Bristol

Oct. 21st, 2016 03:01 pm
picosgemeos: (Montanhas)

I'm failing at this Save Livejournal Month... been a few days without updates and now I'm heading to Bristol for the weekend and won't update again until, probably, Monday.

Anyway. Have yourself a lovely weekend! My boyfriend and I are celebrating 18 years together tomorrow. I think it will involve tapas. ❤️

picosgemeos: (Montanhas)
The beautiful season.#victoriapark #fall #autumn #london

He runs in the park on weekends. The sunlight pouring through the red and golden leaves brings a silent thanks to the universe for letting him be alive and healthy.

He takes a bath in the dark, just a small white candle for company. He calls upon all his dead ancestors, and even a few pets, to watch over and protect his family.

Then he lies on his bed and watches the clouds speed east. He sends a silent prayer to the ones he loves, wishing for them complete happiness on Earth and that all their dreams may come true.
picosgemeos: (Montanhas)
Young and old.#victoriapark #fall #autumn #london

He wakes up to the smell of coffee and the sound of his boyfriend in the kitchen frying pancakes and bacon. After they are done with breakfast, he looks outside and thinks: “it’s a writing day.”

He types handwritten notes for a few hours then showers. As a reward, he gives himself a walk through Victoria Park.

He stops to eat a bagel on a bench facing the pond. Each tree warmed by autumnal light begs to be photographed. A passing old man watches a young couple kissing in a rowboat.

One day, he realises, he will only have memories.

Question?

Oct. 14th, 2016 12:33 pm
picosgemeos: (Montanhas)

As part of Save Livejournal Month, are there any topics you'd like me to write about, or questions you'd like to ask me?

Please leave a comment and I'll write a LJ post on it.

picosgemeos: (Montanhas)
Sidewalk Oracles: Playing with Signs, Symbols, and Synchronicity in Everyday LifeSidewalk Oracles: Playing with Signs, Symbols, and Synchronicity in Everyday Life by Robert Moss

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

In the movie The NeverEnding Story, a boy accidentally ends up in a mysterious bookshop, where he borrows a book without the owner's knowledge. As he sits in an attic reading the book - which tells the story of a warrior on a quest in some fantastical land - he realises the book is aware of him, and speaking back to him.

My experience with this book was a little bit like that. My boyfriend gave it to me as a birthday gift because he knew I had an interest in synchronicity (or maybe the book "fell" on him in the bookstore? This is apparently a very popular "starting" point for synchronous events.) As I started reading it, a few topics discussed on its pages happened to be random topics I was already reading about elsewhere.

Robert Moss paints the world as a place filled with symbols that are waiting to speak back to us, if only we'll pay attention to them. Then, what we do with them, is a matter of how creative we want to get. Moss' style is conversational, very easy to read, and the book has plenty of exercises to activate synchronicity in your life.

I decided to play one of his games by asking my Spotify playlist a question and letting a randomly selected song give me the answer (or guide me, as Moss would say). The song that came up was Madonna's "Cherish", with lyrics which actually fit perfectly what I was asking. Just as I was listening to the song, going down Camden and paying attention to its lyrics, I walked past a young woman dressed like Madonna circa 1980s. From then onwards, other coincidences started to appear related to that song (mostly to do with the song's reference to Romeo and Juliet). I'm not really sure what it all means except, perhaps, that the universe has a sense of humor (or maybe it's just our own mind's comedic power when it focuses on something?)

View all my reviews

Hard

Oct. 12th, 2016 09:57 pm
picosgemeos: (Montanhas)

Updating LJ every day is a tad difficult.

Judy

Oct. 10th, 2016 08:39 pm
picosgemeos: (Montanhas)

"Beauty fades, dumb is forever." - Judge Judy

Broken

Oct. 7th, 2016 06:59 pm
picosgemeos: (Montanhas)
I may take my laptop tomorrow to an Apple approved repair shop so they can tell me what's wrong with it. I may have to continue Save Livejournal Month via my iPhone. Grrrrr.

Crash

Oct. 4th, 2016 08:48 pm
picosgemeos: (Montanhas)

Oh joy, my laptop crashed - again.

I've had it for nearly 10 years, without any problems, but ever since the Apple alerts cropped up that they wouldn't support its operating system anymore, it's all gone to crap.

I've done Utility Disk operations tonight. Hopefully it's workable tomorrow, or can accept a restore from a backup.

#OldSchoolLivejournalPost

picosgemeos: (Montanhas)
A bit of silence and contemplation after work. #victoriapark #london #autumn #fall

Springtime, he brings up the bucket inside the well. He looks inside, sifts through what he can find. He’s alive again, ready to work.

Summertime, he falls in love with life. It’s beautiful outside, there’s too much to do. He sets his writings aside.

Then autumn arrives. The shortening of days, the falling leaves – his pen and papers call to him. So many adventures to record, stories to tell.

But autumn doesn’t last long. Suddenly, he’s mired in bleak winter. Nothing better to do then but sit by the fire with a pile of books and wait for spring again.
picosgemeos: (Montanhas)
It's that time of the year again - the time where I try to post every single day in October and (almost) single-handedly save Livejournal.

I realise I'm overdue a proper life update. A lot happened this summer - some of which is too private even for Livejournal - but hopefully in the coming days I'll be able to share some of the news with you.

I'm currently sitting in my living room in East London, watching rain lash down on Victoria Park. I'm leaving the house in a few hours for a birthday lunch in Camden. All my shoes have holes.
picosgemeos: (Montanhas)

Image by One Jam Tart

On the walk last night from Hackney Wick station to the Olympic Park, I thought to myself: “this will be my new routine.”

On the bridge above the River Lee, a hooded man followed his dog’s gaze over the moored narrow boats. In the distance, inside the Copper Box’s lit up layer, people ran on treadmills and stared at the darkness.

Cherubs hovered in the Copper Box’s reception area, dressed in green uniforms; they handed me a form and asked me to wait for one of their colleagues in the café.

Twenty minutes later: a new member of their gym.
picosgemeos: (Montanhas)

Silence!

I've made my decision on what my book club will read next.

Elena Ferrante. Your elegant novel set in Italy is a charmer from the very first sentence. I've already started reading you on my daily commute and even noticed fellow commuters doing the same. I can't wait to gobble you up honey.

Shantay, you stay.

Joan Collins, Emily St. John Mandel and Ottessa Moshfegh. There’s no doubt in my heart you are three fierce queens who will set book clubs around the world on fire. The stars shine brighter tonight thanks to your beautiful words.

Now sashay away.
picosgemeos: (Montanhas)

My colleagues and I are addicted to the falafel takeaways on Peckham Road.

My favourite is Lebanese Express: I like the cook’s friendly smile and how he picks herbs leaning out of glasses of water to sprinkle them on the hummus and salad wraps.

My vegan colleague prefers the shop a few doors down – she says their falafel is moister. I tried them for the first time today and thought they were OK though a tad too spicy. However, I didn’t like the way the owner bossed around the woman working for him.

I only have half hour lunch breaks.
picosgemeos: (Montanhas)
Commute home.

Eastern European builders often travel in pairs. Young Dantes shown the sights by careworn Virgils.

Their fingers are stubby, lined with cuts; their fingernails are dirty. They unashamedly dig into their noses and scratch their crotches. But when they laugh, their smiles are white.

They share jokes in their tongues, usually about some stranger in the train. Beautiful women bring on moody silences though; they search the floors for something to look at.

Some travel alone, don’t have a buddy from back home. On the streets, they carry cans of beer and walk upright; they never look to the sides.
picosgemeos: (Montanhas)

Image by Tom Cracknell

A bus ride on a Sunday afternoon, to meet [livejournal.com profile] sushidog for a coffee near the Round Chapel, where she’s helping her sister at the East London Vintage Fair.

The 308 comes to a stop at the garage. The driver slowly stands up and stares at me and the other passenger left inside.

‘That was the last stop.’

‘The bus said it was going to Clapton Pond,’ I reply. ‘We are not near a pond.’

He grudgingly shows us the way out – a path that borders the busy and dangerous Clapton roundabout. He then runs through traffic and nearly gets hit.
picosgemeos: (Montanhas)
Piccadilly tube line, London

London’s trains are filled with Eastern European men.

Shaved heads, boots, paint stains, tools, backpacks, mobile phones with mind-numbing games, beer guts that give away their spare time. They are building homes they can’t afford to live in.

I never see them on the way to work, only when I return – they must start earlier than me. Sometimes they sit on the train’s floor and sleep between their arms. Or they look at fellow passengers with an edge to their stares. They are the kind of men who smoke out of boredom.

How often do they call their loved ones?
picosgemeos: (Montanhas)

Image by Stella Wisdom


With the theatre’s lights back on, I spotted my boyfriend at the back with a brasilian friend: they had arrived just in time to hear me read.

I said goodbye to the poet Fergus Evans – the Awards’ project manager – and decamped to a pub next door.

Five pints in hand, conversation bloomed over literary nights – long gone and in our future – and the impossibility of owning a home in London (that inescapable topic.) I promised them I’d wear contact lenses if I ever did a reading again; I promised myself I’d read all of my work aloud from now on.
picosgemeos: (Montanhas)
Reading from "Walkmen" at Creative Future Literary Awards last night.

The first two rows were reserved for the finalists and judges.

One by one we were called on stage by Lemn Sissay, our names projected behind us. Every writer was so comfortable on stage, as if they’d done it many times before.

Finally, it was my turn. I walked up and gingerly thanked the audience. I read Walkmen. When I lifted my head for the first time, glasses slipping down my nose, I was surprised by the attentive faces. I even intentionally drew a laugh towards the end.

“Well done,” fellow finalists said amidst the applause when I re-joined them.
picosgemeos: (Montanhas)
Impossible Things, the anthology with my short "Walkmen", plus some other goodies from last night (a postcard from writer Maggie Gee, a card from @neenaw59 and a free course with Creative Future.)

We returned to the Free Word Centre’s reception area for a short champagne-flavoured intermission.

Maggie Gee carried envelopes with all finalists names on them, mine on top. Inside, a postcard of a black cat and two men on a canoe carried her impressions of my story.

Friends soon arrived: [livejournal.com profile] naturalbornkaos and [livejournal.com profile] neenaw – two published authors who had thanked me in their books – and an acquaintance who I jokingly requested represent her workplace, the British Library, at my reading.

The third lucky charm, my boyfriend, wasn’t there by the time we were ushered back inside the theatre for the finalists’ readings.

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Ollie

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