Warm Bodies.

I like your mute gray jeans.
On the bus, a woman regarded me with dark eyes
As she peeled the skin off an orange and
Thoughtlessly dropped it on the metal floor.
I felt something rough and heavy hit my shoulder
And I looked to see a glimpse of blue,
Its carrier struggling to conquer inertia
As we all do.
The bus stopped for a man. Stopped until he reached his seat.
I imagined that this man's life
Would be the kind that the world stops for.
Unlikely, to be honest with you,
But we should stop clinging to the lie
That everything is as it seems.
Sometimes I find myself spending time
Imagining opposites.

The summer days are about to end,
And in my head my thoughts are waking.

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Wrote this today at the registrar's, where I sat beside a man who was applying for his masters. He urged me to take my masters while I'm still young. Endless thanks to Philip for helping me out yesterday. I hope your suede shoes are okay. Today I am finally super officially a student of the College of Home Economics! Boo CRS for resetting my pre-enlistment! Lord help me get my subjects back D:

Someone Must Have Cut the Seconds in Half.

My mum and I went to a piano store the other day. It was owned by a lithe, young man who had music at his fingertips. (He looked a bit like a gangster hero, really, but if you put a bowtie on him, you won't be able to tell.)

Ah, music must be a wonderful thing to own.

After lunch, I turned on a little Satie and nestled in the corner of a cold room. I imagined it was a rainy day and the next thing I knew, it was almost 5. Our days are so fragile. We can kill them instantly.

What if I decided to live my life for myself and imagined that it was how it's supposed to be? Then I might wake up one day and realize that I'm already confined to a wheelchair or something and I can't do a thing about it. I guess in that way, our lives our fragile, too. We shouldn't delude ourselves.

Ghosts

People are apparitions.

What you see through the flickering windows in the subway are like frames from a million different spectacles put together into one silent moving picture.

Let me ask you, if we lose our memories, are we still ourselves?
We are made up of memories, remember?
But we lose so much of them and re-invent ourselves all the time that if all the past MEs and the past YOUs asked for their own place, they'd fill up a small city.
We are not who we were yesterday.

Can you imagine that tomorrow, you will disappear?

Anonymity.

I don't like famous people.

I suppose a statement like that would have a lot of implications, but I didn't write that out of ill-founded envy or anything. It's just that..well, when people are high and up there, they tend to think they deserve to be there and forget old friends. Also, they miss out on people who really love them for who they are. I mean....I mean...I mean.

Consider the undiscovered genius who you meet as an acquaintance. You are introduced to the unconventional orientation of his thinking, and your perspective of the world is promptly altered. You discuss ideas, you change his mind, question his opinions...yada yada yada. People like that are human. And..well, for the normal, sub-elite citizen, a situation like this is as unlikely as, say...winning a book signing pass for Neil Gaiman's awarding ceremony, knocking him unconscious without anybody noticing, sneaking him out the back way, and engaging him in said conversation once he regains consciousness.

Which is why I think Grigory Perelman is awesome. (http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/8585407.stm)

I'm probably setting myself up for poverty.

Midnight Lines

Madness. || Moods.

I once asked Sister Fatima why God created us in the first place.
She smiled and said that He created me because...He dreamt of me.

I wondered how people could last without a notion of a loving God. Without any God, for that matter. It must be very bleak.
Except...they don't seem to think so. Sometimes I look at them and realize that they're far more self-assured than I am.

I don't think it's a bad thing though (I'll keep my reasons to myself).
Love is a form of madness that I like.
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Have you noticed how feelings are always mixed?
It's kind of disconcerting if you think about it.

And is there such a thing as a good intention?
(If you say yes, perhaps you haven't looked deep enough.)

Behind my smile is a jumble of a million other expressions, and I think it goes for you as well.

Worlds Apart.

I get drawn into other people's worlds too easily.

And why wouldn't I? People like to make themselves comfortable and seldom do I find it cold. (I did, once. Find it cold, I mean. And even then I stayed longer in it than anywhere else because it was so intriguing.
I left in the end. It was all a lie.)

Sometimes I find it hard to leave. When I finally find the resolve to, I keep looking back until I realize that I still hadn't really left, just kept walking around.
I'm still stuck in one right now.

How do you get there? Words.
Everybody's words are bridges. The thing is, you wouldn't really know if it'll hold. You have to get on it and see if it will. But don't worry, if you do fall, you won't fall too far. You just flounder a little in space until you get back to your side of reality.
Out of breath, maybe, but nothing serious.
Then you keep to yourself a little until gravity pulls another planet along.