Twisted Hearts And Darkened Soles.

With twisted hearts and minds alike.

With darkened soles they stroke the night.

Imperfect lives in perfect bodies

Immortal lives in mortal dreams.

With forgotten unknown pasts, they haunt our dreams

With an unquenchable thirst of the body and mind

for knowledge and beauty, in art and science,

A thirst of the body of rich think pure flowing blood,

A unquenchable thirst for those with twisted hearts and imperfect lives.

The stories of old and new we combined, 

creating the illusion of beauty within fear and darkness.

Stories of eternal romance and passion. 

Hiding the rage and loneliness, with this, unquenchable hunger, and thirst of knowledge and beauty.

They find them selfs with in a world with those with even more a twisted hearts and darkened soles then themselves.

© sarah patel 2015

NoteBook Of A girl. Entry #5

The white light of day, with its cold blue sky and fluffy white clouds stretched to upon the canvas like a posing naked girl.
The traffic of the back streets of the city limited to the those how know them well. The suits, the workers and the lost travellers on a quest with bed directions. The sound of stationery traffic, echo off the ancient brick,  the impatient beeps and shouted words, lost on foreign ears.
Holding tight to a mug of hot strong brown tea. The heated vapour reaching out in to the cold early afternoon air. The radiating warmth making my fingers and palm feel like summer heat.
Standing watching passers by. The odd lost tourist with bags and iPhones trying to re-find themselves.
Wrapped up with a hood pulled up of the over sized black hoodie, looking like a teenage goth or a teenage Emo all in black, standing by the wall with tea and a cigaret in hand as groups of people walk past.
A smile and a nod from one of the guys that work in the same building, yet I could not tell you his name.
The summer came and went so fast, now here I stand outside work freezing my butt off for a fix of nicotine to get me through the next part of the day. A group of five men wonder and stop out side of the door beside me, placing their bags on the floor, and stand and wait with clip board, pen and paper. Hat scarf and gloves. Is really that cold or am I coming down with something?
An old paved road of uneven bricks, with puddles of water, runs down the centre, parting the building with narrow paths, wide enough only for two people to walk side by side.
Unanticipated  when laid how quick and busy this city might become.
An un predicted future of technology and of life that now traffics these streets.
A puddle of oil and water catches my eye, a rainbow below my feet. dose i mean buried treasure lays in waiting below these cobbled lane. Like a  ‘X’ marked on a map of treacherous seas and un mapped islands

A sip from my white mug with a “Don’t Ask, I’m On A Break” hand written with a sharpie and oven baked to make it stay on its side.
I feel the hot tea slide down to my stomach, making me feel warm all the way through. The smell of McDonalds from a brown paper bag of another that I work with enters the back door, with the bag in one hand and a drink in the other and a back pack on his shoulder .
A sudden burst of laughter comes from the door and four of the men that I work with come out and stand around me passing a green lighter around, each lighting their roll up.- for their mid day fix.
The five of us huddle together like a displaced, ill looking group of penguins all in black trying to keep a little warm. Yet I think I am the warmest with my over sized hoodie and them in their T-shirts jeans and work boots.
Work talk quickly turns to past stories and to comic piss takes of others that we work with past and present.
Jumping up and down with strange dancing to keep warm in jest at other as they began to roll in to the buildings back door
A small group ask directions I turn to face the wall as one of the group decides to be a drama queen while giving then directions he convinces them that he is someone and signs their map, as I stand silently laughing to myself and the wall, once a red brick building, but nows black brown, from the waist of the cites traffic.
With finished cigarets and cold hands arms and feet they slowly head back in to the warm leaving me with an almost cold tea and my thoughts. 
A white van beeps his horn at a group of people walking and standing outside the door to work.
The unimpressed face of the driver shaking his head at the rooted crowd lingering in his path. 
It makes me wonder what goes through peoples minds, their like rabbits caught in the head lights of the on coming traffic, on in this case the on coming driver who decides to slowly move forward down the narrow one way brick cobble road, almost like a cattle herder moving a brainless crowd of London visitors on to the paths.
Taking a mouth full of now cold tea, I tip the last bit upon the dark brick road, the cold light colour fluid flows quickly through the stone brick maze and mixes with the oil and water, turing the  rainbow to a watered down brown blue colour. No longer marking the Spot to the buried treasure at the end of a rainbow. 

© sarah jane patel

A Brand New Year. Me & My Filofax.

With the start of this year (2015) I have decided to try and be more proactive and organised with my blogs, Job hunting and well every thing.
Over the past two years every todo list, shopping list, and blog todo list has been put on a post it note or scrap of paper and 90% of the time they have been misplaced or put in my back pocket and yes, put through the wash.

Having three days off over Christmas I dug out my old Filofaxes. Yes Filofax’s I have more then one, in fact I have 7 personal planer size, one A5 size, as well as two A4 folders and two A5 flex Filofaxes all of witch have been used or still are being used.
I sat down and looked for refills and printable pages from the pintrest, goggle, and and sights. I ended up watching a load of videos on You tube of other peoples planers. Wow there are a lot of them, some of them are a little samey but all were good to watch. its a insight in to peoples lives creativity and personality, especially those how have blogs and independent businesses.
During my evenings between Christmas and new year I set about emptying my A5 Filofax and stating to set it up and organise it, so that I can keep track of my posts for My Visual Merchandising blog, keeping my portfolio pages up to date, shop reviews, scrap book photo posts, and all the other posts that i need to finish, start and update. as well as its linked Tumblr, instagram, Facebook, and Goggle +.
And for this sight, my blog posts, short stores, and scripts that I still need to type up.and all the other confusing random posts that I have in my note pads.

A Bit About My FiloFaxes.

I have four Domino personal sizes in Gold, Red, Blue, and Bright Pink. 

A personal size Mistral. 

A personal size Finsbury in Green leather. 

A Graphic Microfibre personal size in Burnt Orange.

An A4 Domino folder in Navy Blue.

An A4 Finsbury in Green leather.

An A5 Finchley in Vintage Rose leather.

Two A5 Flex in Black and Magenta.

The very first Filofax that I brought was a gold personal Domino Which went out on tour with me, holding my production todo notes, shopping lists, hotel and travel details, company, crew and cast details, and my train tickets. A long with my 99p store A4 ring binder holding the script and scores, these were my bible. 

I brought my Finchley in 2006 back in 2006 in Tk Maxx for under £25 (what a find). It has hardly been used as I used it at home keeping track of work and social events. as well as a note pad. when I moved it got put in the book case and forgotten about.
My Finsbury green personal, which I also purchased in 2006 along with the matching A4 folder went every where with me for a year then I slowly brought the Domino’s changing them each year until December 2012 when I decided to use a normal diary, to use as planer and blog planer but they soon became redundant, through the lack of space and the limitation within them.

In 2007 I started working as a Visual Merchandiser, where I ended up using both my Personal and A4 folder.
Over the next four years I used a personal size fo r day to day use, noting when and where I was working, travel details and any information if I needed to stay over somewhere.
Along with a one day per page 45 diary (also known as ‘the brick’ due to its side) which went with me. This had todo lists, event plans, window changes, department moves, mannequin changes, figures and any other information that I needed. 
As well as one of my A4 folders which had staff training notes and any other print outs that I needed.
(This dose not  include the year, month and day check lists and planers that were kept at the store.)
I wish I still had the contents to show as, If I do say so myself was immaculately organised on my behalf.

My Graphic Microfibre personal size in Burnt Orange (Again a Tk Maxx under £20 buy) I use as a address and Birthday book. A very simple lay out using the dividers it came with and extra paper added.

The navy blue A4 Domino folder I currently keep window designs of work and for my blog in. 
The two A5 Flex in Black and Magenta, I am using to keep a sketch book in and note pad, which stay in my bag, so when I am out and about and I see something I want to sketch or make a not off they are both to hand, as well s they protect the pads. I only take one out at a time so I switch between them depending on weather I am feeling girly or goth.
My A5 Finchley, Vintage Rose, I am currently setting up as my blog and job planer. and my old faithful green personal Finsbury as my general day to day planer.
The others are sitting happily on my shelf awaiting a job. Which I am sure I will find.

As of yet I Have not finished putting in all the pages in to my Vintage Rose planer, once I’ve filled it I will post the lay out, and weather It is helping me be more productive with the posting on my sights. and my job searching.

Happy New Year to all. 

Sarah. XxX

NoteBook Of A Girl. Entry #4

Starting at the darkness outside the window. the brightness of the rain carriage creating mirrors of darkness out of the glass,  a tired slightly drunk girl looking back at me.
A silent empty carriage no passengers  but my self sitting travelling. 
The beep of the intercom with no message. The sudden slowing as we pull out of the night in to the brightly li station. with the siding doors opening some get off and some get on, girls dressed up in dresses and and half the make up counter of Debenhams on their face, Boys in track sues and to much links. Not enough to to empty and not enough to fill the slow moving train heading back to the city
As we pull out form the station, a place of bright light in this alien place of vast darkness in this wilderness of the country side.
Looking deep into the blackened glass at the pitch black night with its moving silhouettes of trees and bushes and power polls.
The bright white moon moves every so slowly higher through the heavens. The cloudless night, cold and with stars like random diamonds stitched for eternity on the blue black silk of the night sky. If you look close enough, you can even make out the face upon the moon.
Yellow and withe spots of light stretch out of depths of stillness, growing closer making the motorway that soon will tack flight over the train lines and touching ground, twisting and tuning vanishing into the night, visible.
Suddenly from no where an explosion of gold and silver in-lights the the darkness of the sky, slowly falling. The cascading gold disappears in to the night.
Before long the sky begins to become alight with red, and green, gold and silver diamonds. silent explosions of enjoyment colour on this cold November night.
Yet all I can do is sit and gaze at the excitement in the sky.

Wrapped up warm in fingerless gloves, hat, scarf and coat. the smell of burning wood on the chinnery. Burgers on the Bar’B’Q the smell of burnt sulphur from fireworks in the air. 
A  sparkler in each hand writing names in the air.
The feeling within your chest of the exploding colours in the sky.
Another burger, more chips and squash. Another beer and glass of wine for the grow ups.
Childhood memories, remembered in each diamond cascade.

Lights of dazzling white reach high on the silk sky toped with red blinking waning light like a light house in the middle of the city. A warning for the sailing ships of the air.
I look up and down the carriage of what seams to be a ghost train absent of any other passengers. 
Destination somewhere. calling at all stations, including grief, depression, missed opportunities, forbidden love and a bad hair day.
Cannery wharf, for all those who commute and travel to London regularly it is a monument, a sign that they are now in Centre of the country. The home of the Bank on England, the monarchy. A city that all of those that travel far and wide to see think is spectacular For those who live within the boundaries of he London postal codes, is home, its hell, with the rude tourist, and un appreciating rich snobs. 
Pulling in to the station its mixture of old and new architecture, lights ass bright as day. With a deep breathe I step from the train to the platform, an unexpected emptiness for six pm on a week day. I head to the steps to the tunnel beneath the tracks leading to the exit. 
burning torches out front of the hotel a strange warmth feeds down to the pavement. The food van outside the underground still serving. The smell of onions frying drawing in hungry suits, and tourists. A slow moving crowd moves towards the stations to head home. 
for a moment i go with the flow then stop and turn and decide to walk. 
Fields of red, a flowing tide encircles the ancient stone walls of a prison and fort. Lit from above and lit form below the shadows of each of the fallen cast upon the stone. Flashes of light capturing the image to say I was here, that I saw.
A flash in the sky of falling crystal, dancing reflections off glass buildings of black mirror.
Heading in to the ground, the rattling nose of the steel cars and electric buzzing as the underground transport moves to a stop. 
Uncomfortable blue covered seats and discarded free papers and magazines, left for the next user to read. 
I pull from my bag my blue note pad opening it to the next blank page makes with is matching blue ribbon, pen in hand I began to write shakily on the rattling ride home.

© sarah jane patel