lewis carrol will not be pleased.



Dear Mad Hatter,
Take me by my hand, and lead me through Wonderland!
Let me join your party, and let us be merry.
The Red Queen is harsh and rather mean, hard to please.
But I am sure that your syrupy words will soften her almost instantly,
And we shall have her tarts for tea.
So many sweet things, luckily diabetes hardly occurs in dreams.
And in the end, I wish I never had to leave Wonderland.
Shall we stay here forever?
Just you and me, and our company.
What nice tarts from the Queen of Heart.
- an excerpt from the mind of one not too far away.


Austen,

I s'ppose all I'll ever do is write short stories to you?
Ah, how I long to do something more...shall we say productive?
Now that I have loads of free time on my hand.
Your dear writer is on Chapter 6 of her novel!
There's still 23,000 words left to be added
to this painstaking task of accomplishment.

Can one go mental from not doing anything productive?
I find this terribly frustrating as I have all these thoughts
up in my jumbled mind
but no way as to rearrange them neatly into words
that you may understand me.

I leave you now with model dreams.
Yes, I still long for that. I do.
Farewell, my friend.
I'll see you soon.

Jam tarts and candy floss!
Just something to feed your brain, a bit.
How 'bout some mint candy with a chocolate center?
They taste much better than mint filled chocolates, they do.

My horse will turn into a seahorse; my cat into a catfish



Oh! How the ocean flows
How it's waves crash magnificently
against the large boulder rocks
Why do you keep me here?
I yearn to be set free!

I hide tender secrets
deep within me
of mythical creatures
with tails for legs
and tentacles- one, two and three

They drown me with incessant thoughts of
"Oh, I long to visit the land,"
Where they have skin instead of gills
and strange things such as hands

But I like it here, in this nice blue
where it's gloomy and cold
Be gone my child, I shall miss you so,
Oh! How the ocean flows.

A Boekbinder's Twisted Tale.



Monday's child is fair of face (narcissist)
Tuesday's child is full of grace (a little stiff)
Wednesday's child is full of woe (whatever)
Thursday's child has far to go (get out)
Friday's child is kind and giving (sucker)
Saturday's child works hard for a living (overachiever)
But the child that was born on the Sabbath Day
Is blithe and bonny and good and gay

I'm so angry
and, oh, how I cried
Why, oh, why do I have to be
Wednesday's child?

Austen, I present you a storytelling song.
Pray, aren't you a Wednesday's Child?

Another one for Austen.


I s'ppose every time I read your blog,
it evokes a sense of longing in me.
A longing to write, a longing for the good things.

I imagined munching toast today.
A slice of wholemeal bread toasted crisp for 2.5 minutes,
the a heavenly spread of peanut butter
before I fold it along the middle and take a huge bite.
It pains me to admit that I am that hungry yes,
but I've only got 15? days to go.
And that's 25 days without lunch, mind you.

I've got another half hour to go before
I can put solids in my mouth.
Hush now stomach, you will soon be fed!
Ah, look at me, talking to one of my dear internal organs.
I must be loony, indeed.

Ain't long 'till we meet up again, dear one.
I don't think December's that far away.
But for now I bid you adieu,
and I quote you:
Suddenly, (I) just want a hug. One that squeezes out the breath of me and crushes my ribs.

See? That is what I admire about you.
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