I have less motivation, less ambition, definitely less confidence than you think I do.
I am going through a tough time, but I’d rather talk about what you’re going through…
The less I talk about my issues, the less they are true….or so I’ve taught myself to believe.
I’ve become an isolation, and I don’t like the person that lives within it’s borders.
I find peace when involved in no interaction, and my loudest conversation is my own thought communication
I used to prefer distractions, but now I despise them, as they constantly remind me of why I’m still in the same position…
Lack of motivation..
Lack of ambition..
Lack of discipline…in this mad conventional convention that I’ve created for myself, no one is allowed in, because I dread the thought of someone else knowing that this…this is how I’ve been.
I patch up my feelings. I put a hault to my tears. I modify my appearance, and I step outside engulfing my fears…with smiles.
I am optimistic, but it seems my optimism has just left me behind, left me for another, left me to learn and unwind..and accept reality as it hits me in the most awkward of times…
Realisation strikes when your worries are put aside, and even though in the back of my mind I know the truth’s caving in, forgetting momentarily is the best binge.
I’ve become an isolation, only entertained by the thoughts of my minds creation, loneliness no longer is a social deprivation, but rather a sanctuary for my own rehabilitation.
Surrounded by faces, as I roam different places, but I chose a route of extended navigation to the areas of no entities, what has become of me?
It is completely unpredictable. It is not tangible. It is merely an emotion.. I’m speaking of demotivation.
I’d like to believe it stems from my imagination, and that with a change of thought or change of pace I can brush it off into thin space…temporary eradication.
I mean that’s usually how it works, (or worked before), when I had smaller problems, smaller secrets, barely a reason for cover ups…than I thought I did. But recently this force has been visiting me, taking over me, constantly, that even if I brushed it off harder….it won’t change the fact that it weighs more than the thin space that surrounds me can endure.
So I patch up my feelings, I put a halt to my tears, I modify my appearance, and I step outside once again, engulfing my fear.
I know its not forever, that’s the beauty of it all,
I know it’s just for now, for this week, even for a few months, but there’s always the possibility it’ll be gone by tomorrow.
I know, I know…sigh
I know, that I’m strong enough to conquer it…
But for once, I just want to allow myself to get sick of it, I want to allow myself to immerse within it’s captivation and flow within it’s streams,
I want to allow myself to be human…and accept that happiness isn’t an everyday scheme.
By Tree Soul September 3rd 2015
It´s another Lonely Sunday.
You don’t know where to start,
You wish your second half isn’t that far away…
You start counting days,
you want it all, to just a walk, 10 minutes or a talk.
Do i need a reason to have you here, i want these monsters at night to dissapear.
Even for a fight that would be alright – because i want you here, here by my side.
I want you closer,
I want this closer,
This could be so much bigger
I have dreamed of touching the sky
I have hoped to reach for more
and i know that i’m not the only one.
I’m out on the streets,
down on my knees,
I am ready to show you the fragment which I see.
I booked two tickets
to save this dream
all you need to do is.. believe
Because I’m full of hope,
I give it my all.
If i can’t bring home the moon for you, i will bring you the stars.
Day after day.
It’s been a little over a year now since Faria, Baby, Moma Bear KK and Princess first meet TPJ in New York, and we’ll never forget the summer we had together.
I can’t really explain what happened that summer in NY, but I can show you what my experiences of New York Conservatory for Dramatic Arts was like, were were all brought together.
At TPJ, we fully support the Bear no Arms in America campaign. This powerful video filled with well known faces says it all really. We wish to voice our opinion that Guns are Wrong and something needs to be changed
If you have one, you might use it… If you don’t have one, you can’t use it. This is a global campaign
America needs a Consititutional referendum to change the right to bear arms if the people want it. According to this video…they do.
It might even win the presidency for a candidate.
Stop school shootings, stop selling guns to people.
hope ye all have a nice day… Comment or share if you support it too. Demand a change! Demand a plan!
And so we’re coming towards the end of our tour here.
Literally everyone you see is spent. There are tired faces and sleepy eyes everywhere and the city itself seems to be yawning.
But everyone’s happy…happy they came.
Over 1000000 people will have seen theatre in this small city in the passed three weeks. How crazy is that?
I saw two five star shows yesterday. Morro and Jasp do Puberty and Mark Forward Presents Mark Forward. Both review to follow.
Apart from that, we’ve four more Faulty Shows which is nice and then we go off to Cardiff.
Here’s to raising a glass to Edinburgh. It was bloody awesome!
Her Handswritten by Faria – 28 August 2015
They’re fragile and petite, delicate..soft, and pale, but pale on the scale of skin tones where pale is the fairest shade, with nails perfectly trimmed, and nail varnish called marshmallow coated to perfection with no bumps, and a smooth touch.
I’ve watched her hands carry sorrow till it dropped, for there’s only so much one can carry till gravity takes its toll. I’ve watched her hands create music from misery, using nothing but her petite fingers and an imaginary tapestry. those same hands fed me, bred me, carried me when i was tired, held me tight when i was scared, put sunblock on my nose, and brushed and combed my curly hair, without hurting me. for only her hands know how to handle me.Those hands fed me fruits and cheese, and held my hand when i crossed the street…they waved goodbye when i got dropped off at school, and they wrote down words that i one day will pass on to my own daughter.
Her hands have endured far more than what they should. I tell you all, these hands are a miracle.They keep clean and nicely trimmed, even when they’ve been dealing with dirt and unfair men, for my mother an agriculture, worked day and night in the fields…yet never did I ever, see her nails lose they’re shine, and never did she ever forget to intertwine her hands in mine, before i went to bed.Even when she drove and I was sitting beside her, she made it a point to grasp my hand tighter, before she dropped me off and parted in her own direction. She’d stroke my back to help me fall asleep, and run her fingers through my hair till she fell asleep.Her hands…her hands, they smell like the perfume one I can forever consume, because as soon as I inhale, I am safe and content.
Her hands, her hands, have been through too much, yet she holds herself high and with them brushes it off. Her hands have wiped her tears as soon as she heard my footsteps approach her doorstep, never allowing me to see her breakdown, she’d use her tears to wash her face, replace the sadness with a smile, to make me feel like everything’s okay.
They have endured struggles no man will speak.With those same hands, she said ‘I do’ and 15 years down the line, it was just me and you, in our flat, that with her hands, she got on her own, and with those hands, she built us a home.
Her hands have shaken hands of dreamers, and made them believers for she has the ability to touch others simply with her hands. Her hands don’t only create life in soil, but paint and write and heal others. Her hands never stop moving, or learning. She is now in her 50’s and she’s still growing up to be, everything she wished to be.A single mother was not planned, but she created a default plan, and look at her now, after this journey she’s been through, her hands are still looking brand new.My hands…my hands will never look like hers. My skin color differs, and my nails are coarse, un-lady like, with scars and scabs…My mothers hands could never look that bad.One day my mother, and by one day I mean now, I will attempt to give to you what you gave to me, and altogether us three, your children.
I want my hands to hold your head close to my heart, as you listen to my heartbeat, because as long as its beating I will be right by your side, to serve you and hold you high…and when your hands get weaker, mine will support them, and when your hands get tired…mine will hold them.