Birdsongs

Call it a stream of consciousness, call it free writing, call it an open journal. Call them My Songs.

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Wednesday, 26 January 2011

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Having a fire every night : Getting it started is the hardest thing,  But once its going its pretty easy to keep on.  A cleansing ritual,  ...

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Mother Stage Each night a new day, no guilt, no fear. Disappointment is unknown because I am but just born. Baptised in pools of light and ...
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Tuesday, 25 January 2011

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Bored Lines of squares dissected by lines, Imperfect circles try to meet in the middle. Divided in half and half again, A kaleidoscope in ...

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Said and done When all is said and done. When can ‘all’ possibly be said and done? All of what? It’s a line for the end of the world. As t...
Sunday, 23 January 2011

Found writing

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Your sadness When you smile, your whole body smiles. Your fingers and toes, Your knees and even your ears beam With a joy that I never kne...

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"I write entirely to find out what I'm thinking, what I'm looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want and what I fea...
Thursday, 20 January 2011

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Block Blank. Totally, absolutely, completely fucking blank. A frightening thought: the only one echoing in the dark. - Blank. Blank, and l...
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