My Locus Amoenus

Sanctuary

This is in response to the Daily Post’s Word Prompt for Sanctuary.

I haven’t been around much, I know. I apologize for this, sophisticators. Things have changed in two year’s time. I have much to say and not enough pairs of ears, or rather eyes in this case. Anyway, this post is to be dedicated to the daily prompt.

So you’ve probably heard about the Locus Amoenus, right? It’s Latin for ‘pleasant place’. In fact, it’s rather more of a landscape. Now, we all know how much I love the trees and nature (a lot), so with that in mind it does become my sanctuary, but in reality I do believe my Locus Amoenus is within me…or rather in my mind.

And sometimes when I don’t follow my own thoughts, I often hear chimes in the back of my mind…as if coinciding with the strains of an angel’s harp. A nocturne plays and I find myself swayed over the borderlines of reality, a vast inception that exists deep within my imagination.

I am untouchable there. You should be too.

 

 

 

 

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The Irish Giant.

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I wish I could allude to some sort of past glory days, but the truth is I’m probably too young for that. I don’t have some amazing tale about living through the 70’s or about my voyage across the ocean. My salad days were running through the trees and pretending to make salad with my best friend. That and re-watching Toy Story to no end.

Either way, my salad days are pretty much entirely bleak. And there’s definitely no dressing on that salad.

They remind me of the stories I read about the boyhood of Fionn Maccumhail. He used to run around the forest too, but least the animals would chase him back. He’d run with a thorn to prick them with and would catch ducks under water by snagging on their feet. If you’ve never read the Boyhood of Fionn, you truly are missing out on some decent Irish storytelling. The book will make you realize just how impure we all are in our lives today.

Anyway, there you have it. My salad days and the boyhood of a legendary Irish giant.

Salad Days

Putting Yourself on a Map

I wish I could say that I lived someplace special. Like Iceland or Maine. Everything seems to happen in Maine. Have you ever read a solid teen fanfic book that wasn’t based in Maine or on the other coast of America? It’s strange really. Something about dense fog and rain draw those teens right in. But what’s more interesting are the lighthouses. Why, pray tell, do those things never get any recognition? They’re clearly symbolic too. Perhaps because the protagonist is too daft himself to realize that innate symbolism behind it. Or rather the author. Perhaps because it’s too beautiful.

What is this life, really?

It’s gorgeous. I adore it. I live in an elite city, I’ll tell you. And while I’m too young to be amongst the young professionals that scour through the city, I certainly am amongst the ones who are trying to make it. I live a good life from the outside. I have a strong family, an amazing pair of older siblings, one brother, one sister. I live in a glass building. I tell you, when I was a little girl I always imagined a house of glass for myself, never thought I’d grow a pair and move to the city to live in a condo of glass. That’s symbolic too, considering I’m holed up in here most of the time.

My past is something out of a story. Ixnay the odd supernatural inclusion and yeah, my life pretty much was a good teen read. I don’t like dwelling on the past. Something about it restrains me from moving forward. But I’ll put it down here just once, so you get it.

I lived in a small town known for growing peaches. I’m dead serious. There’s a pageant every year for Peach Queen and almost always the most popular girl at my high school would attain the status. People knew you in the community. We only just got a Wal-Mart Super centre (I prefer the old place better) and one of our old historic monuments was an ice cream shoppe. There are trees, everywhere. And a beautiful escarpment to go along with it. This is where I fell in love with nature. This is where I fell in love with trees and the classical things. I developed a taste for the finer things in life to go along with that first love.

My second love was writing. I started when I was ten. I hadn’t even noticed, realized even what I was doing until it became everything I thought about. Years later, it may not be the only thing I think about. But it is up there.

There are only two people in the world that I would kill for. My sister and my best friend. I’m not cold by nature but I was brought up in a strict household. Affection…I never realized it until i got older, was hard for me to come by. Mostly because of the setting I was in. And fixating on one thing to love is difficult at time. I fall in and out of love with everything and anything at a moment’s notice. But the one thing that remains constant is words.

I had loads of friends growing up. That wasn’t a problem for me. But it wasn’t until I hit high school that I realized I hadn’t a close friend. Clue in the one person I could never get tired of. She’s a genius. We’ll call her…Amelia, for identity’s sake. Amelia is the smartest person I know. Intellectually. She’s working to become a cardiologist. How the hell we clicked, I wasn’t sure. The closest thing I have to love, probably. She moved away in the twelfth grade. We wrote letters, Skyped, called each other often. But eventually things waned. They’re waning even still. But I can’t imagine any one else taking her place.

I have another best friend aside from Amelia, her name is Heather. She’s been there since I was six and will come up quite often.

My sister, Gracie, is a Human Resources Coordinator at her old university. She’s five years older than me. She raised me. I owe her pretty much everything. Also, she’s my roommate.

My brother, Viktor, is a dispelling character. I don’t know how to quite describe him. A sophisticate to the tee, I suppose, for it was him that influenced me to acquire such delicate tastes. He’s not all that refined himself, but he’s clever. Up there with Amelia. He’s finished up his university with a degree in material engineering. He likes intelligence and other models. He gets in with his model friends and high-status parties. He once met Scary-Spice (this apparently made him cool) and has never worked a day in his life for the belief that he should be worked under.

My parents are traditional. They taught me to be humble, respectful and honest. I swear by them all. I’m always thinking: Perhaps I’m not too humble. Perhaps I can be more respectful of others. Perhaps I need to sugarcoat some truths. But also, I disagree with my parents on just about everything. They wanted a small life for me and that will not be the result. They came from a small country and ‘enjoy’ a humble life. They’re a touchy topic and hopefully will not be brought up for the most part.

I am creative. I write, paint, sketch, take pictures all with the hope that some day I can figure out what makes something beautiful. I’m obsessed with finding it. I look toward models and fashion spreads for this reason. I study the nature of people and the actual environment. It drives me mad. Sometimes I can’t sleep with the thought of it. That there is so much I crave to see and for it, perhaps I’ll never settle down in my life. Because I can’t ever imagine just being with one person, one beauty and ignoring the rest for the whole of my existence.

I can’t.

That’s why I have books. Write books. To imagine this beauty and put it on paper. Because somehow, for some odd reason, I don’t think I’ll see it in this lifetime. So, therefore, one can only imagine.

First Post

First posts are to be basic. Direct. Explaining exactly what I’m here to offer.

How about an escape?

In a nutshell, for one cannot exactly think of the multitude of offerings they have to give at a moment’s notice. The reason for this blog is to connect with people. To share dreams by the means that I know the most–through words.

I love words.

I have a real penchant for them as well. I write. Though, you may never see my true work. The reason for this is that I plan to make this blog personal. About myself. Tethering written works with personal accounts allows for a muddled image of what the work is. It cannot receive it’s full potential by this notion. It will be omitted then.

I tell you, I write critically, as I am a critical person. But I am at no means serious. I like adventure. I adore fantasy. And I truly believe that a day can be made better by picking up a book and sinking into a couch with it.

I drink Pike roast. I listen to Chopin. I love fashion and books. I’m 20. I study the environment, and I have absolutely no map in my head for where I want to go. I’m a young woman. And as all young woman can probably relate–I just wish to find myself.

I wonder who will follow–if anyone would follow. But know this: I choose to share myself with you. You can ask me questions and I will answer. Why? Because it’s another way to branch out.

You can follow me on Instagram @asophisticate. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, you know. So by that, I suppose I say a lot on that stream of social media. Hell, I might even follow back.

On that note, I’ll end my first post and the real blog will begin.