Diaryland

Weimar

July 15th 2001

I remember a place
Where blue sky adorned an innocent breeze
and i fell in love with boredom
as though i'd never felt it before
I remember a place
where tales were told in the echoes
of unspoken time and mysteries unfolded
only to be lost again
I remember a place
where music invaded my ears
in a church somewhere in Germany
and I felt what i had forgotten
couldn't put a name to it,
if I did it would exist.
I remember a place
where my heart will lead to
carried on a fleeting dream
through ancient realities and
sweet uprisings of my soul.


Gillyflower
9th June 2002

hey gillyflower

i found this in a diary of mine. i wrote it last year while in germany. Imagine this: its cold. Id been travelling alone for three weeks, and id just arrived in Trier from Cologne, where i visited Robert. I had no jacket because up until the 1st of september it was warm and sunny. I was bored, and broke and really seeing the beauty in life......so have a read..will you put it on a webpage for me? when you have time of course. Use your imagination, let my writing inspire you..i cant wait to see what you come up with.

1st September 2001, Trier, Germany

Sitting in this pretty place, behind the palatial residence in Trier, I read a violently graphic American Psycho, its language a stark contrast to the bubbling water of an artificial lake. An icy wind wispers at the back of my neck, the hairs prickling and tickling until I feel it all over. Several statues of white frozen figures dot the end of the lake adding an essence of regality to the young trees between them. A beer garden is at one end, its holidaying customers laughing boistrously over their german cusine. Ducks sun themselves, clean themselves and preen themselves before curling up, sleeping in the vanishing warm sun.Tourists hoard around the front of the palace, taking photos and staring, perhaps at the white cherub branding a golden gun.The American Psysho sits by me on this white bench, his black cover with gleaming knife threatening to destroy the serenity of this garden. Some people sit in other benches, between other statues along this small artificial bubbling lake, canoodling or resting their feet, taking solitude from the obligation of strolling through busy saturday city streets. The air smells cold, i contemplate returing to my room, dangerously isolated with the cunning American Psycho. The sun appears, but from where? the sky is still a murky grey.

i read this and remember writing it so clearly!
Love ya heaps, Nicole
hey this is the second time youve been my inspiring webpage guru!