Notebookery

The moon was a great big biscuit, hanging out in a purple sky and I was two eyes, two legs and one persistent, pumping heart, streaming through the evening air with Yellow Betty. Purple jeans, yellow headphones, blue backpack, green shoes and defiant grin. The universe conspired and its truths were revealed to me.

I learnt everything I know from movies. And books. And trains. I know a lot of things. But I only know these things that I know. Come to think of it, there is so much I don’t know. Here are some things I know.

Drinking chocolate milk makes your hair brown, coke makes you gay, but eating crusts never curled anyone’s hair.

The number of men carrying flowers on trains increases exponentially on the eve of mother’s day.

Trees liked to be climbed, it’s like getting tickled. They weep when you cut them because they can’t run away. So they rain down leaves instead.

The best way to see the world is through a kalidescope, it tells no lies.

Everywhere we look there are white lines. Close your eyes, open your mind, your heart will follow.

We are tiny. Absolutely miniscule. The universe is huge. Like huuuggggeee. But some days I feel almost as huge.

God is just one way of accepting your powerlessness. It doesn’t work. I’m sorry.

I would be suicidal if I believed in heaven.

The reasons life is worth living are manifested in brief but ecstatic moments of sheer happiness.
You have to trawl through a lot of average and below average and downright horrid days, but it’s always worth it. Always.

The music of my heart sings a song no one’s ever heard in its entirety. I firmly believe that if anyone ever does, I will spontaneously combust. I hope to disprove this hypothesis.

This world will probably turn me into a bitter old spinster before I’ve ever been young and happily spouting love and sonnets like a teenage teapot.

My hands are at ease in my pockets with their lint, pen lids and sand. They get cold on their own.

My love of clashing colours is probably just my intellectual rationale for bad fashion. Deal with it.

The theory of all things has been overtheorised. My brain has a theory, it’s called post-post-post theory.

I avoid contradictions like the plaque. But they are never far away. They haunt me. They want my soul.

Birds. Their offences against me are various, but I hate them because they can fly away, flutter high in the air with no destination at all.

I have no idea where a single amazing idea begins. It’s more amazing to see where it ends up.

I want love to win. I want to change the world. I want peace and I think we can all agree here.

If I can’t break the mould, I can at least jab at the edges. And learn to blast down walls.

These are my whispers against the roar of the world; they are the facts of life... or they are the random scribbling in my notebook... I can’t exactly remember which.