""...because these wings are no longer wings to fly
but merely vans to beat the air..''
-Ash Wednesday, T.S. Eliot

i like his name. its so unpretentious, no double letters, nothing.

i will read this on ash wednesday. not for the religiosity [you (should) know me too well for me to do that], but for the poem, the words. you could create a religion out of words. spread the word, send it round.

it's good for your soul.

and now i leave the office. mindsouldrone,iam.

..because you have the capacity for forgiveness! for empathy! because you don't leave him in the lurch, because he's gone through so much more than you have! that's why you stand and clap and cheer for him, because you pity him. i wonder. how many clap and cheer because they feel sorry, and how many clap and cheer because they're inspired by someone trying to make the best of what he has?

because i remembered pablo neruda.

Sonnet XVII
Pablo Neruda

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

i'm sitting in the office and feeling ebullient, without the happiness. i feel heavy yet detached, the others sitting behind the partition and talking in a varigated liquid murmur of sound do not seem to register. i haven't been registering words. people talk to me, and somehow the words don't register. i hear the rhythm, the pitches, the syllables (if it's a good minute), but i cannot string them together into meaning. maybe i'm too tired. its scary, my brain is degenerating, i think. i don't know what i'm saying any more.

i'm supposed to write articles, but in the mood i'm in i cannot. i doubt they'll appreciate moody, melancholic, sardonic, cavalier writing, the type of broody writing you get when your face is locked into a ground state of blatant bored numbness. i've been grinding my teeth a lot today, inadvertantly.

and i doubt i've been really performing at work recently. i think the supervisors notice. i can't think or concentrate, i can't write, and the nyaa thing yesterday was a blur of pained speech. just now when we were returning from lunch across the road, i had the fingers of my right hand pressed against my forehead, like someone's hand gripping a basketball, to hold my face onto my head. i feel like how i think soumya feels when she writes, the kind of detached observation of the world that she pens.

i feel sick. not totally incapacitated, but just over the edge of wellness. as i yawn i feel like i'm breathing out armies and swarms of germs, just ready to infect others who breathe this recycled office air. air conditioning can kill, it's so cold.

the word "resuscitation" just occurred to me, i don't know why. as did "ambivalence", and "disparation" dropped in on me with the silence from across the white partition and the sudden shrilling of the phone next to me. i talk to people, it's my job.

i've been listing to moody music too much, perhaps. brought some from home, and playing it softlysoftly on the computer. jive bunny glenn miller swing medley didn't help with the mood. maybe it's the angry-girl music we listened to on the way to work, as dawn calls it. for some reason, i'm missing my earworms. i have had no music in my blood, in my mind, in my ears for some time, and it shows, it hurts. i miss piano lessons, even the shrill drilling of my teacher's voice when i don't practice and sometimes even when i do. i miss the caress of the white and black keys, the slow smooth soothingness of polished and varnished wood, the melody that sings from her piano (not mine, i don't have enough echo to smooth out the ends). i wish i could play effortlessly, make music, not play it. but i think making music is harder, much harder, and not as flippant as playing it.

and now it's 2, and almost strangely on cue everyone suddenly floods in, all these people suddenly, at this magic minute when people end lunch and begin work. suddenly, there's noise, there's sound, and the place lives again. phones sound, mercurial murmurs blend and die away, and now it's 2.01.

tonight, i think the world is gonna end. and i'm still waiting for bloody salvation.

lucidfiction is what my random ramblings and rants attempt to emulate, although i didn't know it until now.

and you say they're just words.

few things, i guess, i wanna note:
1. political blogging frowned upon here? at least, no podcasts, videocasts about politics, what with ge coming up and all. wtf. socialism democracy of one man one vote eh? the pm the man, he got the vote yah? not that we can actually have any democratic debate anyways. nothing to debate about.

2. france vs britain, both vs race mm? from some beeb broadcast. like i said earlier, france has screwed up its way of dealing with race. it can't deal with its issues, because it doesn't even acknowledge them in the first place. by claiming "everyone has no race", they're sweeping the whole race issue under the carpet and pretending it's not there. so how do they handle the problem when muslims feel marginalised and excluded and sometimes humiliated? they don't. and you get riots and calls for acceptance go unanswered.

anyways. feel emotionally numb and drained recently. stupid decisions come with Consequences. gods.

i'm waiting for bloody salvation.

well, didn't get amherst. ironic, no? shit lah. anyways, looks like tufts for me, or uva. just annoyed because i think i shouldn't have sent promo and prelim grades, and wondering if its because they didn't send my a level grades that i didn't get it. hate it.

just really, really tired. too much thinking at night really doesn't do well for the next morning.

alright, alright. so dartmouth and williams and johns hopkins rejected me. oh well. was nice to try, would have been a nice validation (yes, we all need ego boosts ne?). so georgetown waitlisted me. think i'll stay on? dunno. but i got uva and tufts. so. decision's made? not quite. amherst? would be ironic if i didn't get it.

i'll wing retreat tonight. and tomorrow afternoon.

hokay that was just me overreacting again. NO WORRIES!!!

on a side note: eating tons of plums and who the hell's giving out my number.

ALRIGHT DAMMIT! ENOUGH ALREADY!!

geez. ah why do i care. couldn't even be bothered to leave a comment, if you're still hung up about it, man, whatever. and if you weren't even there, well, yay. HIGH moral high ground man. whoop de doo. feel self assured. as long as you're happy.

so, so ironic. barely a year after being ousted by the streets, the streets are putting yanukovich back in again. yuschenko is flailing, losing popular support, and ukraine wobbles again, trying to decide between the west and the bear. timoshenko i think will be a dark horse kinda player, power behind the throne and all. she's in second place, so surprisingly, which might provide some amusement. so there goes the orange revolution. i suppose it indicates the marvel of democracy and all, but it's just so ironically and tragically amusing. reminds me of pratchett:

"don't put your trust in revolutions. they always come around again. that's why they're called revolutions. people die, and nothing changes."
-vimes

i think.

in anycase, georgetown dumped me on the waiting list. one up, one down, five/four? shake it all around.

if i ever manage to draw properly, i wanna draw like banksy.

i get called by financial planners??????

and heh. coyote is amusing, and coyote + interns make for very hilarious...situations. and innuendos.

catching up with old friend, going home, and revisiting fresh fears. where did everyone go? drop me a note, sometime, even a whole jazz tune would be lovely.

i met my old lover friend
on the street last night
she seemed so glad to see me
i just smiled
and we talked about some old times
and we drank ourselves some beers
still crazy afler all these years
oh, still crazy after all these years

mood of the moment - fearful, pent-up prayer
music of the moment - paul simon - still crazy after all these years

wow. things happen so fast like raindrops pelting your skin. one down (UVa? should i go, or should i stay?), six to go, and fear of falling keeps me awake, amongst other things, fear of going too fast and tripping, fear of accidents. i'm going around, saying ""i don't believe myself, i don't believe i just did that'' [yes, remnants of work there] and then and then i never learn >.< the media is a bad influence, and yet, as she said, actions are amoral.

are they? is all that's saving me sophistry?

but hon, for you. the lesson of the moth, as promised. so apt, so apt,

so apt.

we are like human beings
used to be before they became
too civilized to enjoy themselves

i love archy. 'specially his maxims.

mm pirates of the caribbean is good for restoring humour.

music of the moment - rockapella - free falling
mood of the moment - swingingwhatever.

presupposition is such a wonderful thing. like suppositories.

>.<

guided missiles, and misguided men. where is the truth in that? and so i leave, in a cloud of whirlwind dust and feathers and shards, because there really isn't anything else to say. i'll implode on my own, because there's no need to take the world with me. knives in the gut, stabs in the back, trip and fall, alcohol, kitty has claws.

words drip from my mouth again, mucoid secretions that cling frantically to my lips before giving in to gravity and falling to the floor where they clump in a fragile attempt to preserve whatever small life they have.

now or later? i never wanted to pull and twist strings.

really. whatever.

wow. knife in the gut.

isn't it interesting how most of our lives are lived vicariously through pixels and bytes and text on the net. we communicate through flickers on our pale white screens, tapping emotions into keyboards, and these are things we never dare reveal to others.

like it or not, your life is ruled by others.

music of the moment - by the tapping of my thumbs/ something wicked this way comes.
mood of the moment - whatever. the cough/mucus generation is not helping.