I go to sleep and dream. About Breakfast.

Because its morning and I need coffee.

Rice. Raclette. Roast something.

EAT.

Apples are ok too.

Kit kat is divine.

Fish for something in your larder.

Appetite is crucial.

SHhhHhhH. Don't chew so loudly.

Tell me. So what did you have for breakfast?

In search for the perfect breakfast. 

Picture credit: Google images

Naturally, I found other brekkie nuts.....

My favourite breakfast loving blog http://simplybreakfast.blogspot.com/ so far.

And the journey continues....

Its still 10.20 pm in the States. ( I am going back in time)

Artist: Melissa NKonda

Title: Nouveaux Horizons

So i started listening to French radio recently in a desperate attempt to improve my french. Savourer! 

Hello. I am a few stalks of dead.

Its that moment when a guy walks in with a single rose an asks a girl to prom.

   OR

Its when someone places that bit of white instead of going goodbye, and for a brief moment, the world stops.

                        OR                     

Its when some random relative is sick and u send a 'I really do care' bunch ( Not really)

      OR  

Its when you run out of ideas and positive compliments. 'Here have a flower'

    OR

You saw spring and decided to share it.

    OR

You were bored, saw some, plucked some, dropped some and left a mess of petals behind.

Note: Simply put, this was borderline cheesy and I decided to SHARE some amazing pictures instead. 

Collection: Flowers

Artist: Megan Ong

Look, I am not a sunflower.

HOPE YOU FEEL BETTER: The accidental twin

You are the thorn, believe it.

The pink disease is contagious.

Lily, you never noticed me but...

The secret scent was purple.

Cheesy quote of the day: Flowers are dead but inspiration lives. 

SERIOUSLY, When I saw these photographs I was inspired.  (Hence, the attempt to name these beautiful pieces of art). The dead stalks of life do have a purpose, they invoke happiness.

STEPS TO TRUE HAPPINESS:-

1. Click <http://www.flickr.com/photos/64145024@N03/>

2. Let ur eyes INDULGE.

We are all typical. Deal with it.

So, I was just casually youtubing (yes I am sometimes bored like that) and found this video on 'The World's most typical person' A presto! at 1:05, I realized I wasn't the worlds most typical person ( yay me!). Yes, I am not commonly known as a 28 year old man of Han Chinese decent. BUT then again, you have to watch the rest of the video because hell, wearealltypical. You, me and the rest of the creeping 7 billion people.

Weird, You are in my top 25 song list.

Artist: Sufjan Stevens

Title: Casimir Pulaski Day

Note: So the mood of the day is kinda slow and listening to my playlist, this song reminded me of a few things:-

Dictionary.com

A swirl of dirty clouds appears in front of you. Dizziness, that faint moment when you feel like all the world stops and darkness is about to consume you. Pulses, movements, screams. That pierce. And a piece of you shuts off the sounds. All you see is you, your legs shaky from some concoction you tried to swallow but couldn't. And the fumes take you over. You're being pushed, not the gentle kind you feel on the beach when the end of a welcoming wave bobbles. And the sweat, the heat. Its not yours. And you hear a sound, an interlude of sorts. Everyone else is drunk but you, you're not in the moonshine, you're listening to music. And the lyrics are real. 

"I have no particular talent. I am merely inquisitive" Albert Einstein

We all know Einstein was a genius anyway, and now we know he was humble? Bless the springs on his ingenious oversized brian!
On a more serious note, Lets begin this Chernobyl Of An Explosion.

Artist: Megan Ong
Title: Around the world

Steps to mass destruction:-
1. Click link
2. Vote ( Click "awesome")
http://photobucket.com/ibeatyou?entry=1761579

Reasons:-

1. Picture This recognizes its contributors eg. talented photographers, artists, wtv :D

2. The au natural juxtaposition of it is intriguing,captivating, amazing, remarkable,incredible,astounding, mind-blowing, extraordinary, unbelievable...... [ok I'm out]

3. The artist ( Megan Ong) is a humble bumble Einstein loving person ( subject to truthfulness). In other words : SHE IS TALENTED. 

Listen, learn and maybe whistle a little ( just for kicks)

Title: Good life

Artist: One Republic

Its one of those lightbulb moments when you hit the play button and the song of the moment falls into place. Or maybe you have been taking too many happy pills. 

Note: Hello to random thought of the day. "Music is life" or something corny like that. 

A piece of humble pie.

Artist: Anna Sawin
Source: Google images

Its hot outside. Gloom forgot its place and sitting in the middle the fat sun munching away at the cloud of white as it waters down the golden crust. Crisp. Between the nooks, inside and over and a tinge of yellow, creeping, golden emulsions. A spectrum of light. And the drumming stops because all is still as the apples watch (in the sidelines). It is their fate: To be sliced, stuffed till they cannot comprehend, stuffed till dizzy with nostalgia. The life of an apple. The fanatical metamorphosis as life slices its way into thin, condensed strips, our memories dissected form the whole. Our whole. The minds of philosophers, scientists, of the office boy, the shop girl in the corner street. A piece of the whole, a slice of our minds: A humble piece of pie. 

<nom, nOm, Nom>

Note: In occasion of father's day, I decided to post a significant something my father holds extremely dear (besides mum). Pie and its happy bringings! Happy Father's Day, Dad!

When in doubt, say cute. Really, please do.

Artist: Megan Ong
Title: Cute

The simplest speck of white against a sea of black is clearer than it seems. It grows across. Embedded in the depths of the mind, the fullness after a wholesome meal. C.U.T.E is not a description. Maybe the cuteness that comes with the tinge of black orgaming its way like an incurable disease. It is black against white, the stereotypical imperfection of ying and yang. The inability of flight against the will of collective survival. Huddle. Now.

Note: First ever entry! Thank you, Megan Ong. 

I hear screams too.

Artist: Edvard Munch
Title: Skrik (The Scream), 1893

Dear Fanatic,

I got hit by a train (I am convinced). I hear footsteps. Concussion. The word stretches like the Nordic Sea, across the lips of its speaker: the doctor? I am not sure. My vision blurs and swirls, the colors mix. Red and blue. Red and blue. And yellow? Confusion. I hear footsteps, the clank of expensive shoes against moldy wood. The cracks and endless, limitations. My ears shut, the scratches. Imagine: Folding Styrofoam. Tracing your freshly filed nails on a chalkboard. Plastic chafing. Continuous repetition as the images move faster and faster. Until a silent pose. Smooth, fragile porcelain (A figure of speech). Then, at final glance I hear. 
The Scream. 

Note: The click of a photographer’s camera lens is a defining moment. It captures. It remembers. It speaks. Pictures seduce us. Words intrigue. A concoction of that sort is lethal; some pictures whisper, some whistle in the wind. And some, if looked closely enough, scream. Capture and share. Send. picturesquescript@gmail.com 


photo credit: google images