'tis a little corner for me...

[idky,]

her curly hair never tangles, her amber eyes glow with joy only when around the people she loves,
and sometimes not even then. she may either stand aside and keep quiet, or be the centre of attention while telling everyone about her last cause of happiness or distress; but at all times she observes and keeps everything that's going on in her heart and mind for later use. she may not want to admit it, but she's a hopeless romantic, and i know she'd love to know i'm thinking of her now. through thick and thin she will always be my friend.

[idky,]

this is an object i'm very fond of. it's a cilindrical bottle of perfume, not taller or wider than the palm of my hand. it's made of transparent glass as thick as any you would find in a drinking glass. its cap is of silver plastic though, and a finger smaller in width than the rest of the bottle. a white simple label runs along most of the circumference of the bottle, stating its chemical contents and where and by whom it was made, as well as including a bar code. on the other side it reads "monogotas" in silver, and below it, "vainilla" and "70ml 2.38 fl oz." in transparent.
this perfume i bought in asturias, spain, when i went there travelling with my aunt, uncle and their three children, and is part of a collection of several cheap perfume bottles which distinctive was scenting of something in particular such as melon, grapes, strawberry or as is mine, vanilla. it cost €2.75 only, if my memory doesn't fail me, but it is priceless to me.
since i've worn this perfume only the whole fifteen days i was there, every time i open this bottle all the memories of that place come back to me, as sweet as its scent. i can't help getting emotional every time i smell it, that's why i hardly ever use it. only about a quarter of the original contents remains in the bottle, and probably it will stay like this for wuite a long time.

[idky,]

cian leaned on his arm, not even daring to look at the time, for he just wanted to admire anne from afar. he was unable to actually see her but for a dark silhouette cut against the moonlit sky, however, he remembered what she looked like with such exact precision that she could picture her now as if she were under broad daylight. bony, yet with a full-breasted chest, to where her sandy hair reached. almond shaped and coloured eyed, curvy lips, a wide grin of slightly crooked teeth. sharp cheekbones and nose, though round-edged, and she smelt of fresh cotton and virginal naïvety, even though her rosy skin betrayed a tainted glow. and one wondered how could a mouth with a voice so dry also have a tongue so wet.

[idky,]

"i'd say!" ronnie chortled. "i'd have gone completely mad!"
"it's awful enough to have you half-mad as it is!" put in the middle brother.
"oh-ho-ho! he got you there!" applauded the eldest.
"oh, jolly well" shrugged the youngest "i did set up my own trap after all!"
it all was followed by a merry round of laughter.
at that very moment the cyclist that had almost run framton over made his appearance out the open window. he was an ordinary post-man, and out of breath.
"the man-!" he gasped "the man that just left! he's lying face down on the ground - i can't - i can't bring 'im to his senses!" having said that, he ran off again to assist the unconscious body, and all men after him.
"well, he did look pale as death." vera remarked mercilessly.
mrs sappleton silently took her hand. as cold as her skin was, still it must have felt warmer than her heart.

[idky,]

irish dancing is one of ireland's most famous traditional folk elements around the world. its recent success is largely thanks to shows like "riverdance" and "lord of the dance", that went touring world-wide with choreographer and lead dancer michael flatley in the late 1990s - michael flatley is usually recognised as irish dancing's most representative icon, his legs having been described by "friends" chandler bing as moving independently from the rest of the body. ideally when irish dancing, unless you're taking part in a ceílí, you must only move your legs and keep your arms as rigid as you possibly can. particularly in feiseanna, irish dancing has become increasingly more rigurous, and it is considered nowadays a discipline as strict, challenging and demanding as ballet dancing.

[idky,]

"brit pop" is a musical movement that started in great britain in the 90's. even though it is called "brit pop", it is a genre that is too "rock" to be called "pop", specially when it comes to its two most iconic referential bands, blur and oasis. these two were portrayed in the media as rival bands as soon as oasis made its debut album in 1994, even though blur launched its third album on the same year. the brit pop musical movement is considered to have ended with robbie williams' rise to stardom, even though bands like travis or coldplay are sometimes considered "post-brit pop".

[idky,]

one of the 80's most distinctive english bands is the cure, remembered for hit songs such as "friday i'm in love", "lullaby" and "lovecats". however, their debut album came out just before the beginning of the decade, in 1979. "three imaginary boys" stands out from the rest of the following albums in quite a few aspects - it is the only cd to feature a cover (jimi hendrix's "foxy lady"), it has a distinctively raw post-punk sound, and the bassist, michael dempsey, was immediately replaced by simon gallup for almost all of the cure's following albums. but perhaps the most striking thing about "three imaginary boys" is its cover art.
the album cover features a retro white hoover fridge, in between a lamp and a vacuum cleaner, against a pastel pink background, by far the last things you would expect to find in association with this often regarded as a goth-looking band. in fact, robert smith, the lead singer, wasn't at all happy with this cover art, particularly because it was changed just before the album's release, without his consent.

[idky,]

this is a millenial object which completion took almost two thousand years. it holds the greatest of powers within, but only those who will use them correctly have access to them. indeed many have misused or even changed this object throughout history for their personal gain, or used it as a justification for their dreadful actions, such as mass murder and material and intellectual empoverishment of the humble. however, when used for its purpose it is an object that brings enlightenment.
this unique piece of work was made by many hands, but all under the supervision of one maker. both maker and son have always been pleased with this creation and regard it as perfect. they have started using it even when it wasn't yet complete, and ever since they have used it as an invitation card for people to come to their home, among other things. and they still welcome lots of them every day.

[idky,]

i had just had a tête-a-tête with one of my closest friends, haley case, née jett, before it all ended up in tragedy. haley, who before marrying justin, a macho-type sun-tanned millionaire, was just a striving entrepreneur, now was an avant-garde artist that had to go incognito everywhere for fear of being caught on camera whenever recognised in the street. it was this what drove her insane and ultimately led her to a regrettable decision.
haley and i were in a café in the very centre of barcelona, where the typical siesta barely exists anymore, when our intimate conversation was interrupted by her worst nightmare. paparazzi were piling up outside against the shop's window, desperate to take pictures of her. my friend looked me straight in the eye and said she had to face them for once and for all. i gaped aghast while haley stood up and very determinedly walked out of the shop.
it wouldn't be an understatement to say that was a very kamikaze thing to do, for in fact, as soon as she was out she was pushed and pulled in all directions by the crowd. in so doing, one of the photographers accidentally hit her straight on the back of her neck with his heavy camera. the ambulance didn't arrive in time. she was dead in a matter of minutes.

[idky,]

as soon as you crossed the iron gates you found yourself confronted with mossy, laden stone crosses taller than you were. it was high evening, not too dark, but dark enough to justify a lonely narnian-looking lamp post being lit by the side of the stone pathway. its dim yellow halo was bright enough to be seen from afar, but it seemd to me,
that it couldn't serve any other purpose than that of being a feeble lighthouse. i walked up to the lamp-post, dedicated a moment to admire it and feel like lucy pevensie, and made a turn to the right.
broken stone steps, made even more unsteady by the constant drizzle that had been falling, took me to the presence of yet more tombs. row upon row of chipped gravestones, some bearing unintelligible epitaphs, either because the surface had smoothed out with age, or was half-buried in the ground... or both. it really was an old, massive graveyard. a sign outside its grey walls stated, somewhat proudly, that it held more than ten thousand graves inside. i had barely walked through a fifth of the whole place and was already amazed by the amount of bodies that were decomposing under a grass that - no wonder why - was a very bright green.