La-la-la

I have to write a Civil Procedure Code paper in about 12 hours, followed by a carry over subject's paper in 16. Though I haven't yet registered for the latter, so perhaps I won't have to give it after all. Which may have been a good thing if I was certain that I would be allowed to write the former. I have missed 18 classes already.

I should be panicking, but it isn't getting through. Maybe that's a good thing.

I'm locked in tight, I'm outta range

I used to care, but things have changed.

Where is my mind?

.

I find myself thinking of winter, as I once did all through the year. Winter is my favorite season. Even the things that go wrong don't bother you as much as they do in the summer. I'm sure it has something to do with the sun. I suppose, in winter, the cold helps.

Monsoons are for pleasant melancholy mornings spent listening to the sounds of the skies rumbling above the music, wondering why you aren't in class. This attendance issue is really beginning to bother me. I don't understand why it's so hard just to get to class. It's just that I'm so weary...

I think it's a dark night. Not that I'd dare venture on to the terrace. I wouldn't come back for too long. And then I'd have trouble getting to class tomorrow too.

I should get some research done for my history consultation. I think today was the last day. And I also have to get a medical certificate.

I spoke to Emma a few nights ago. I remember the base with its safe walls. I remember the base with its iron bars. The golf course, counting stars. It was a fun time. And "My back pages" is playing now. ^_^ I love it when situation-fitting music plays. I was so much older then, I am younger than that now. I remember the frantic phone calls and sneaking out. The webs of million lies we all got ourselves entangled in; things that were so much bigger than any of us. Than all of us... It feels so strange to think back. I can still see Foreshore Road in my mind. That infinite stretch of blackness with dots of lights glowing along the water's edge. I remember every tree, every turn, every sign-post...

But dwelling on the past isn't something you can afford to do when the present is constantly turning into the past at a pace you can barely keep up with. And I've left those days so far behind. Survival is of primary importance. There isn't any place in this world for the things we dreamed of. And the things we thought we were fighting for... well, they never existed in the first place. I won't lie, it had it's own charm. The feeling that we were actually making some sort of difference. The problem is, in hindsight, I see the mistakes we made glow brighter than the things we did right. And it's a painful realization to have; that we are still living with the consequences of our actions as naive children who thought they'd seen the world. What does a night-owl know about the beauty of dawn? What does a bat know about the wrath of the sun? Mere glimpses. Next to nothing.

I think the last two years are catching up to me. It was bound to happen, and I'm just surprised it took so long. Miss Sunshine, in a moment of profundity, recently said "I don't know why, but this feels like the end." The world is ending, darling. For if something is changed to such a degree that it has next to nothing left of the original matter, it isn't called an amendment, it's an abrogation. And fundamental rights are all about the government and power. Politics.

Everything creeps up everywhere else and I'm getting lost in the million multicolored ribbons I'm using to connect it all. But at least I now know what near-total loss of control feels like. It's scary, but it is a rush.

Anyhow, I have wasted enough time. I really should try and read up some history. Goodnight folks. Hopefully, my next post won't be during class hours tomorrow.



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Now playing: Lounge Piranha - Gun Song
via FoxyTunes

Things Have Changed

It's been a whole entire year. And about three hundred lifetimes. At least. Sometimes things just end up morphing, whether you want them to or not. I wouldn't say 'changing'. Change is like a gradual river with the occasional fall. Change is okay. What isn't okay is bolts of lightning tearing through your soul and entire worlds dissolving in a matter of hours. What isn't okay is being trapped in a pretty golden cage. What isn't okay is suddenly finding yourself free, except you're not sure if you remember how to fly. Fairy dust and happy thoughts? Sorry Peter, you took too long. I used to care, but things have changed.


Note for the clever: Look at the title again. THC. heh.

The Ants Are My Friends

This needs to be shared. It's from a book called "THE ANTS ARE MY FRIENDS" by Martin Toseland, and is full of 'misheard Lyrics, Malapropisms, Eggcorns, and other linguistic gaffes'. I've only read Chapter A as of now (and there's one for every alphabet), but it seems like a great compilation. Anyhow, here's an excerpt:


'"The ants are my friends"

Bob Dylan's 1963 protest song becomes a tribute to his insect friends according to some listeners. Instead of the 'answer' to the song's strident questions 'blowin' in the wind', there are hundreds of his ant friends being blown along, getting in everyon's way, only protected by Bob's friendship. What happens to them when he gets to the harmonica solo is not explained.'