still a non-believer of the secret sect of pillow-hush-alarm.

Maybe the older secret sect of pillow-talk-alarm works better, then again the idea is to get awake on time not to get asleep promptly.

I Have No Castle; I Make Unmovable Mind My Castle

I have no sword; I make the sleep of the mind my sword.*

I can’t sleep. Does that makes me a pacifist or my mental sword still sheathed?

Enclosed, my mind pregnant with cold metallurgy of profanity — spitting hatred as opposed to battering vengeance.

The sea breeze didn’t offer the usual zen-like serenity, in this balmy night.

I spat tragedy. I cried apathy.

I can’t sleep.

Thus I sheath my “sword” and spill the fluid of “innocence”. Till I lay asleep in the arm of ethereal “succubus”.

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*Extract from the Samurai creed, referring to the condition of detachment known as “Muga.” The Spirit of Zen.