Blackberry Stone by Laura Marling

Well I own this field,
And I wrote the sky,
And I have no reason to reason with you.

I'd be sad that I never held your hand as you were lowered,
But I'd understand that I'd never let it go.
I'd be sad that I never held your hand as you were lowered,
But I'd understand the world does what it does.

You never did learn to let the little things go.
You never did learn to let me be.
You never did learn to let little people grow.
You never did learn how to see.

But I'd whisper that I love this man,
Now and for forever,
To your soul as it floats out of the window,
To the world that you turned your back on,
To the world that never let you be.

And I am lower now, and Laura still,
And you did always say that one day I would suffer.
Did always say that people get their pay.
You did always say that I was going places,
And that you wouldn't have it any other way.

But I couldn't turn my back on the world for what I like wouldn't let me.
But I couldn't turn my back on the world for what I like, I needed.

And I shouldn't turn my back on the sweet smelling blackberry stone.

Doubt

'A woman was gossiping with her friend about a man whom they hardly knew - I know none of you have ever done this. That night, she had a dream: a great hand appeared over her and pointed down on her. She was immediately seized with an overwhelming sense of guilt. The next day she went to confession. She got the old parish priest, Father O' Rourke, and she told him the whole thing. 'Is gossiping a sin?' she asked the old man. 'Was that God All Mighty's hand pointing down at me? Should I ask for your absolution? Father, have I done something wrong?' 'Yes,' Father O' Rourke answered her. 'Yes, you ignorant, badly-brought-up female. You have blamed false witness on your neighbor. You played fast and loose with his reputation, and you should be heartily ashamed.' So, the woman said she was sorry, and asked for forgiveness. 'Not so fast,' says O' Rourke. 'I want you to go home, take a pillow upon your roof, cut it open with a knife, and return here to me.' So, the woman went home: took a pillow off her bed, a knife from the drawer, went up the fire escape to her roof, and stabbed the pillow. Then she went back to the old parish priest as instructed. 'Did you cut the pillow with a knife?' he says. 'Yes, Father.' 'And what were the results?' 'Feathers,' she said. 'Feathers?' he repeated. 'Feathers; everywhere, Father.' 'Now I want you to go back and gather up every last feather that flew out onto the wind,' 'Well,' she said, 'it can't be done. I don't know where they went. The wind took them all over.' 'And that,' said Father O' Rourke, 'is gossip!''

But what happens at 5 o'clock?

White morning. Clear and pure. A beautiful sight to behold. I caught what my third eye couldn't and it was a wonderful catch.
I moved my bed next to the window. How can I be miserable when the first thing when I open my eyes is see heaven?
I put my favourite books on the windowsill. How can I be miserable if the first thing I breathe in is understanding from people I’ve never met?
I put some photographs of my favourite place on the wall. How can I be miserable if the first thing I feel is everlasting content?
I put my friend on the floor next to me. How can I be miserable if the first thing I hear is the sound of laughter?
I let my lover next to me. How can I be miserable if I’ve spent the night awake in my dreams?

Purple night. Dirty in it’s hush and vulgar in it’s sounds. A cold to reach each fingertip. I caught what I had to so I would never have to say this again.
I moved my bed next to the window. How can I be happy when the last thing before I close my eyes is see a starless and unforgiving sky?
I put my ashtray on the windowsill. How can I be happy if the last thing I breathe in will be my death?
I put a clock and a calendar on the wall. How can I be happy if the last thing I feel is the time running out?
I put my enemy on the floor next to me. How can I be happy if the last thing I hear is the sound of mockery?
I let my lover next to me. How can I be happy if I've spent the night a thousand miles away from him?

There is no me

My most recent lesson was this- just because a group of people agree on something, doesn't make it The Truth. I shall stay true to myself. As stubborn and as true as I am.

I've been hitting rock bottom for many months, but my feet haven't touched the ground for ages.




Olematu laul

Ainult õhk on me vahel, nii puhas ja hõre,
Et üleni päris sind näen.
Ent ses õhus on ees valgest kaugusest võre
Ma kardan, et sirutad käe

Ja tuuli vaid tunned, sest mind ju ei ole.
Tuul on kõikjal ja tuules üks lind
Sulle laulab, et midagi muutunud pole.
Ära taipa, et polegi mind.

Minu juured on kevadet ootamas mullas,
Ise lendlen kesk taevast ja lund
Vahel helbena suudan su juurdegi tulla
Ja sa näed minust heledat und

Kuid tuuli vaid tunned, sest mind ju ei ole.
Tuul on kõikjal ja tuules üks lind
Sulle laulab, et midagi muutunud pole.
Ära taipa, et polegi mind.

Ära püüa mind kutsuda, valjusti hüüda-
Ma ju kuulen, kuid tulla ei saa,
Mind ei ole veel olemas sinule nüüd
Ja endas hoiab mind külmunud maa.

Sina hellita tuuli, sest mind ju ei ole
Tuul on kõikjal, hell sinine tuul.
Ära kutsu mind, niikuinii sinuga olen
Lumehelbena sulan su suul.

[Leelo Tungal]

Why tell the truth when it's easier to lie?

I have died a few deaths, but this one was physically close. Somehow I managed to trick my bad luck and wasn't beaten to a bloody mash of myself. Not sure how I'll overrun time and coincidence in the nights yet to come though.

People don't like me any more.
And all I write is..

paragraph of Dirt:

Years passed and I became one of “them”. I couldn’t see any more. I stopped noticing things outside my important world and would only take in as much as necessary. Dead pigeons didn’t cause shock or curiosity any more. Red cars didn’t scare me. As I became one with the city, my thoughts turned into a mass of dirt and I was painted gray.

paragraph of Mr Lonely:

Martin Lonely was a lonely man. He was short and grumpy, brown-eyed and miserable, boyish and protective. He didn’t make friends easily. Truth to be told, he didn’t make friends at all.

paragraph of Idiots and food:

Now leaving out the people who fainted, the bruises and other minor injuries, the two heart attacks and the guy, who somehow managed to lose one eye, it was a happy and successful day between the washed out blue walls of the bland supermarket. People didn’t fight together, but they did fight for one cause and it was the best cause they could’ve ever fought for- sugar. Besides, it was on discount.


Brakes and Bright Eyes will tell you about me.

"I'm gonna tell you why it is that I drink my days away
it's cause the beer helps the cigarettes go down
and I'm gonna tell you why it is that I cry my nights away
it's cause the tears help the memories come out"

"I spent a week drinking the sunlight of Winnetka, California
Where they understand the weight of human hearts
You see, sorrow gets too heavy and joy it tends to hold you
With the fear that it eventually departs
And the truth is I've been dreaming of some tired tranquil place
Where the weather won't get trapped inside my bones
And if all the years of searching find one sympathetic face
Then it's there I will plant these seeds and make my home
I spent a day dreaming of dying in Mesa, Arizona
Where all the green of life had turned to ash
And I felt I was on fire, with the things I could have told you
I guess I just assumed that you eventually would ask
And I wouldn't have to bring up my so badly broken heart
And all those months I just wanted to sleep
And though spring, it did come slowly, I guess it did it's part
My heart has thawed and continues to beat
I visited my brother on the outskirts of Olympia
Where the forest and the water become one
And we talked about our childhood, like a dream we were convinced of
That perfect peaceful street where we came from
And I know he heard me strumming all those sad and simple chords
As I sat inside my room so long ago
And it hurts that he's still shaking from those secrets that were told
By a car closed up too tight and a heart turned cold
And I went to San Diego, the birthplace of the summer
And watched the ocean dance under the moon
And there was a girl I knew there, one more potential lover
I guess that something's got to happen soon
Because I know I can't keep living in this dead or dying dream
And as I walked along the beach and drank with her
I thought about my true love, the one I really need
With eyes that burn so bright, they make me pure
They make me pure
They make me pure
I long to be with you "




What happened to the fields of gold?