i’m writing this while i listen to metric’s music. i was getting slightly bored by the songs i’ve got here and then i clicked on some tweet that redirect me to a music video from them.. it was quite a pleasant surprise. so pop but still so nice to listen.
my weekend was pretty boring and ok. sleeping, playing games and visiting my brother (which would be nicer if i wasn’t with such a bad headache). but i think i was needing a break from all the busy ones.. anyway, i spent most of saturday cleaning up my computer from viruses and complaining about my photoshop (that is so slow that makes it impossible to draw with). i guess i’ll go to animassauro sooner tomorrow so i can draw a little..
but i found some random pictures in my computer and… as always:
(disney’s villains shoes! how awesome is it?)
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ever caught yourself wondering “hey, why this blog can’t be mine? why can’t i be like the person who posts it?”? there’s someone i’ve been watching for such a long time and never ceases to amaze me, first by her writing skills and now also with the ability to take great pictures and post things with a subtle poetry that i think many people fail to see.
meet Lolla Moon. her blog is a delight to the eyes, makes me want to steal it all. and i will re-quote this:
“Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn’t something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn’t get in, and walk through it, step by step. There’s no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That’s the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.
An you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You’ll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.
And once the storm is over you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about. ”
the storm changes us all.
