time to write

I was thinking about writing
surprise, surprise
and I looked in my calendar, you know, because of some reason I had been thinking that
"soon I'll have shitloads of time to write and I can start working on bigger projects"

and then

haha surprise b*tch
wont have _any_ time to to anything ever
and that was so depressive.

But then again, I think that I do too much and I think I can start doing less

hooray for doing less!
hooray for less stress!

because

I W A N T   T O   W R I T E

and my head is full of amazing ideas that need a pencil and a lot of paper. And a lot of pencils.
yes, that's the key
give myself yourself time
and good things will happen
amazing things
creative things

and I will be travelling a lot, near somewhere here and also far
Nanowrimo is also coming soon (in like one month), I really look forward to it, because that's a month when I'll prove everyone, including myself, that I can write 50 000 words and more, even if I'm going to be doing a lot of other stuff too at the same time

haha well hello, hello burnout

ok no, I know my limits and I know that I can do this!

(this line is for the moment when I shouted out loud "that's the spirit" and high-fived myself)

one of my absolute motto's is - (severe cliche warning)

I you want to write, the y o u  are the only one that can stop you

yes.

it's time to start writing. now.

and we have become lazy again writing this blog.


franceska.

morning mist

morning mist

hit by my fist

couldn't leave it open

all my windows broken

morning songs

dirty thongs

the radio's broken

and my heart is frozen

inside my lungs

a little soul hung

dangeling with it's feet

made of burned meat

matches and beer

crazy thoughs are seveare

lit my heart on fire

every electrical wire

another misty morning

made my life boring

go to sleep again

and find another friend

angie

pencils broken left to bleed

another phone call
can't take it anymore
a man on the street
screaming to his lord
     keep on walking
     see the sign
     keep on talking
     you're always next in line
            fourth day of fall
            I fell down on the lawn
            broken legs and broken arms
            turn on all my alarms
                    find me and combine
                    salty tears and wine
                    a man on the street
                    never down to their feet
                             take my money I don't care
                             stupid words never scare
                             well chosen life
                             my savior in disguise
                                        late nights all in vain
                                        ever given nothing but pain
                                        woken up to disaster
                                        well hidden game master
                                                  I have always been wrong
                                                  sometimes been too strong
                                                  a man on the street is dreaming
                                                  in his nightmares always screaming
                                                          another written letter
                                                          it couldn't get any better
                                                          waste my paper anytime
                                                          everything you do is fine
                                                                 receive my words from the world behind
                                                                 behind the walls no one can find
                                                                 on a nice lawn I'm lying
                                                                 actually rather be dying
                                                                          to be honest
                                                                          life is shining
                                                                          the man on the street is lying
                                                                          a book fell down on my head
                                                                          painted my hair red
                                                                                     no wonder I don't go outside
                                                                                     no places where to hide
                                                                                     a world left without my wonder
                                                                                     ready to go under
                                                                                               fell across a nice day
                                                                                               no one took my beer away
                                                                                               woke up on the lawn
                                                                                               during the last days of fall
                                                                        sometimes I wish I'd run away
                                                                        run away and then
                                                                        forever stay
                                                                        a man on the street is waiting
                                                                        his life now forever hating
                                                              to quit is an option waiting
                                                              never to be found faking                                                                                                                               pencils broken
                                                              left to bleed
                                                              never ever to be seen                                                                                                                           a greater writer to be heard
                                                      and more lies written by a bird
                                                      broken and tired still never seen                                                                                                                   these lines written by me
                                                      in my attic a new dark fiesta
                                                      these lines are written by franceska

my simple excistance

been doing it all but still been doing nothing
ran around and hurt myself and others by simply existing

tried to reach out for them
but I was too scared
a secret big enough
not a crime still rude and rough
to weak without them all
the first days of fall

I started feeling sick today and stepped aside
people asked me what's wrong and then wondered why
I said it's going to be alright but I wanted to cry

she offered me a helping hand a pair of listening ears
but didn't want to talk about my fears
I felt rude but I knew
if I had started talking there would have been a lot of tears

a messy stomach a messed up head and a fucked up life
with great liars in disguise

- angie

the perks of beeing creative

Are you usually tired after 10pm? Do you often look forward to get to your nice and comfy bed and fall asleep for a nice ten hours? Do you like the feeling when you can relax and stop thinking? Do you like to sleep after a long day? Do you like to sleep after a long day of writing and creating? Don't you love the feeling of coming up with a good idea? Don't you love it when after a tireing day you get the best idea of the century just as you are falling asleep? Isn't it wonderful to get all the ideas in your head in the middle of the night and you need to sit the next four hours and write them down, so that you wont forget them? Don't you just love to loose all your good nights sleep? Don't you think that 4-6 hours of sleep is enough to keep you going? Every day? Do you feel like screaming to your brain to time the creative flows a bit better? Don't you despite the fact that your're ruining your concentration skills while awake love your midnight letters and rhymes? Do you hate that you love it?

And do you still keep on doing this?

Yeah, me too

Thomas

first day of september

suddenly it's fall

never woke up at all

first day of september

woke up

still november

crawling out 

still no sun

there's no doubt

I wont run

create one's dawn

too lazy overall

late nights to remember

here forever

always december

suddenly it's fall

we've gone too far

first day of september

one last day to remember

woke up

wont surrender

until the last day of november

franceska