plumgirl: (maples)
I crossed the path of a black cat.
Through red leaves, I looked up at the deepening dark sky.
I inched through a tight space.
I climbed the stairs and breathed a crisp mouthful of air.
I came back inside and opened all my windows.
Then I sang, "LA LA, la la."


Oct. 19th, 2010 12:03 am
plumgirl: (magic)
Inside the shadows,
There is no reason;
my heart can dance to music...

At times I wish I grew up with an ordinary aptitude for math, science, and other things, for I'm certain I would have pushed or fallen into some sort of place where I would be locked up and told to play my music, or draw my pictures, or write out the visions in my head.

Sometimes I wonder if the reason why so many of those who came before me in my family were unhappy because they were, in essence, artistic souls looking for validation in a world that valued different things: knowledge, financial success, institutions, religion, and conforming to the expectations of others.

As a young girl, I was often lost in daydreams and the illusions woven so carefully by others. Books and movies were not diversions, but vehicles of transport to the imaginings of the minds of other people like me. School and traditions kept me tethered to "normalcy," and because I was a dutiful girl, I played along.

And as the decades go by, that little girl and I, metaphorically speaking, are still pushing and pulling at this fabric of my self-identity and asking about where we should be going now.

... Set apart,
I am the music,
set apart


Oct. 17th, 2010 11:25 pm
plumgirl: (binchou-brush)
After a long hiatus, the man with the ugly toupee was sighted coming out of his apartment while I was going from the car to the mailboxes. It is now a kind of punk mohawk type of deal, although it's more like a Bride of Frankenstein feeling rather than "bald on the sides" look.

I tried not to fall over in shock. I think I did a decent job of pretending nonchalance as I kept walking to my mailbox.


Yesterday drove [ profile] scrungew00t all around inner Atlanta. Not sure why, other than it was nice outside and we're easily amused. I had some awesome pictures, but my camera ate them.

Today, went out and sucked out brain cells from people at the comic book store at this event.

Also been painting unexpectedly. Felt writer's constipation I guess, so of course did the "other creative hobby." :)

wip _Swan Queen
by *s-girl on deviantART


Oct. 10th, 2010 02:28 am
plumgirl: (tantrum)
Going there again
Is harder than I thought.
Riding the bicycle of writing,
It's not so easy.
The translation of character from art to text is problematic;
the addition of inner thoughts and action already have colored the characters incorrectly.
Worse yet, I can't hear the lyrical elements as I compose.
The sound of words as I commit them to paper is clumsy.
I'm out of practice . Argh, so out of practice.
So - will begin writing exercises much like this,
turning mundane frustrations into strange fragments of prose.


Unfortunately, I'm a lot more cynical than I was five or ten years ago. Writing an innocent, pure, and lovely, somewhat daydreaming character is quite hard . GRRRR. *shakes character*
plumgirl: (mysterious paris)
I am a person who dissects things infinitely until I have grounded down experiences into ideas and theories . I like to say that I have some kind of weird balancing scale when it comes to my own life, and I like to add and subtract thoughts/possible truths to the pile to see if one such thought/idea/revelation might suddenly tip the scale that I currently am using, forcing me to take a different direction.

This past weekend was one of those odd experiences that you sometimes have to see as part of a larger picture. So since then, I've been quietly turning over this piece of the puzzle in my head, and trying to understand where this fits in in terms of the greater context.

Added to that are the thoughtful letters/notes coming to me these past few weeks from persons who have picked up stories from my old days of writing fanfiction. It keeps boggling my mind that seven years later, I'm still getting readers and notes. It's the content of these notes that really strike me. And yet, I find these notes to be somewhat vexing. I keep thinking that maybe these are meant to be small little reminders of a neglected craft that doesn't want to go down quietly.

In looking at my public journal entries from 2009 (specifically this one and earlier this year, I see I have been circling around/dancing around this problem of living a creative life and feeling as I'm not quite where I should be.

I think you guys have been right all along, and I should make a choice now. I need to go back to being a writer who illustrates, rather than illustrator who writes. Fundamentally , my own pictures have no meaning to people without the underlying stories.

That said, I started to pick up on story last night. Sitting in bed with my netbook, I felt lost. At the peak of my writing many years ago, I could write 1-3 pages a night. Last night it began with only a few paragraphs. Rereading the beginning I had written, I came to realize that it would take time to ramp back up and find that same voice (slightly sardonic, chilly, and dreamy). Equally frustrating was trying to take the picture in my head and put it into words. It used to be seamless -- translating that 'movie scene' in my head to paper. It's bumpy at the moment.

I also came to realize this weekend that much of what I was saying to a friend was advice I should also be taking for myself. I decided yesterday to also consider doing writing/illustration like the webcomic creators do. I realize though it won't be a comic, but more like the installment writing one used to see in magazines.

I think the time and internet has caught up to help me do what I need to do for now... I just now need to figure out HOW and WHAT to do in terms of setting up a platform and then start my experimenting :) . To be honest, I'm kind of afraid of writing out in the open, because I remain concerned about the inferences people will draw about me the writer or me the artist, but I think I've decided that ultimately I'm going to play with all of you, friends and strangers, and just be an impossible mix of romantic and WEIRD.
plumgirl: (clouds-lake)
I remember when everyone I knew used to blog, XAnga, LJ, or do something a little bit more lengthy in terms of their contribution to the interwebs. I remember that people used to write out their thoughts instead of just updating a facebook "status" or tweeting some witty line or promotional bit (i.e., "Hi I'm going to be lalalalala here").

I wonder what happened to writing about ordinary things. Or even posting pictures with narrative and not of our selves.

Somehow Facebook seemed to have changed the discourse and the level of interaction that we all have with one another.

Somehow our collective attention span has gotten shorter and shorter, and I feel so irritated trying to mash myself in to this quick,fast world of expressing ourselves in a way that takes up the least amount of time or effort.

People seem to think that updating a little bit here and there, texting here and there, but more often is the equivalent of spending a quality day here or in the future.

I feel frustrated and old-fashioned.
Enough to just let the silences grow longer between journal entries, and enough to just write to myself, alone.

At least in my fictional realm, well... people actually still talk, listen, and thankfully do not have INTERNET.
plumgirl: (crossdresser)
If I were to write about my life right now, I would say that if it weren't for feeling creative again, I would hate it absolutely. It is out of balance.

In any case, I"m happy about my drawing glut as of late. I've been able to start slowly with painting and then have really picked up the pace. I feel like I've figured something out, both in terms of what my characters and their stories are, and feel a little more confident about being able to put together pictures that have balance. Now to work on making more impact and connection with a viewer.

Vintage Red Hood n Wolf
by *s-girl on deviantART

Unicorns Walk Among Us
by *s-girl on deviantART

wip - New flowers for hats
by *s-girl on deviantART

rework wip -Advance Guard
by *s-girl on deviantART
plumgirl: (mountain)
There is a space between take off and cruising altitude on the plane that we all know as the ten-thousand foot "zone." Seatbelts on. Electronic devices off.

This is one of the few refuges left now from the electronic world that we have created for ourselves. It is the only time where several hundred people in a tin can hurtling in the sky voluntarily turn off digital anything/everything and are left to their own non-electronic devices.

It's amazing how sitting in a plane can give a picture of the world as it used to be -- when cell phones were still bricks, and computers never really were carried around.

Without those electronics, people make small chat with their neighbors, flip through a book or magazine, or pull out a crossword... or look outside the window as we climb over city and around the clouds.

Today was a particularly beautiful ten thousand foot journey.

This morning Atlanta was mired in fog -- we had nothing to see as we waited impatiently on the runway. Too much fog, meant more delays as we spaced out our takeoffs even further. We preoccupied ourselves with our little things, ... but as we began our much delayed climb, we turned wildly to swerve around thunderheads, people leaning uncomfortably in our seats, forcing us to look at the exposed puffy sides of these clouds, towering castles of their own in this gradually clearing sky.

It was one of life's perfect moments, us without the things we cling to, reminded of our precarious situation, and being faced with a cloud that could undo us. Ironically, it wa sa sight that I would have wanted to capture on film, but alas my camera is also now digital, and also subject to the 10000 foot rule.

Instead, I am left to writing about it now, trying feebly to recapture the image I saw in words. In the meantime the miles and miles of square plots stretching as far as I can see -- a mosaic of circles, squares, green and brown -- have been obscured by a sheet of white cloud, hiding the land beneath. I am 35997 feet in the air, hurtling west once again to where the temperatures are cooler and the waters are waiting.

At this altitude, the clouds underneath this plane look like nohthing but soft fluffy foam upon a light blue watery sea.

But all I can think about still is the earlier pull of the earth as we circled those towering masses, the clouds' dotted fingers reaching for us in the plane, saying "hello."


plumgirl: (letsgettowork)
For the entirety of this year, I had wondered if my creative side had died a quick death thanks to the excessive work of last year and so many other things occurring that kept me from feeling any desire or energy to sit down and write. However, picking up a camera again this year has shown me that that particular artistic side isn't gone, it just has become impatient.

Photography is exciting because you can literally get the perfect shot within a few seconds. It amazes me that just having a good eye can result in the creation of a good shot. Five minutes set up. Many minutes of viewing pleasure.

Contrast that with the last few painted works I have placed out there. Six hours is a minimum to get something with depth on paper. But then the work put in goes upwards from there.

That said, the problem with painting and drawing is that when you are a person who wants to capture something and have it understood and appreciated, that one's technical limitations as an artist results in a sense of completed works not quite being "what you want", which then begets a sense of disappointment and then an increasing dissatisfaction with each work that doesn't meet the mark.

I no longer derive much joy from the complete work. Nor am I willing to sit another 4 hours on a piece to perfect lighting. And I think this shows. More disappointment, Self-denigration and discouragement . Rinse. Lather. Repeat.

The beauty of photography again is that realizing at the end of the day that you just had an okay, but not fantastic shot, and not being upset about it. Random error is expected. Perfection is not.


On the writing front, I haven't sat down and typed out any fragments of stories in many months. That too, I blame on being distracted with other entertainments and with work. Writing for me must occur from a quiet point within myself, when I can sit down and slowly build the world in my imagination from which I place characters and envision them running about like mad fools. I build visual sets in my mind ... akin to a sort of almost delirious form of daydreaming when it is at its most strongest.

However, lately it has been hard to find that perfect point from which to lightly leap off the cliff into imagination.

But somehow traveling this year has seemed to reset a lot of my thinking. Perhaps it was simply being taken away from the madness of everyday life. Or perhaps it's simply facing more white hairs this year than I know what to do with that has made me suddenly shift /cut/ and moderate my various distractions. Or perhaps its because I've started to stop treading water and want to make some changes .

I am not sure what is going on, but I feel like I'm poised to start writing again.

Bears. Fairies. Proud men. Lovely women. I want to write them all.
plumgirl: (Default)
Korea, historically, remains a wonderful place in my mind.

But culturally, I find there be a dissonance between the Korean cultural values that I learned from my immigrant parents and the modern Korea today.
Modern Korean I am not )

Travel is not merely about seeing new places or acquiring new experiences, but to paraphrase something my dad said to me, "It is a break from your everyday that allows you to gain perspective on the everyday."

Travel is not only a removal from your everyday environment, but can be an introspective experience. In particular, when one goes off to a foreign place, where there is a language and cultural barrier -- with so few people to communicate with, one learns to rely on either distraction by sightseeing or distraction by one's own thoughts.

Reflecting on what the sum of those thoughts, I came to the realization that I as a person have a fundamental detachment to a lot of people and things. One can sift through your thoughts and realize what one doesn't miss. One realizes, then, the relative value of various things, hobbies, people to you. And one is left also evaluating the role of all the things left behind and their relative importance.

Oddly enough while away, I never read any of the books I had with me, never picked up a pencil to sketch, never really did anything with all the things I had thought important to bring along except to write intermittently to a small tiny group of people or keep up with them sporadically on Facebook and jot notes down in a small journal I kept on my person. The things I enjoy while at home I think are not essential after all, just means of more significantly passing the time.

It makes you wonder then about how to approach the everyday things now that one is back - things that are now diminished in relative value or importance like work, hobbies, and material things. And on the flip side, it makes you wonder how soon before you can leave again.
plumgirl: (music-of-the-heart)
I am apparently jetlagged and allergic to the United States.

I took a quick twelve day trip through Korea -- half of it devoted to seeing relatives who I have not seen in person in twenty years -- and half of it doing a very quick tour through the East part of Korea (Mt. Seoraksan, Ulsan, Daegu, Kyongju Province, Pusan) and Cheju-do Island.

It's hard to describe everything right now. First, it's important to understand that Korea is my homeland country -- it is where my parents emigrated from. It has shaped a lot of what I like, my values, and how I view the world and how I view art.

At the moment, I'm still processing a lot of things, but I have to say that regrettably Koreans have not done its country justice when it comes to telling the rest of the world what they have. Korea is not well-marketed to the outside world, and I wish many of you could go , but to understand it fully means knowing more Korean or having an excellent translator/guide with you to explain many things. Korea is a land that is more Buddhist than Confucian (although modern Korea culture has a strong Confucian bent), and more recently Christian. You will see all elements at play in the culture, but you will see more Buddhist elements in the history.

Being a complete frazzled person, I forgot my camera battery recharger in Seoul and had to use the iPhone for half of my pictures on this tour. So far, many will be unpresentable or will need significant cleaning up in terms of picture values before I can upload them on my Photoshop gallery. I am frusrated because I wanted to do a better job of capturing the beauty I saw. I wanted to show you all how lovely Korea was this visit, with the yellow fields of flowers blooming, the cherry blossoms falling gently to the ground, and pheasants running amuck.

That is how proud and moved I was by what I saw. I wish only that others can see Korea as I did in the near future. I'll post an update when I get my Photoshop gallery up and running. Until then, you can view some pictures at

plumgirl: (magic)
Although I thought the film was kind of blahblahTimBurtonstylismblahblah and needed something different from the quirky designs and music that always seem to be rehash of other Tim Burton films, I still very much like the characters and like the development of Alice. While sitting there watching the film, I recall thinking that the plot sometimes got in the way of the message. So did some of the outlandish characters. But at the end of the film, I started to forgive the movie for being clunky and all about running, because at the very end, if I just refocused my attention to the protagonist, one could resonate with Alice as she finally figured out who she was. In a way, the very turning point of this movie comes at its last few minutes, where the heroine suddenly figures out "Who is Alice," and "What will Alice do next."

Sure, there are things that are a bit too familiar -- from the actors, voices (seriously, Willy Wonka all over again), and the stereotypical fantasy imagery of Alice in armor with a sword. (Not that I mind this, but it was rather curious that they played to the archetypes too broadly.) But still, I like that it's the sort of movie that's good for young girls and old girls. I kind of like that Tim Burton has taken on the silent/present voice of adults in trying to get out a simple message: "Figure out who you are and don't let time and the generic adult world confuse you."

And I can forgive the packaging a bit (even if it is predicable and not wonder-inspiring because it is characteristic Burton design that we've all become too accustomed to), as sometimes the vehicle makes the message stick better in impressionable young minds. The base audience for this isn't the people who saw Edward Scissorhands or the Burton Batman films -- rather it's a new generation of families and girls. Maybe the images and the messages will somehow stick . Maybe ten years from now, those girls who watch this film will reach adulthood, knowing their inner Alice.


On a personal note, I realized while watching one of the early scenes (particularly where the Cheshire Cat appears) that I am utterly jealous of the animators who get to work on something like that.
Taking a story, a few illustrations, and concepts and making it fully 3D realized character is awesome. It makes me so sick with envy. If I had lots of money and time, I'd put myself back through school to learn this kind of animation and then buy supercomputers like Pixar has to make ridiculous worlds with cute tsundere things.

I want to also just say how touching it can be to unearth something about a wonderful unique creative brain. Yesterday I was also skimming through some of the Miyazaki interview bonuses on the DVD release "Ponyo" and found myself stupified by the collective footage. When watching him talk, you not only know that Miyazaki is ultimately a creative genius, but a kind person -- a sincerely good person who goes beyond just "being good." And one wonders about that kind of kindness, about creating something from nothing just so you can speak to different children of all ages. I find it fascinating that Ponyo came out of a desire on his part to make a movie for five year olds -- the little children he was seeing with his staffers. (And I found my heart just hurting when Suzuki, his producer, revealed that Miyazaki's lifelong dream was to open a nursery . )

I have a theory that people who love children and are attuned to them somehow grow up to find themselves trying to reconnect to that point in time and making creative things is a form of communication. Interestingly, Miyazaki caught me off guard when he then stated "My Neighbor Totoro" was a story that he wanted to make for his younger self who grew up in the city and never knew the Japanese countryside. He made that movie to show a time before televisions and before Japan was so disconnected from nature. He wanted to show other people the same thing.

And so -- this was something I found so refreshing and interesting of a concept. It's not "writing for yourself," but rather "writing to yourself."

I"ve never thought about writing and creating that way before. It's not that we just want to download our inner monologues, our thoughts, exorcise our demons and slap them on some kind of 2D medium and hope for some kind of validation from our audience -- but rather -- we are working things out for ourselves, we are trying to tell ourselves something.

And so maybe I need to think about this some more. I have a feeling I am writing to myself, a younger self still hopeful that in the end, all this questioning in life, and all these uncertain feelings, will eventually work themselves out.

I forgot to add this as I haven't crossposted from DA in like forever but I changed the direction of the story to The Drowned Man )


Mar. 9th, 2010 12:17 am
plumgirl: (mountain)
Every person, whether near or far, whether a long time friend ,or a new one discovered along the way in some ordinary or strange way...
You empower me to keep walking down the path.

Thank you, for words here and there.


Mar. 1st, 2010 12:05 am
plumgirl: (Default)
While I lie here listening to the sounds leaking in from the outside world
I ponder the sense of loss one feels after putting down a diverting book.
Transported away for a few hours at a time to stranger worlds where the choices matter,
It's the coming back to the drudgery of the work/eat/sleep cycle that makes one feel empty.

Writers I think understand something of this feeling; I think those of us who write or create - some, not all - many of us understand the magic of the wriiten word. We feel the draw of a good story. We long something fierce for the worlds we create. Or we are wrestling with ourselves.

Posted via Journaler.


Feb. 1st, 2010 08:45 pm
plumgirl: (mysterious paris)

Sometimes you come to a point where things don't really interest you the way they used to. Is it a sign of depression? Or is it simply the reaction one has when abruptly smacked into a wall of realization and then regain consciousness? Maybe the sudden blankness is due to the sudden concern that the life that one had known previously was the dream, the nightmare, the false reality.

When you wake from the illusion -- the things that used to keep you diverted no longer seem to do the trick. They were -- you suspect -- temporary distractions. They were the pauses that keep you preoccupied for just a moment, a sudden colorful patch in the woven tapestry of life. You were fooled and thought you had the right of it. You knew what the picture that was being created looked like.

Or did you?

I can not explain this strange inertia. I do not clamor to draw, to write. Instead I read. I drive. I look around, and try to find something to fill the pauses.


The absurdity of life began to make itself clear a year ago. In my heart, I'm still angry about the way the universe plays its game.
Why cut people off in the midst of realizing their dreams? Why let others never realize them?

I sit, spinning ellipses, waiting and hoping for the turning point -- where questions clarify themselves into answers.

I wait for meaning... or maybe for more illusions.
plumgirl: (fairy)
One's approach to life can be taken several ways --
one being sort of the floating along, "come what may", sort of passive observer type of point of view;
then there is the active, "I make life what it will be,"
and then there is sort of the in-between, or the "I don't know really, but maybe if I want something enough, I'll grab it" sort of point of view.

If I were to classify the person I have been all along, I'd hazard a guess that I'm sort of the "floating along," type who sort of made it this far only because I was lucky enough to be born into a pragmatic family who kind of kept me walking in a general direction (even if I generally kind of floated randomly). But for all intensive purposes, I've been a daydreamer from the time I was little, creating stories during playtime, or later in my head when nothing else was there to occupy my hands and mind.

One of the charming things about being a daydreamer is that you're easily self-entertained and sustained. But on the downside, I gather that a person who lives in dreams finds life sometimes a little too easily to accept. Your motivations are inwardly driven and shaped, you kind of don't care much about external things like praise, fame, awards... money, only so much as to let you keep daydreaming comfortably :)

You get kind of complacent and lazy. In my case, I'm not sure it's okay to continue to be sort of in la-la land. Shouldn't I be doing something with an active imagination? Shouldn't your natural tendencies (gifts?) be steered towards something productive? Wouldn't that maximize both my creativity and overall happiness?

That's one thing I've been pondering... among many things. You see, I dont' want to get to my mid-life crisis and REALLY freak out when I evaluate where I've been heading all along.
I'd rather be fiddling with my compass now, shaking it about, looking at maps and thinking of places I'd like to go.

I'd like to really sense of who am I going to be the next ten to fifteen years and then try to stop being a random tumbleweed.
I want to emerge from this next decade being able to say without any regrets "I knew what I wanted and I chased it down."

To get there, I think I'd like to know the questions I should be asking myself and the scenarios I should be imagining as a means to figuring it all.
Like for starters, "WHAT MAKES ME HAPPY."



Jan. 1st, 2010 01:20 am
plumgirl: (Default)
*kicking 2009 in the ass*

Thank goodness. It's over.

Resolution: Just say No. Set Boundaries. Travel MOAR. Love MOAR.

and now I close down 2009 entries yaaay
plumgirl: (ginko-eyeball)
I have always wondered about men who persist in holding on to a hair of head and implementing what I call "the ridiculous swirling combover"... but I think what really surprises me are people who go so far as to try to replace that hair, but then resort to some rather bad fake hairpieces. It is sometimes a sort of charming denial, excusable to some extent, but there are occasions when denial of aging is extremely foolish and passes as ridiculousness, then of a level to evoke pity, before evoking utter disgust.

One always assumes though that most people have some sense, and that the worst of the lot exists only in the land of TV or bad novels. Typically there is but one type -- the man who wears what can only be ascribed as "a carpet."

However, sometimes reality is weirder than fiction. There is a middle-aged man nearing (I believe) the half-century mark who lives somewhere in my community. Over the past two or three years, we've exchanged "hellos" as I've gone to empty my mailbox of its usual diet of shopping circulars and randomly missorted mails (which bemuse me to no end). I've grown accustomed to seeing the shockingly inappropriate black hair perched on his head, traitorously clashing with his aged face. On some days the traitor wig flops. On a day like today , it sits perched on top of his head , looking a bit like hair would if the man was electrocuted. The toupee looks as if it is almost ready to fly away.

While normal people apparently have good hair days and bad, this man seems to be always in the midst of a bad fake hair day. It would be humorous if it were not for the fact that it is so awful that one is not sure exactly what to think.

While I walked back to my car, considering maybe I was living in a David Lynchian type of scenario (where Kyle MacLachlan might suddenly appear out of the bushes and midgets began to dance), I tried to understand this existence. How can such an absurdity persist?

Some possibilities

1> This is the work of over politeness. Strangers would certainly point out trailing sashes on coats, but never a trailing hairpiece. Friends, if the man has any, don't feel as if they have the right to reach up and simply adjust the rogue toupee. For many years this has gone unremarked, to the point that the man really has no appropriate idea of what works and what does not. Somewhere in this mix, I consider that the man may be socially isolated, and has no concept that he has aged, or how toupees should be properly worn.

2> This is a reflection of poor self-monitoring. The toupee speaks to something off in this person. It is not colored appropriately for the man's age, and as far as I can tell, he never had black hair, or if he did, it was gone more than fifteen years ago. He holds on to it, though, but isn't self-aware enough to realize that it always put on incorrectly, and is not attached very well. (From the way it has flopped around in other encounters, I can see that he probably has it glued but precariously to whatever real hair is left.) It is a reflection of either an extreme sense of vanity and a wish to hold on to youth (to the point of ridiculousness) or a symptom of mental incapacities.

3> This holds a much more nobler meaning. This could be a person who find some symbolism or hope in the rebellious toupee , like a person who might have lost all their hair due to cancer and is holding on to it for dignity. In this case, I would not be so perturbed by the way the toupee is worn, and probably should politely point out to this person that his hair is about to jump.

4> This is the work of a very funny person who is laughing his ass off at the fact that no one is pointing out that hairpiece is so wrong and awful that he might as well be wearing macaroni glued to his head.

At times I wonder why I find people (and their toupees) so intriguing, but the psychology behind vanity and aging amuses me so much. I would like to say that this obsession over appearance and aging is a distinctly American business, but after having observed some rather funny Korean women up north, I daresay that all people seem to be afraid of getting older.

Whatever it may be, I'm still rooting for the toupee. I hope that one day, it flies away ;)

EDIT: AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR TO ALL OF YOU IN CASE I DON'T GET TO WRITE A PROPER COUNTDOWN ENTRY TOMORROW! I will be probably hiding a good portion of messages from 2009 starting tomorrow (after all, it's out with the crappy old 2009), so READ THEM ALL TO YOUR HEART'S CONTENT, NON-LJers!

plumgirl: (Default)
Millions of snowflakes falling in the dark night
Each its own crystalline star
Passing lightly, wandering down to the waiting earth
Where they must inevitably dissolve and return to nothingness

Posted via Journaler.

plumgirl: (Default)
From somewhere above you ;)

Posted via Journaler.

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