its beginning to look a lot like christmas

with the nutcracker playing outside dj's, santa's driving buses through the city and starbucks' pretty crimson christmas cups, theres no excuse for me not to get into christmas early this year. plus, the department stores of this crazy place had their decorations up in september! SEPTEMBER i tell you!

therefore due to popular demand, i have decided to post my christmas wish on cafejodie. some of these are unfulfilled reoccurring events, while others are new due to new circumstances and new releases. In addition I have a wish list on Amazon which lists all the books, movies, n music i have an inkling for .

...so the list begins

small salad spinner
mortar & pestle
grater/zester
queen bed sheet set
room fragrance diffusing sticks

harry potter 5 dvd
justin timberlake crazysex|lovesound concert dvd
Australian ballet season tickets
Body Shop new vanilla &/or ginger bubble bath
Emporio Armani's Diamonds perfume

Marie Claire Zest, Flavours, or Spice
Womens Weekly "Cook"

A Poison Tree

I'm reading a Phryne Fisher detective story by Kerry Greenwood at the moment, and this has led me to rediscover a schoolage passion of mine - the poetry of William Blake. Now I'm no goth, satanist or super christian, but the language and imagery of Blake just gives me the shivers. The first poem I ever read was A Poison Tree in The Songs of Innocence (1789) and Experience (1794), which dealt with the innocence and joy of the natural world, advocating free love and a closer relationship with god, and then the loss of innocence after exposure to the material world and all of the mortal sin of adult life. The thing I love most about his work, is his imagery. The short sharp but perfect lines of flowing rhythm and the almost nursery rhyme feel. His poems taunt, warn, comfort and advise all at once, twisting the way a mind contemplates good and evil. The second best thing is his art. Every poem comes on a plate illustrated by him and glows with the patina of time. In the same rustic way that pieces by William Morris touch me in their hand worked perfection, Blake is the same - just a hundred years earlier.