I advise you not to click on this button:

'Tis my first attempt at publication. It's very bad, let me assure you. I certainly wouldn't have bought a copy were I not the author. There are at least three pages with quite shameful typos. But hey, for a good idea of what not to do...

A Bright Sort of Dread & some poems.

To be fair, my dog Sierra liked it when I read it to her. Though not so much as the Spanish dictionary I've spent many an hour reciting. I have nothing more to say for myself.

Faretheewell folk,
-Talthea (12/2/06)

I like finding the infrequent, tiny stick in what I eat.

I wish there was some way to sensation without needing a presence that can only degrade an experience from its purity. It is unfair; the pristine moment will be relentlessly diluted only with self-awareness, worse yet, awareness of that moment's purity. These things cannot contribute to a beauty so beyond them and they seek for it to come down, into comprehension, and thus separate from divinity. I am guilty of these things. It is the injustice of existence that I can be no other way.

Still, here I sit in slight melancholy, indulging in the pensivity it creates and exploiting all that I would prefer to deny entirely. How can I be called 'hypocrite'? This eager irony is the reality we've come to trust. The question remains: when one becomes acclimated to the truth of living contradiction is it then that the two can agree? Or else has that one become a thing shifted? Perhaps my point has failed and I am a liar either way, though not ever because.

There is this for consolation: I find that sometimes I must pay close attention in order to consider the effect of my body language. It is not embodied yet, this suspicion of self, and seeing remains preferable to being seen.

Unless just the consequence of a crowded solitude.

Faretheewell folk,
-Talthea (10/7/04)

Oh but the wincing melodrama will have you yet.

I know a girl called Agitated. She deserves unceasingly to be soothed, as it is her purpose. There is another, her counterpart, and she is known as Distracted. We hold no hope for her, though of course she cannot know this.

And such is the weight of their existence.

The view from this angle seems to me so much like perfection that it must spill over into another's. Any lack of evidence for this can still be overlooked. The most loyal of questions, thus, remains, "How far?"

A veces i believe the world would find sudden supreme beauty if its whole stock of shoes vanished. The earth could be felt once more, as readily as ever. The tender feet of a person could unhide from him that the way to travel is slowly, so that again he would see.

And it will be as if the blinking has finally stopped.

Faretheewell folk,
-Talthea (9/3/04)

I remain a silly girl.

I'm feeling more readily the threat of completion. It came to me on the wings of a moth.

Tonight i walked slowly so as to keep my eye on the concrete. I knew for real that i could be consummately satisfied to see nothing but the passing of the sidewalk for the remainder of my life. I had been wrong all along: there exists in me no need. I am not in waiting.

It seems sometimes so clear, and so clearly impossible to explain. Everything must be awed by all that it sees. I find my breath distracting in its stubborn constancy. It refuses my eyes.

In witness to my surroundings i know of God. If all that He's given to us is good, than that which is bad is ours alone. It's where i have an absence of fear. Still, as true as we are the creators of our terror, so have we become the makers of beauty. It is obvious even so close as in the irony of our dread of evil. Whatever can leave me damaged is enslaved by my will...

but none of this is mine to evince.

Faretheewell folk,
-Talthea (8/22/04)

Jessie Anne Grooming Services will hardly deliver.

An hour until my birthday. Two until i must go into work for manual labor. The latter takes up much more of my attention, though the former has claim on my concern.

I spent the majority of my day off today scouring the land for books bearing the name Evelyn Lau. The Chinese-Canadian writer has dropped into obscurity and proves time and again to be as elusive as my most brilliant of thoughts. She has recently become an obsession for I and a notable companion of mine, not least of which due to the ease at which the woman articulates the distinct trouble of obsession itself. She remains a figment to us, and will therefore be pursued again.

I saw a man last night as i walked my dog at 1 am. He rode a bike as aimlessly as i stumbled, with a stray gaze and a pipe between his lips. He turned to me and grinned as he rode past my expectations and i. I think he heard me singing.

Faretheewell folk,
-Talthea (7/20/04)

As smoldering coals freeze beneath my feet.

Days ago i walked to the beach and someone spoke to me. He was a man that might have been homeless but just as easily not. He stood at the other side of the street and i approached him as i crossed.

A mile before i had picked up a piece of trash whose path i crossed and i had been holding it crumpled in my fingers for an awaiting trash can. I think this is why it happened; I think God wanted to acknowledge me.

My headphones were covering my ears so i didn't hear him at first, but as i increasingly smile at strangers to have their eyes for one moment, i saw his lips move. In a deliberate motion the music fled my ears.

'I said do you know how beautiful you are? Has anyone told you how beautiful you are? You really are, i just thought you should know.'

I told him my name and put my hand out for him to shake. He kissed it instead and told me his. I thanked him for saying such a thing and then i left. Behind him and at the edge of the beach i finally found a trash can.

Faretheewell folk,
-Talthea (7/10/04)

4:32 am is way too something or other.

I should make sleep a constant. Though i won't.

If i could only make it a habit i might not succumb to such tempting imaginings at all, but as of yet it remains as one more thing escaping me.

But yes: tired i am. I really can't focus on anything else. Oh yeah...

Faretheewell folk,
-Talthea (7/3/04)

Sorry, not drunk; just tired.

I avoid eye contact at all costs.

See, what's wrong with me is this: I lack any and every experience of the social kind so that the smallest thing feels so potentially intimate that i shrink from it. Meeting a person's eyes can send my heart into a frantic state. Not unpleasant, but definitely unreasonable.

It's amazing to me now that i've gotten used to a lack of human physical contact. I notice intensely when i'm brushed against, it happens so rarely. I find an unrivaled sweetness in the inconceivable image of a body next to mine. Only just touching.

I am lack. (Bah.)

Faretheewell folk,
-Talthea (7/2/04)