♥
Tuesday, December 31, 2019
Monday, December 30, 2019
Saturday, December 21, 2019
Tuesday, October 29, 2019
Fall in Love
From the mystery hot Asian man's profile on a dating site:
"If you ever fall in love...fall in love with someone who wants to know your favorite color and how you like your coffee. Fall in love with someone who loves the way you laugh and would do absolutely anything to hear it. Fall in love with someone who puts their head on your chest just to hear your heartbeat. Fall in love with someone who kisses you in public and is proud to show you off to anyone they know. Fall in love with someone who makes you question why you were afraid to fall in love in the first place. Fall in love with someone who would never ever want to hurt you. Fall in love with someone who falls in love with your flaws and thinks you're perfect just the way you are. And especially fall in love with someone who thinks you're the one they want to wake up to everyday!"
"If you ever fall in love...fall in love with someone who wants to know your favorite color and how you like your coffee. Fall in love with someone who loves the way you laugh and would do absolutely anything to hear it. Fall in love with someone who puts their head on your chest just to hear your heartbeat. Fall in love with someone who kisses you in public and is proud to show you off to anyone they know. Fall in love with someone who makes you question why you were afraid to fall in love in the first place. Fall in love with someone who would never ever want to hurt you. Fall in love with someone who falls in love with your flaws and thinks you're perfect just the way you are. And especially fall in love with someone who thinks you're the one they want to wake up to everyday!"
♥
Sunday, October 27, 2019
Tuesday, September 10, 2019
It's Still Them
I'm pretty sure that's how you know you're falling for someone;
when you want the good and bad.
when you want the good and bad.
When you want everything.
Regardless of how bright , how dark.
You want it all.
because at the end of the day
it's still them
Rachel Van Dykon
Regardless of how bright , how dark.
You want it all.
because at the end of the day
it's still them
Rachel Van Dykon
Sunday, August 25, 2019
Putative
adjective
- generally considered or reputed to be."the putative author of the book"
synonyms: supposed, assumed, presumed;
Erudite
adjective
- having or showing great knowledge or learning.
"Ken could turn any conversation into an erudite discussion"
synonyms: learned, scholarly, well educated, knowledgeable, well read, widely read, well versed, well informed, lettered, cultured, cultivated, civilized, intellectual;
Saturday, August 24, 2019
Antidisestablishmentarianism
A political philosophy opposed to the separation of a religious group (church) and a government (state), especially the belief held by those in 19th century England opposed to separating the Anglican church from the civil government or to refer to separation of church and state. [ from 20th c.]
Thursday, August 22, 2019
Resplendent
adjective
- attractive and impressive through being richly colorful or sumptuous."she was resplendent in a sea-green dress"
synonyms: splendid, magnificent, brilliant, dazzling, glittering, glowing, radiant, gorgeous, transcendent, impressive, imposing, spectacular, striking, stunning, glorious, superb, majestic, great, awe-inspiring, breathtaking, fine;
Verisimilitude
noun
- the appearance of being true or real."the detail gives the novel some verisimilitude"
Bespoke
adjective
BRITISH
- made for a particular customer or user."a bespoke suit"
- making or selling bespoke goods, especially clothing."bespoke tailors"
Poseur
A poseur (or poser) is someone who poses for effect, or behaves affectedly, who affects a particular attitude, character or manner to impress others, or who pretends to belong to a particular group.
Sangfroid
noun
- composure or coolness, sometimes excessive, as shown in danger or under trying circumstances.
synonyms: composure, equanimity, self-possession, level-headedness, equilibrium, aplomb, poise, assurance, self-assurance, self-control, nerve, calmness, coolness, countenance, collectedness, imperturbability, presence of mind;
Wednesday, August 21, 2019
Traipse
verb
- 1.walk or move wearily or reluctantly.
"students had to traipse all over Washington to attend lectures"
synonyms: trudge, trek, tramp, trail, hike, plod, shuffle, slouch, drag oneself, drag one's feet, clump, slog, wade, footslog;
traik"I haven't the time to go traipsing around art galleries"
noun
- 1.a tedious or tiring journey on foot.
- 2.ARCHAICa slovenly woman.
Twilight
My favorite time of day.
noun
- 1.the soft glowing light from the sky when the sun is below the horizon, caused by the refraction and scattering of the sun's rays from the atmosphere.
synonyms: half-light, semidarkness, dimness, gloom
"it was scarcely visible in the evening twilight" - 2.a period or state of obscurity, ambiguity, or gradual decline.
"he was in the twilight of his career"
synonyms: decline, waning, downturn, ebb;
Passe-partout
passe-par·tout
/ˌpaspərˈto͞o/
noun
- 1.a picture or photograph simply mounted between a piece of glass and a sheet of cardboard (or two pieces of glass) stuck together at the edges with adhesive tape.
- 2.ARCHAICa master key.
Monday, August 19, 2019
How Many Beryls?
♥
Soom Beryls are almost easy to count. There are five.
Izzy
Tara
Petra
Yetta
Quinn
I have five Beryls; fishcake has seven. There is a point where we share them. Beryls are pretty as a princess, particularly spoilt, have their own minds, and they like to move around. They are demanding to coexist with. Paint on the Beryls in Little Cow Harbor includes MadamMauMau's work. (It is very hard to get Mau's paint.) Other artists are: theFontBandit, Beachgirlnikita, Soom, and Christie Johnson.
The Beryls have hooves, horns, feet, high heeled shoes, and whatever jewelry they can beg, borrow or steal.
A Beryl looks like this:
https://gem.dollsoom.com/en/shop/md-aprberyl-never-ending-dream/
♥
How Many SarDias?
♥
I am frequently asked, "How many Soom Sards do you have?" I always answer, "I do not know. I do not count them."
So, I decided to count them. All of my SarDias have hooves and horns. They have been painted primarily by Enki, SDink, Lachlana, Marlequeen, Jisatsu, and Soom. Each is more beautiful than the last. They represent friendships that span the globe.
Here is the list in no particular order:
Anavel
Dune
Paris
Raphael
Moscow
Chicago
Cern, New York
Tokyo Rouge
London
Saard
Marrakesh
Blake Dante
Viridian
Sprezzatura
noun
- studied carelessness, especially as a characteristic quality or style of art or literature.
♥
Thursday, August 15, 2019
Tableau Vivant
nounWord forms: plural tableaux vivants (tablo vivɑ̃) a representation of a scene, painting, sculpture, etc, by a person or group posed silent and motionless.
Friday, July 26, 2019
Sunday, July 21, 2019
Monday, July 1, 2019
Little Black Dress
Little Black Dress
Her steep decline began with much balancing of the ratio between dust, cobwebs and human occupancy in the cottage.
She could feel the muscles extend in her solid calves, the sharp edge to her clavicle that pleased her a little. She could feel the precarious, worn rungs of the old wooden step ladder bend just enough to offer the thrill of potential danger.
She could lose herself amidst the grime accumulating in her greying hair. At least, she could imagine it to be for a far more valiant cause than the tweaking of her small domain.
She slept at the close of those long summer days, she would remember with fondness, the exhausted prelude to slumber.
She hunted down prey from eBay and Etsy. She meticulously obsessed over the gifts to adorn the Christmas tree. She stage managed a coup of a day to hold her loved ones in splendour. Balance, always seeking the geometry of perfection. Each bauble carefully placed to form a pyramid of pleasing, seasonal wonder. She suspended her self doubt in tiny, carefully choreographed and sparkling, fairy lights.
She was fading, malfunctioning, falling. She was plaster of Paris exposed to the harsh weather of her inner emotions. She wore her clothes as splendid bandages to hide her slow decay.
The revellers mostly believed her gilded mask, although she secretly could tell that etiquette led some to avert their eyes as a steady trail of chalk-like fragility escaped from her petticoats.
One day, the woman just stopped having the energy to open the mirrored door of the old carved wardrobe. Lavish silks and linens slid from their wooden hangers to form an impenetrable midden she could no longer navigate.
The wardrobe had always been something of a juxtaposed struggle between her reality and the events lived out in her mind.
Her small world and exponentially larger dreams colliding in an oblong-shaped box of desire.
She sometimes flagrantly dressed for a grand ballroom, allowed silk slippers to caress her stockinged, chipped toenails.
She was a fraud enveloped in the shame of an audience witnessing her step above her station. She was Salome in perfect, ruby-red lipstick then the unspeakable tragic elephant woman, hiding far from a place the golden mirror could show her true self.
The slow decline gathered some pace as the first leaves withered on autumn trees. She felt as though nature she spied through the window of the little cottage was as it should be, the stark beauty of winter. The punctuation in the growth, as the sun released the relentless pull of blooms and vines.
She felt the decaying leaves move to the inside of her face, drawing sustenance, claiming the last, fragmented flights of the imagination that kept her immersed in splintered shards of hope.
She wandered through peoples cast off garments in charity shops until one day, a humble black dress slid perfectly onto her body.
No one notices her decline as the hue echoes perfectly the shadows beneath her eyes. The uniformity of the black dress, worn each day is her safety net for the great heights from which she still may fall. Her cloak of invisibility.
A spore of yearning that the previous owner's life may shed from the fibres shrouding her now unfamiliar skin.
She may slowly ascend or descend yet it is hard to say. So hard to know, these nuances of the stranger on the inside or the crone in the mirror, as they are hers alone.
Her steep decline began with much balancing of the ratio between dust, cobwebs and human occupancy in the cottage.
She could feel the muscles extend in her solid calves, the sharp edge to her clavicle that pleased her a little. She could feel the precarious, worn rungs of the old wooden step ladder bend just enough to offer the thrill of potential danger.
She could lose herself amidst the grime accumulating in her greying hair. At least, she could imagine it to be for a far more valiant cause than the tweaking of her small domain.
She slept at the close of those long summer days, she would remember with fondness, the exhausted prelude to slumber.
She hunted down prey from eBay and Etsy. She meticulously obsessed over the gifts to adorn the Christmas tree. She stage managed a coup of a day to hold her loved ones in splendour. Balance, always seeking the geometry of perfection. Each bauble carefully placed to form a pyramid of pleasing, seasonal wonder. She suspended her self doubt in tiny, carefully choreographed and sparkling, fairy lights.
She was fading, malfunctioning, falling. She was plaster of Paris exposed to the harsh weather of her inner emotions. She wore her clothes as splendid bandages to hide her slow decay.
The revellers mostly believed her gilded mask, although she secretly could tell that etiquette led some to avert their eyes as a steady trail of chalk-like fragility escaped from her petticoats.
One day, the woman just stopped having the energy to open the mirrored door of the old carved wardrobe. Lavish silks and linens slid from their wooden hangers to form an impenetrable midden she could no longer navigate.
The wardrobe had always been something of a juxtaposed struggle between her reality and the events lived out in her mind.
Her small world and exponentially larger dreams colliding in an oblong-shaped box of desire.
She sometimes flagrantly dressed for a grand ballroom, allowed silk slippers to caress her stockinged, chipped toenails.
She was a fraud enveloped in the shame of an audience witnessing her step above her station. She was Salome in perfect, ruby-red lipstick then the unspeakable tragic elephant woman, hiding far from a place the golden mirror could show her true self.
The slow decline gathered some pace as the first leaves withered on autumn trees. She felt as though nature she spied through the window of the little cottage was as it should be, the stark beauty of winter. The punctuation in the growth, as the sun released the relentless pull of blooms and vines.
She felt the decaying leaves move to the inside of her face, drawing sustenance, claiming the last, fragmented flights of the imagination that kept her immersed in splintered shards of hope.
She wandered through peoples cast off garments in charity shops until one day, a humble black dress slid perfectly onto her body.
No one notices her decline as the hue echoes perfectly the shadows beneath her eyes. The uniformity of the black dress, worn each day is her safety net for the great heights from which she still may fall. Her cloak of invisibility.
A spore of yearning that the previous owner's life may shed from the fibres shrouding her now unfamiliar skin.
She may slowly ascend or descend yet it is hard to say. So hard to know, these nuances of the stranger on the inside or the crone in the mirror, as they are hers alone.
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