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Little Notes In Library Books XVI

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Windows are the eyes to the souls that pass by.

The small cafe, a platform of observation for the everyday voyeur to the hustle and bustle of city life.

Harsh winds and icy rain marr the faces of the concrete jungle natives. To long ago they bought into the cosmopolitan life and now pay the price.

The watcher chuckles at the futility of it all. The city will not remember their years of service. It will merely consume the next schmuck that dreams of the big city.

The cafe is warm and aromatic. A single shop, the last of its kind among the chains and franchises. None too trendy but perfect for watching the world go by.

The lovers hold hands and sip hot chocolate in matching grey coats. Muffled voices over the hiss of the milk frother.

Observing their happiness, the watcher smiles and returns to the window. Fast pace no time to waste go getting in the rat race.

Business and tourism combine to make a buzzing humming constant  drumming that drives the gentle insane.

The watcher by the window takes out book and pen. No wires and flash; just paper, ink and the eyes that see and hands that write the observations through the window.

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Little Notes in Library Books XV

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Pins and needles

The smallest prick of the skin

Sharp and direct

No one can see them so are they there?

Jab and withdraw

Some have it to an art

Precise and sly

More damaging than the fist

A remark, a retort

Chipping away at ones sanity

.

.

.

A tiger, a bear

Sick of the torment, the jabs the spikes

They know what it’s like

A reaction a defence

But it is them who take the blame

The horrified stares

The shaking heads

The judgement

And the label

.

.

.

Monster

Is it right?

Little Notes In Library Books X

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You are unique

Inspirational right? 

But are you?  

Aren’t you just like everyone else

You try so hard to be

You once didn’t care

A jolly laugh and scruffy hair

The phone that you spent your last penny on was once a cheerful plastic friend with a smiley face. He didn’t need to be upgraded. 

Fashion was just a word to explain the cut up doll clothes and marker pen makeup

The random spinning and frantic wiggling has been replaced with a dance confined to a half meter square and involves self discipline and just the right pose.

Yes I do believe we are somewhat unique at first. We are free to be 

But now?  As you take the seventy third selfie of the day 

As you adorn yourself with the popular fashion of the minute and force your hair to comply with what is on trend

Are you still as unique? 

And is it all as fun as it was when you didn’t even know what a hashtag was? 

What actually happens when you break from that group of clones? 

Nothing. You don’t combust or lose everything. You’re just fine 

No need to check social media. The trend today is whatever you make it. 

 The days hot topics don’t need hash tags and the food you eat is your choice not the most dominant “friend’s”

Don’t like that?  Gone

Like that?  Great! 

No it’s not uncool.  What does that even mean?  

Fun isn’t it! 

Now. Are you unique? 

If I knew Henry the Eighth

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If I knew Henry VIII I doubt he would find me impressive

He would wonder why my hair was so short and all different colours

He would enquire as to why I am 25 years old and unmarried

He would assume that I am barren as I have no children

The piercings?  “Why that ring through your nose is an adornment for cattle young lady”

At dinner, when I refuse to eat all the animals in the uk and send back the dairy he will undoubtedly accuse me of being an ungrateful little madam with no appreciation for the feast he had prepared

The post dinner entertainment would be more akin to a presidential debate or a fist fight. No doubt, I would argue my opinion ferociously and his majesty would have a heart attack at my shocking insolence and sheer cheek.

Yes. I think he’d rather like having me around ;P

(seems the times havent quite changed as much as we like to think)

Little notes in library books VIII

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Little notes in library books VIII

A word to the wise

The strong man is never as expected

The weaker may surprise

Not arms nor legs nor shoulders defined

Not a strong brow or piercing eyes

Strength has not a physical form

It sits deep within the chest

Its doing your best, trying against all odds

He who is strong is unafraid to love

to laugh, to cry, to play, to work

He takes it in his stride, quietly being solid

He may not be the loudest or the daredevil

he may be the carer, the supporter, the safety of home

But he is strong, he is always true to himself

He is everything to those he loves and they him.

Yes, physicality is also strength

but don’t discount all others

you may find you have missed gold while mining for iron

Little notes in library books VII 

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Tango  of Passion by Leonid Afremov

Tango of Passion by Leonid Afremov

Dance with me 

Hold my hands and lead me 

Press your body against mine

I am your canvas and you are my frame

Let us paint a picture of crimson and sienna 

Brush strokes that bring us closer

Every line in perfect synchronisation 

Dance with me

Paint a picture of love and rhythm 

Of desire and heat 

For this moment we are one 

Fleeting but perfect 

An innocent dance?