Folksy Easter *4th April 2010*

Missed another Folksy Friday due to being super busy. So instead, I did a search for egg-related goodies on Folksy, and here are my faves.

Theme this week is 'eggs', duh!

Okay, from top left:
A gorgeous necklace made from real quails eggs, blown then filled with plaster.
Chocolate egg bath bombs. Lush!
Cute egg necklace.
Chocolate-scented egg candle. Genius idea.
A beautiful handmade porcelain egg, assembled in a deep frame. Really delicate.
I wish men could get away with wearing bonkers hats, because I would SO love to wear this bird's nest one!

Happy Easter/Pasg Hapus everyone.

Buy 'em quick before they go!

Quick update

Shit Easter not made better by loads of chocolate. Done some gardening, still have to dispose of Christmas tree from year before last (I said I didn't want a bloody tree), at least the weeds are dying after I sprayed them, might even keep the pooping cats away from the garden.
Beers last night, watched random mish-mash of jumbled up films: Lord of the Rings (new and cartoon), Derek Jarman's Glitterbug (again) and bits of Blue, and episode of Moonlighting, some Moomins, and flicking through channels.
No texts or calls except from my Mam who's on holiday, decided to go to Ammanford in the day, but was too short notice to drop in on people and checked bank balance = not going anywhere.
Stayed in instead waiting for weeds to die and stop choking my garden.
Man coming to see Simon's room next week, he is a playwright - he's the coolest sounding person to have answered any of my adverts. Hope he likes the house and me.
Been drawing my crafty presents for John, Zann and Sarah. I don't want to give too much away, but John's is green, Zann's has some green, and Sarah's doesn't. I'm so cryptic.

Not sure what Jesus did at this time. Did he ride somewhere on a donkey, or get up after being dead? Of course Easter / Eostara is a pagan festival anyway, so let's go with that. I'm happier being a moon-staring hare anyway (though I do love chocolate).

Pink Easter Eggs

I’ve been making forever sunburn. Gripping hands let go, slide, weaken and grab again. Hiss of egg. Not molecule by molecule, I’ve got a pair come undone, and I draw them again. Your breath in mine. Membrane against membrane, under spit. Eyelashes graze my cheek, scar, I’ve had a busy afternoon. Somehow soaring, hand invisible to the naked eye. It takes such way a chicken does, but constructing touching skins invading, pink on pink. Soft fingertips, scanning soft pink. Your needing lines in myself, inner wall, then coat that with several layers and again. Whisper, and you of minute tweezers, the ends are so tiny they are whisper, and you breathe. Keep breathing, moving closer but firmly touching. Ragged, take weeks to put together the perfect egg and patterns over hissing skin. And everything is pink. Numb, clean, pink. Long time to create the perfect shell. You first have to build the soft I love my work. What upsets me though, is of delicate harder molecules, brighten their pale colour to a nice blue, or flesh pink. The effort and concentration required is enormous, it can be. I hate my work being misunderstood, especially by those who create. I’ve been ridiculed for it, naturally, accused of spending too much time on pointless projects like this one. I don’t care, I break. The one I’m currently working on will no doubt be smashed back when people can’t understand the egg. They think it is invisible, or a castle made out of a thousand molehills baring angry, red knuckles will surely crush my construction into more than a million smithereens. Smash eggs of their own without even realising. Those eggs are always the prettiest, and the hardest to give up. Perhaps then I will give up egg-making, perhaps I will try something less complicated, like love. Smash into molecules by the first red plastic hammer that walks past it. The first white fist.