hello darkness, my old friend.

I've come to talk with you again.

peace.
-lise.

extreme ways.

I'm so obsessed with Moby right now. BEFRIEND THE WEEKEND.

peace.

-lise.

grey ice water.

better late than never?

Pardon the terrible lighting and horribly lame jokes.

peace.

-lise.

sometimes I don't realize that I'm talking to myself.

I think we all possess, aware of it or not, an instinctive desire to create. And not necessarily to create for creation’s sake, but as a way to discover who we are. When we create -- be it paintings, poems, buildings, bread, metaphysical theories, or music -- each stroke of our pencil (or what have you) is actually an enchanting attempt to transform fleeting glimpses of the subconscious into tangible things that we can see or hold and say, “This is a part of who I am; this is me!”

When we stifle this need, we are depriving ourselves of… well, ourselves. We can’t cling on to that old excuse; “I won’t be any good at it, so I might as well not even try.” If you feel you must create, then you must create. You must create without the uninspired eyes of a critic and instead with the hungry binoculars of an explorer.

Probe the vast oceans of your soul and search for those answers that belong to questions you never knew existed. Toss aside the preoccupation with perfection and just dive into it with the spirit of a toddler leaping into a McDonald's ball pit. In the end, it’s not about the creation, but the creating.


peace.
-lise.

mad rush.

the world keeps spinning
and everything seems to be
in a mad rush.
I keep watching, seeing, missing.
slow down! I plead,
there is too much beauty
to behold in a single spin.
I need a freeze frame; a suspended sky.
in a dream it paused for me
and I stared, confused.
the splendor had faded away.
I awoke the next day
stretching, stifling a yawn,
my eyes boring holes
in the ceiling, and in the walls.
perhaps the beauty was in the mad rush,
after all.


peace.
-lise.

lost at sea.

peace.
-lise.