Still here. Still moving, still slowly - at least regarding everything that has to do with universities and money-making, two things that would I could help this world they would never be even losely connected.
I got a couple of clients, finished the projects, got paid; now I have to find more [ - [link] is one of these projects, take a look if you please].
In a couple of weeks I'll most probably start a semester of History of Art lessons in order to be accepted in the MA I have chosen to do [in History of Art] after I'm done with them. I wasn't accepted as a Graphic Design graduate, my degree [BA(Hons) Graphic Design, that is] wasn't considered relevant enough. So, six months of extra HoA credits. I hope it goes smoothly. I don't want to lose more time, and even if I did, my parents would be really unhappy about it, so... [Again, writing, learning, travelling, dreaming, teaching others, adventuring, none of these things counts as time spend wisely, right? It's all clasified as loss of time - hey, maybe my good ol' nickname (the Queen of Loss, I once was) has not yet expired. Maybe I'm in the business of losing time now.]
But there's more. I have an amazing singing teacher; I wish I was an amazing student myself, but it appears I have sang too many different genres to be at ease with the simplicity and beauty of what's called "the classical technique". I meddle with my voice too much. I'm compelled to do things with it, and thus I don't leave it be. I cannot just breathe in, then breathe out and let go of a sound that is nothing else than my body, I can't let it go out there as pure as it can be. Yet. I'm trying to be stubborn here, you see. As far back as I can remember myself, I sang and sang and sang my heart out, exactly like I wrote I wrote I wrote my heart out. But I was taught grammar, and spelling, and syntax, and they became like breathing to me, while I wasn't taught how to leave my voice be, and reach the audience out there, and not just little me in my little room... Hence the wings when it comes to writing, and the weights on my feet when it comes to [physically challenging, with no microphones and such] singing.
Where were we? Ah, yes, stubborn. No, I won't quit unless my brilliant teacher tells me there's no hope for me. And if she does that, I will leave Herr Bach alone, and I will sing folk, neofolk and Smurf songs just because my heart has to be sung out somehow, and I respect and love Herr Bach and his comrades too much to posthumously torture them like this. [Ah, I knew this would be the moaning kind of journal!]
And now let's move to the good stuff. For example, *themonosandal is good stuff. It can't get any better. Sharing your favourite tea and beer with your ex-archnemesis, knowing that said tea and beer are her favourites as well, knowing that this assortment of things in common along with wrong timing, insecurity, immaturity and fear [Hail Youth!] was the reason she became your archnemesis to begin with, that's also good stuff. Snow is good! Spending a few special, fight-free moments with your mother in your house-in-the-village is good, despite the fact that you have no grandparents anymore... Kisses are good [better than wisdom, remember?]. Enjoying all five senses and a little bit of a sixth is good. This losing time business? Good, if you ask me. Watching movies and being able to let tears flow? Good. Polyphony? Excellent. Acquaintances turning into friends and friends turning into sweeter friends? Excellent. Getting an SLR camera as a present by your love after all these years of wanting one? You know the answer already. "Jeux d' Enfants"? Great, but I prefer love to live forever my way. Dancing alone with one [or two] hands waving free? Answer this for yourselves.
Atalante out.
~
.Travellers.
[
~
[Sola fide.]












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"Do you want to know the art of living, my friend? It is contained in one phrase: make use of suffering."
- Henri-Frédéric Amiel.
ευχαριστώ πολύ πολύ για το fav
θα σας δω απόψε;
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"et tu serais aimée de mes amants et courtisée par mes courtisans..."
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Magan S. Edinger
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"Do you want to know the art of living, my friend? It is contained in one phrase: make use of suffering."
- Henri-Frédéric Amiel.
Τόπος συνάντησης και γνωριμίας των Ελληνίδων και Ελλήνων του deviantART στο Facebook.
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~ Join J.R.R. Tolkien Fans ~
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"et tu serais aimée de mes amants et courtisée par mes courtisans..."
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"Do you want to know the art of living, my friend? It is contained in one phrase: make use of suffering."
- Henri-Frédéric Amiel.
[link]
enjoy
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