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Harmonic Geisha

[ website | harmonic geisha mistress ]
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Kanzashi for sale on eBay [08 Sep 2007|11:38am]


More kanzashi for sale on etsy.

whisper to the moon

Handmade Kanzashi photoshoot... [22 May 2006|07:02pm]


I just finished making a couple of different modern kanzashi (based off of the kanzashi maiko are often seen wearing)...and I took a couple of pictures of my friend. :)

Or go to my [ dA account ] for the other pics... though most are in my [ scraps ].

Handmade silk and polyester kanzashi (hair ornament). This is a modern rendition of the infamous hana kanzashi maiko are seen wearing so often.

Some petals silk, but others are polyester. Glass sparkles (what do you call those?) at the center.

Synthetic thread used to make the wisteria, and the center of the flower...Somewhere around 6-8 hours to make.

Hope you like them! :)
whisper to the moon

[18 Feb 2004|04:01pm]

[ mood | annoyed ]

when i get the chance, i'll put a better picture up - but for now, this is what your stuck with.

whisper to the moon

[21 Oct 2003|04:04pm]
[ mood | restless ]

Hello pretties...

I am new to this community and I just want to say "Konnichiwa!"

Add me if you like, that would be super =]

P.S. - Read "Memoirs of a Geisha" by Arthur Golden!!!!!!!

6 silent phrases| whisper to the moon

No More Harlequins [12 Apr 2003|10:12am]

[ mood | pessimistic ]

I had already posted this in my livejournal. I'm not exactly sure what it is. It's just a thingy. Good day.

"No More Harlequins"

It loves life, yet despises It's own
It despises its life, yet does not despise Itself.
It does not despise Itself, but It hates when It fails.
It hates when It fails, but It does nothing to fix it.
It's so lost, this is not the life for It, yet It has no choice but to live it.
It questions if there is such a thing as a guiding light. It doubts it very much.
So It screams to try to find the light, but nothing and no one hears.
They choose instead to worry of their own problems
Its depressing words are shrugged off. It's just in a mood, They think.
It has been for a while now, though. And really, They don't seem to care.
Their own world is more important to save, while It's is quietly crumbling.
They don't want to have to deal with Its problems when They have their own.
They'd rather see It smile, laugh, so They may feel better.
A tool, a toy. If It pretends to be happy then maybe They can pretend too.
A Harlequin, but the jokes and dancing grow old within It, just as everything else does.
At moments where It can no longer trick itself into thinking things are alright,
It tries to confide in Them, tries to get what it so often tries to give,
But all They do now is make short shifty remarks and mentally roll Their eyes as It fades away.
No worries, They will find another jester to entertain Them.
Another joker to laugh with and often at.
They don't need It, no one does. They have themselves while It realizes it has nothing.
So It chooses to just fade away. Easier than making an effort.
It's even easier because no one seems to notice.
Or want to notice, anyway....

whisper to the moon

These are watery weary mornings. [15 Feb 2003|09:16am]
[ mood | unstable ]

due to the fact that i can't transfer from my digital camera, and any artwork i could have posted i lost in the reformat, i have a bit of really bad writing as my starting contribution. it was not really an attempt of writing, but moreso an emotional purge.

oct. 2, 2002:

i gathered the best of nothings
and the worst of everythings
just to salvage your shattered self
and all i ever wanted in return
was a little bit of something
just a tiny amount of anything
for sometimes a bit of one thing
is just too much for me.

(stupid, I know. i apologize.)

whisper to the moon

Pete and Repeat were in a boat, Pete fell out who was left... [13 Feb 2003|10:02pm]

[ mood | melancholy ]

I've already posted this in my journal, but I want to help get some shtuff up on the community.

The following is something I wrote eons ago, in June of twenty-oh-two.
My original intention was to write a poem, this was the result.
Apparently I should stick to haiku poetry.

The Grove of Me

In the grove of Me, there stands a tree. Among the scrabble of dry brush, malnourished saplings and stout shrubs, it stands tall and strong. In the everlasting dusk of the grove, it shines like the reflection of stars on the sea. It is a peculiar tree. Born of a vine lacking path and decision, conjoined with a rose afraid of the sky. Together they found reason and unity in life. Using the strengths of each other to reach higher, up above the rocky flats below.

Like all trees of great power and wonder, it bore fruit. Fantastic, and incomparable to any I've known. It could be held in my palm, although it commanded a weight unfitting of its simple figure. It flesh was a deep and shifting rouge, and smelled faintly of fresh sweat and spring. Always ripe and free of worms, it felt firm but gave to pressure, pulsing gently, to say it was alive.

Once bitten, it was a taste unforgettable. Inside it was hot, as if baked in the sun, with a myriad of juices, which gushed forth to meet my tongue and lips, steadily dripping down my face and neck. Despite its heat, it refreshed, rejuvenated, like the light of the tree itself. Eaten quickly and with fervor, or savored and sucked upon with lingering relish, it was always perfect.

The core of the fruit contained seeds of sickly white. Only twice did I foolishly ingest these, gagging from the taste of viscera and futures unknown. No, I wanted no business with these seeds, not now, although my heart knew of their potential. Instead, the seeds were tossed behind me, away from my sight, and my thoughts.

The seeds choked the stream that fed the tree, tainting its waters with tears and fire. The tree withered. The fruit grew heavy with rot and cracked the bows of the tree, the strength of the vine and rose could not resist the pull. Leaves fell to be forgotten in the wind, and the bark peeled back revealing tar and urine, the sweet sap seeking shelter in the roots.

I knew. The rose whispered, gasping, to the vine, and it dropped the fruit. The spilt juice washed away the bitter seeds; water flowed pure once more. My tree was whole. My tree stood strong. My tree was fruitless. In the grove of Me, clouds gathered.

I stand here now, weirdly cold in the warm glow of the tree. Hands and lips stained red with juice. I do not wish to think of the fruit. But I cannot forget its flavor. Flowers grow on mending branches, with the promise of new buds, and beckon me with their scent. I fear them. In the everlasting dusk of the grove of Me, I sigh, and I smile.


1 silent phrase| whisper to the moon

Her Guitar [13 Feb 2003|11:12am]


-Soulful girl on stage
----dancing in the party smoke
-------hair on fire with vibrations
-from your screaming metal rhythm
-----------1001 cliches fill my head
-and I know your song's for me.
2 silent phrases| whisper to the moon

welcome [09 Feb 2003|08:41am]

[ mood | creative ]

Hello and welcome to Harmonic Geisha. I, Sarah, am this community's mistress. Harmonic Geisha is meant for expression. Poetry, lyrics, photography and other forms of art may be posted and shared here for review, critiques and praise. Nudity is allowed but nothing should be pornographic. Any form of bigotry is also forbidden. Remember, criticism should be constructive.

Feel free to post any of your works. This is not an elitist comunity. Artists of all levels are welcome to share their creations. ^__^

<3 Sarah

3 silent phrases| whisper to the moon

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