A poem! A wedding!

A pal marries himself off tomorrow and I'm working on a ridiculous card/gift. No real value but my care and time. 


To plot the story of this gift I needed some rough paper and so I picked up this notebook and browsed the jottings inside. 

I found an old poem in this old notebook. It looks like I was practising and decided a recent tattoo was inspiration:


Imprint the body granting rare insight,
the soul - an artist - paints a fleshy plight.
A cycle like a life that death retorts,
Inscribes it's mark on body; my report.


The back of this notebook contains a ripped, glossed and folded magazine page from a French airport magazine. It shows one of my favourite photographs in the world Le Stryge by Charles Nègre: 

Combined all these clues somehow make me feel that life is not to be controlled. The most one can do is preserve what one enjoys and pursue what one loves.

Also one should create as many sentences with indefinite, formal pronouns as one can. It will make one sound more important than one is.

I don't feel hopeless or in any way negative after this brief mental journey. In fact I feel refreshed and at peace. Like a big fat Buddha.

On with life and the recollection of clues we leave scattered in our wake!