Sunday, July 20, 2008

Mosaics.

"I want to live each day for itself like a string of coloured beads, and not kill the present by cutting it up in cruel little snippets to fit some desperate architectural draft for a taj mahal in the future."

Meet Sylvia Plath, who has been my muse since high school.

In times of need I pick up Sylvia Plath, for she would have an uncanny description of what I am going through that I had previously not realized I was going through. She casts a glittery pin on the translucent shifting object in the grey peripheries of my subconscious, and suddenly makes it visible. Though we perhaps differ in that she is depressed, whereas I am optimistically struggling.

My future taj mahal is in architectural limbo land. Perhaps I see a few turrets, a fragment of a window, but not a form in its entirety. I have not decided upon a colour, a shape, or a texture. My fancies flicker from one design to another. At times I see a uniform pattern, at other times I am not so sure.

But oh, I am so good at present moments and short term glories. The question is, will they add up or will they be just a string of mismatched coloured beads in a row?

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