Dug Up from the Archives

I had an acute episode of feeling weird yesterday. I know, that’s not a very specific description of the condition. I don’t know what my bloody problem was, apart from lacking a will to do anything, including breathing.

I fixed it though when it occurred to me to pleasure my OCD (aka CDO) and dig around in my computer archives with the apparent purpose to organise them. It was really an emotional displacement because everything about me, including my archives, are well organised already. Except it’s not perfect, so here you go.

What I dug up was shocking. That is, boring to anyone but me, who was genuinely surprised and sometimes severely shocked at my own paraphernalia. I couldn’t even remember that I ever created some of the content I found, but unless my cat has a covert hobby, it must’ve been me.

Among other long-forgotten and hence basically non-existent stuff, I found: unexpectedly good poems in Czech (in a folder labelled creative writing, so I must’ve authored them); love letters (what the actual fuck?); something written in German (I do recall I studied German but no longer speak the language); and photos, a lot of photos.

The ones in the gallery were originally posted on Flickr, before I deleted my account after not using it for years. (You get the sequence of events here, right?) They were taken with my beloved red compact camera, which I no longer own and wonder whom I gave it to. Because I want it back.

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Weekly Photo Challenge: Prolific

In response to WP Weekly Photo Challenge: Prolific.

The prompt prolific can be interpreted as pro-life. It’s in there: pro-lific and pro-life. Looks like these two might have something in common, right?

I’m not speaking of pro-life in the sense of anti-abortion—let’s not even look in that direction. It’s pro-life more in the sense of obsessively bringing things to life. Regardless of whether said things wish to be alive in the first place or would rather choose not to.

Spring is a quintessentially prolific season, hence my tulip photo. I never post tulips while omitting to quote my pet poet Sylvia Plath. I think I get her, or she gets me, whichever way you put it. She wasn’t particularly pro-life, which we have in common, as manifested by her choice to quit and put her head in the oven. And since we live in an age when you can’t say anything without offending someone, please let it be recorded that I’m not pro-suicide. Which is quite a feat, for a suicidal person.

But now, rest your eyes on the tulips and consider how they feel. That’s how tulips feel to Plath:

The tulips are too red in the first place, they hurt me.
Their redness talks to my wound, it corresponds.
They are subtle: they seem to float, though they weigh me down,
Upsetting me with their sudden tongues and their color,
A dozen red lead sinkers round my neck.
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Weekly Photo Challenge: Awakening

In response to WP Weekly Photo Challenge: Awakening.

Hardened in heart anew,
But glad to have sat under
Thunder and rain with you,
And grateful too
For sunlight on the garden.
—Louis MacNeice

18-04-11-awakening.JPG

 

That’s a Lot of Leaves

I think I like leaves. I’m not sure but I probably do since I take so many pictures of them. What do you think?

Photo Gallery: Pop Nature

Because my existence is so bleak, I’m attempting to balance it out with colourfully filtered photos. Filtered beyond recognition. I’m turning nature into a pop icon—with the pops of colours and all.

364/365

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357/365

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Winter Macro

Eclectic Corner: Guess What Grand Reveal

The grand reveal of the guessing game prompted by Justine in her Eclectic Corner is here. As Justine herself correctly guessed, though on the umpteenth try, my picture on the theme of protection shows a detail of a whitewashed greenhouse.

Your guesses, as always, were sheer hilariousness. Lucile kicked off with her suggestion that this was a leather coat with angel wings on it. Andy believed that I was stalking him during his pitiful attempt to brush snow off his windscreen. Laura came up with the idea of a door marked by werewolf claws. Albert further elaborated in the same direction and guessed the remains of a coffin which I forcibly clawed myself out of.

Desleyjane thought of the cover of a book, and I promised that I would use this image as the cover if I should ever publish a book. Bor Bor Igmus correctly identified the surface as glass but mistook the paint for frost. Madvanthi smartly suggested that it would be a shed door marked by my cats’ claws or a failed attempt to paint my bedroom door. Finally, Smiling Toad revealed that a coarse paintbrush was involved.

Thank you, everyone, for joining in the fun!

Snow