Wish that I could keep up with NaNoBloMo. But it seems the wrong time for that kind of regularity
(to verbalise the monotony of my thoughts. They go in cycles - joy, pain, boredom, amusement, tiredness. I sleep. They drift, even in my subconsciousness.)

Even I don't have that much to say. I don't particularly like talking at people.
And my more curious thoughts are quiet, fleet-footed things. If they return to me, then I grant them refuge here, keeping them from time. If they don't return, then perhaps they were never mine to begin with.

I don't want to work right now.
And yet I do need to honour my commitments, to responsible. To rise to my feet again, wipe my mouth, dust my hands off, shove them in my pockets as I walk out of the door: as I should be.

I'm not so sure what any of it means any more.
I don't think I can take being strong and carrying on, or falling apart and losing myself again. Not right now.

The light is somewhere ahead, or maybe around me. I can't see right now. My eyes failed some time ago.
I think I'm breathing still. Hard to say, sometimes.

(I think I've lost something. I can't remember, I can't think of what it is. I think I feel an impression of it that remains in my memory. I don't think I can find it again on my own.
How can you miss something that you don't think you ever really knew?)




( songwords )

All things considered, I'd like to stop wanting to make people happy.

I'd like to stop trying to live up to expectations I perceive to be on me.
I can't fit myself into moulds.
I thought I knew who I was and what I wanted.
It's funny how life keeps showing me that I'm happiest when I simply stop thinking about myself. Especially true when it keeps my mind off my ability - my lack of, rather - to make things better.


If the expectations belong to the people who count in my life, then nurturing my relationships with them matter far more. These people will care about me no matter what I do. That is, I don't mean to say that I want to hurt them deliberately by my actions. But focusing on the expectations, rather than the love and the hope behind them, would break everyone down.

I need not make everyone involved unhappy, by proving myself still unable to be anything but myself. These people are able to accept my imperfections and my confusion, and I love them all the more for it.

The expectations of anyone else never truly mattered. I cannot and I need not try to please the entire world. I'd please nobody at all, least of all myself. I'll keep striving to be the best that I can be, as a person. By His strength and wisdom I'll learn. For that to be possible, I must not be crippled by an inward focus. I cannot be absorbed by my own hurt and misunderstanding, to be able to truly change.


I no longer want to keep giving the best of myself away so easily. Not this early in my life when I'm not yet fully whole, in the terrible, deadening belief that I'll be able to have all my fantasies realised in a day or a week. No more of that. I embrace my own weakness and uncertainty.

I am now free from needing to be so strong. I am free to let life take me, wherever it leads me.

"Life is difficult," says M. Scott Peck in the opening line of The Road Less Traveled. He goes on to say that this is a great truth because "once we accept this truth...Because once it is accepted, the fact that life is difficult no longer matters." What does matter is what we do with it.

The difficulties and pains of our lives bring us to a fork in the road, a place where we must choose. And it's impossible to stay neutral. To allow our pain and difficulty to corrode our spirit, to make us hard and bitter, is to have chosen. TO keep living for some future escape is to refuse the present. To allow God to transform us in the situation as we are honest with him, as we invite his perspective, as we deal forthrightly with our difficulties, and as we open our lives to others in strenth and vulnerability - this is the road less traveled. And choosing that road will make all the difference.

- Ruth Haley Barton, Longing for More

It's almost like crossing items off the grocery list right now:

one weekend of hardcore Chinese
one afternoon to hammer out Insights&Reflections for PW
two weeks of relative normalcy and 'regular' classes
one week to iron out Oral Presentation
(to break & to build bridges, & place the capstone on our project)
two weeks of restructured timetabling
two months to pick up the pieces


C'est la vie.

(For words can't do, an rbt post.)
(It's funny how deliberate one needs to be, to say something of a passing moment so clearly, that the impressions last beyond its space and time.)

Hello all.

First, an early warning: I've just signed up for NaBloPoMo. Expect the worst. ;)

(I have the worst timing, no? The day before my H1 Chinese exam, the usual distraction strikes.
Shall we call this a brief study break? Hopefully yes, if I am able to kick myself off and continue revision in ten minutes flat.)

Now, why've I done this?

I suppose I relish the thought of the writing exercise. It's nice to have a good (validated, perhaps?) reason to regularly inflict my ramblings onto any and all who may suffer them.

Also, I'm curious to see

So here goes: the first post of November.


I cannot help but wonder why I am only able to organise my thoughts when I'm relaxed and writing self-indulgent (and nearly useless, academics-wise) flights of fancy. Stream-of-consciousness is perfectly acceptable when there's nobody who needs to know about these thoughts. There's no reason why I need to make any good sense here.

Yet my blogposts tend to take the form of carefully delineated, well-reasoned writing. My essays, under stress, turn tail and run from both organisation and rational sensibility.

The brainjam does not Bode Well. There still seems to be very good reasons why the Humanities Programme would have likely never suited me.

(Yet I do wonder what kind of a person I would be, had I been placed in such an environment.

It would've probably been comfortable, with like-minded people. Far more likely, it would have been exponentially harder to be pushed beyond what I can cope with, and far more devastating to have to compete with ex-classmates of mine who had gotten things together a long time back, and then some.

Maybe things are the way they are, because it's the best way in the long run. But how can we compare our circumstances to what might have been?)


To round off, a few thoughts on a couple of books I've been thinking about, but not been able to read.

A couple of weeks ago, I was reading Lee Kong Chien's copy of Anne Fadiman's Ex Libris, on one of the sporadic treks I've taken down to there, to turn bookworm with just my mum. (Good times.) It's a beautiful collection of essays on her love of books. Each is shaped by gentle wit and warmth, and seem to reflect a . I miss it. I want to curl up inside its pages, to soak in their goodness. Most definitely on the Christmas/birthday wishlist.

 Next, I'd really like to return to A Ring of Endless Light by Madeleine L'Engle. A perennial favourite of mine. (tintinvoyageur can attest that at one time during P6, I was carrying it down to recess every day.) I'm not sure why, but every time I read them, L'Engle's speak to me anew.

Not just these, but I borrowed La's Orchestra Saves the World by Alexander McCall Smith, Perilous Power by Noam Chomsky, and Coffee with Shakespeare, and a smattering of books on architecture.

So many books, so little time. Very depressing.


And indeed, time ticks on.

('m in a rather curious mood.
I don't want to stuck with the humdrum, the aching boredom, the grindstone, the endless days of doing not very much at all.

I don't want to waste my time, or anyone else's. I'm tired of feeling sick of the things that I do.

Yet that seems to be the status quo, for now.)

(I want to get out, to be out of the ordinary in my life. Yet I don't want to be confronted with the unfamiliar right now.
I'm just too raw and too tired to push myself into dealing with anything new.

I wonder why the adrenaline remains.
I'd like to be rid of the emotional loop-de-loops on this rollercoaster, all things considered.)

(I'd like to drink tea that won't keep dehydrating me. I keep forgetting to drink water after taking a cup, and feeling my bladder fill.)

(I don't want to sleep, to lose time to unconsciousness. I don't want to be awake, in this state. And lucid dreams are lies.)

I find that I must say this.

I tire of wanting to be 'just happy', wanting to make other people 'happy'. 'Happiness' is so fleeting, so illusory: I would not wish interminable, sickening vain contentment for the rest of anyone's life, on even the worst of my enemies.

It would make a boorish, self-indulgent fool out even the best of people. What kind of a person would truly, in their heart of hearts, wish for endless self-gratification? Newly sated, one's attention listlessly drifts to the next meal, the next show, the next diversion, next source of amusement and novelty. That is the quickest way to dull one's senses. That is the quickest way to bankrupt oneself.

(I would wish you joy - eternal, bright, glorious, that shines through the darkest of hours, and in the most remote reaches of this world. I would not wish you peace that remains only while there is no noise, trouble or hard work. I would wish you peace that surpasses all human understanding, that remains when you are in the midst of these things, and that you may still find stillness in your heart.)


I have no indulgence to keep for myself. I rest, and I am rested, but not in idleness or sloth. I have no time for that, I will not have time for that. I will not let myself go soft, I will not be weak.

(There is a difference between rest and sloth, I should say - that is, the activity of the mind. One can be outwardly passive, one may take time to be quiet, or to spend some hours with those close to them. But what is the good of rest that brings no renewal?

I would rather choose to find joy in the fruits of my labour. I would rather find my hope of glory in Christ alone. I know that I cannot find my own rest on my own, I will lose my way.


(  e d i t  :   However, I must admit that I have been frequently self-accomodating (and therefore, self-indulging) the last couple of days. Maybe it's hypocrisy, maybe it's a 'truly necessary' step to keep myself simply sane, and to recalibrate my mind, so I can focus on PW and H1 华文. Either way, my attitudes still haven't changed. I suppose this does show in the small strange habits that persist, like the early afternoon coffee kick, and still sleeping roughly six hours a day, in spite of the returning eyebags.

I'm adjusting back, though. Also, I'm rediscovering how lovely it is to sit somewhere quiet with quiet, a good book, some fresh air and my meandering thoughts. This has become a kind of solace for me, in odd moments of the day, when I'm overwhelmed by all the activity and conversation I find myself in.  )


I do not have time to indulge anybody else. I would have someone who is willing to spend a little of their life, a little of themselves with me, or I would not waste my time or energy on them. I give, and I give of myself as fully as I am able to. I do not have much time at all, not in this year, not in this country, not in my days on this earth. I do not suffer fools or futility gladly.


Who could say that they can truly know the spirit within even their closest friend? One may attempt to decipher this individual's patterns and quirks, flashes of emotion and consciousness. One may want to pull this puzzle apart, to examine, to explain and predict the subject's behaviour. How could one?

Yet one tries, in some small way, to empathise, and to grasp some small understanding, to learn how to care more fully, more patiently. How could one not?


Funny that now I can only hedge these words behind heated, tightly-wound arguments and logic. Last year, it seemed like I was able to say things straight.

In other words, I seem to be trying to say what I was able to say sometime last year -

( from neonbrown - 080208: ( i'm overreacting, but - ) )


*

I, I always thought that I knew
I'd always have the right to
Be living in the kingdom of the good and true
And so on, but now I think I was wrong
And you were laughing along
And now I look a fool for thinking you were on, my side

- Keane, Is It Any Wonder

(No more now. I need to move on.)

Surely, one begins to wonder at some point whether when one speaks of love, one means that one would give until one is dry and lost and tired, or whether one has cut out one's heart out of one's chest, unbidden and unasked for, and handing it over, waiting for one's rightful pound of flesh.

One begins to wonder if they two may be the same, finding oneself alone facing the burnt-out ends of another smoky day.

(But for a small kindness in a long day.)


Instant gratification is a capricious, whimsical thing, still. One begins to doubt oneself, when faced with one's dreams handed to one on a platter: one begins to wonder if one has asked for too much, with its resplendent glory. And yet, finding one's fancies materialised, finding the glitter that caught one's eye turned to dross - one begins to wonder if one's dreams were simply far too base, too small.

(Are we not magpies with our little patchy nests of gold foil and twig and fraying ribbon, pieced together with such painstaking care?)

There seems to be a terrible pettiness, an ugliness in the valuation of a fleeting wistful , curled around such images, nestled in books, a place in a suddenly-still moment in time, that softens a line of a song, a facial expression, a placement of words, a wildflower, an arrangement of colour or line or shadow, harmony and rhythm visceral, or perhaps, sometimes, a tiny facet of a person - yet an individual first possessed by their own self.

How much hurt or pleasure is a human heart truly capable of? Can there ever be anything of a fathomable answer?

How can one measure a human soul at all?

Feels like I'm finally surfacing from deep, and returning to my senses. It's grounding to put my hands and feet to old, familiar ways, like haunting quieter corners of the library and reading alone, and letting people find and join me if they would, coming up with gloriously nonensical witticisms and asides with a Nick E when we get bored during lecture, or tête-à-têtes over lunches or ice cream with old friends. It's nice to find myself saying things that I want to say, openly, without uncertainty. Sometimes it's nice to shut out the unnecessarily emotional.

Sometimes I do think turning asexual and letting this be the only kind of relationship in my life be the occasional companionship on tranquil afternoons - a calm thing, a gloriously quiet existence.

I doubt it would truly, fully satisfy me in the end, though. Some people's hearts were made for endless sweet solitude.

I'm afraid I suspect mine isn't one of them.
Bother.

Still,

The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

Derek Walcott
Love After Love

(awwww.)

start off sometime, now it's our time
are you with me, are you with me?


*

I'm beginning to suspect dating is a kind of great sore, wartorn wasteland of a demilitarised zone in between the factions of Singlehood and Marriage, where what we call a 'ceasefire' is no peace at all.

Don't ask me why I'm war metaphors using all over the place.
Maybe it's because I don't feel like I can do anything but struggle, but fight my way through the confusion and the conflict, until I reach a place that I can rest in.
I guess Promos just pared my mind back down to its core. Everything I feel is still so intense. I'm oddly happy to relax and kick back and do silly things, but there's still a kind of watchfulness that remains with me.
Perhaps I've been changed by these last couple of weeks, these last couple of months.
My behaviour's changed, to be sure. (Ha.)

But in a way, it still just feels like I'm finally letting myself go, that I'm letting I am and I feel on the inside, show in what I do. If that means I talk too loudly, laugh too hard, make too much of a fuss out of everything, get overwhelmed by my own emotions... well, I'm fine with it, though I dislike the tension and conflict that may bring. (Not that they're bad things, because they allow me to grow, but they're hardly pleasant, of course.) I'm still human, I'm still learning. At least I know I'm being true to myself (thankee Will, for the phrase). At least I know that I can trust myself in what I'm doing.

but saying 'I love you'
is not the words I want to hear from you

I mean, what do they really mean at all? Our use of the word 'love' ranges from when we're gaping slack-jawed at something pretty - that we may well forget within the next hour or so - to when we're infatuated with a person in whom we may perceive qualities that are admirable or lovely - and these feelings are maybe just as fickle, because they can turn to indifference under a bad mood, or worse, indigestion coupled a momentary misunderstanding.

Or I suppose, that L word (and no, you know I don't mean lezzy here)
- can sometimes mean more than the floaty, fuzzy feeling from being close and intimate with someone 'special'.
Sometimes it's deeper, darker, furious and somehow more dazzling.

It's sometimes more like the depths of the sea untouched by time,
- than the tides and shore, which only know change to be the only constant thing.

It hurts, sometimes. It's vulnerable, it's sometimes an aching deep soul-hurt that won't let you go,
even when you think that you've given all you can give.
There's a kind of strength in that hurt, to keep giving when there's nearly no hope left.
Maybe it's like a quick sharp shock of pain, for a mountaineer trapped under snow and ice. His limbs are growing numb, his mind is telling him to sleep, to drift off and not to worry about what will come next, to just let go, to let go, to give this all up... Yet he has yet life and vigour in him - he is one who has duties and responsibilities, a family to care for, and a life he hasn't fully lived. 

So that flood of feeling, as ugly and as brutal as it might be, is a sign that he's in a situation that has some kind of control over, even if it's over himself - it's a sign that he can still change, and continue, and to hope.

But that kind of hurt can also tear up everything that you thought you knew.
It doesn't sit well with the rest of you, the parts that need to carry on even if your heart is bruised and sore, the parts that sing for self-preservation - or is it selfish desire? sometimes it's hard to tell - the ones which were perfectly happy on their own, without being disturbed at all, by any fancy notions of 'being together with someone else'.

So you find yourself second-guessing, and doubting - sometimes even beyond what's reasonable, because underneath, you're scared but you just don't want to own up to that.

And those parts of you simply demand the proof of pudding. They want their satisfaction. And if satisfaction isn't to be had, you find yourself turning ugly, in ways that you don't want to see in yourself.

But they're still there.

And that kind of soul-hurt, when it's driven by pain and by confusion, shatters all into glass shards - silence, speech, conversation, being together, being apart - everything takes on this greater significance than they were meant to, because you're not in any state to be reasonable, because you hope and you're not seeing any reason why you should keep hoping - and there's nothing that is truly holding you there except yourself, and that hope, and that possibility of something greater.

That's vulnerability. That's giving.

But the human psyche always seems to need that shockpainbrightness, seems to need to hold on to something that is greater than itself or the sum of the parts of the world that it can see. So we then chase after these ideals, these hopes, these nonsensical fancies ( - or these ultimate truths?), because we need something to fill up that empty hurt.

We are ultimately slaves to that, in a sense. We can't be anything else, to truly be alive.
There's a dullness, a million small deaths, in living for your own selfish gain.
(I think I'd like to reread and reannotate T.S. Eliot's Preludes sometime soon.)

*


i'm with you, and the stars are crashing through
tell me it's true, i want everything with you

In computer lab 4 - ubiquitously here for PW Consulatation, and waiting for our group's turn - at even more loose ends, rediscovering the joys of Bunny, with 'The Old Patagonian Express' by Paul Theroux on my lap. *looks around* Most of my classmates seem to be at srsbznz, while my groupmates...well. Two of them are about to sit for their H1 Physics paper, one of whom is trying not to stress, while the other is playing computer games with my other groupmate. Another is eating a croissant for lunch.

*blinks* Highly amusing but very strange, as first days of freedom go.

I'm not sure why, but I'm still keyed up as ever, though my mind's clear, and I'm a little bit sleepy. The adrenaline rushes are refusing to leave. It's nice to keep having reasons to keep going, but I do wonder about my system's addiction to a cocktail of adrenaline, caffeine, endorphins, estrogen and the other things.

Dear lord.

I'm suddenly seeing a plethora of similarities between Singin' in the Rain and The Phantom of the Opera - music, dancing, the stage, passion and tales of lush romance, transitions, glory days and endings, mastery, cruelty and games and power ploys, pretension, hidden weakness, the society hags and the lust for money, power and control.

- and, well, a lot of girls acting silly and getting screwed over, then acting up.

Well. *coughs* And music and sheer unflappable joy, that is. :D There, I certainly hope there's a very good reason why I'm still stuck on them after all these years.

'It had always bothered me, when reading of an expedition, that the preliminries were being dispensed with. I describe this towards the beginning of The Old Patagonian Express, in the chapter that starts, "Travel is a vanishing act, a solitary trip down a pinched line of geography to oblivion." In my first travel book I had simply gone away, launched myself into the East; in this book, I felt I was consciously experimenting with space and time. My object was to take the train that everyone took to work, and then to keep going, changing trains, to the end of the line. And (consulting a map) this is took to be a tiny station, called Esquel, in the middle of Patagonia.'

- xii, Introduction
'The Old Patagonian Express - By Train Through the Americas'
by Paul Theroux

Ah. Bliss.

(THOSE WHO ARE READING THIS AND WHO HAVE PAPERS YET TO COME, KEEP GOING AND FOCUS. YOUR TURN WILL COME.)

( results of a colorgenics quiz )

*

Well, seems to suggest, trust yourself and the people you care about, stop getting so stressed out and so hard over things and with people, and letting the control freak out - chill for once, and let things be.

Wise words.

*

You Are Flip Flops

You are laid back and very friendly. Cheery and sunny in disposition, you usually have something to smile about. Style is important to you, as long as you can stay casual. It takes a lot to get you to dress up! You are a loyal and true person, though you can be a bit of a flake. You tend to "play hooky" and blow off responsibilities a lot more than most people. You should live: By the beach You should work: At a casual up and coming company

You Fall for the Guy or Girl Next Door Type

You think that people make love too complicated, and what you want in a partner happens to be pretty simple. You're content with someone who's nice, attractive, honest, and normal. So how come that's so hard to find? You are fairly traditional, and you value security in relationships more than most people. It's important for you to find someone loyal. When you find the right person, you don't expect much from him or her. You're just happy to be together.

You Are Bicycling

You are an energetic, driven person. You try to live a good life. You are industrious and determined. You happily and willingly do hard work. You are deeply philosophical. You are concerned with doing things the best way. You love freedom to explore and experiment. You don't like rules.

You Are Most at Home in the Living Room

You're the type of person who always feels relaxed at home. In many ways, it's where you're at your best. You love to chill out at home. You are not the biggest homebody in the world, but you appreciate the time you spend there. There's nothing like having a few friends over to watch a movie or just talk in your living room. You are proud of the home you've created, and you love to share it with others.

Your Primary Mood Color is Yellow

You are a enthusiastic and cheerful soul. You have a real zest for life. You have as many troubles as anyone else, but you believe it's important to have a sunny outlook. Life is what you make of it, and you strive to make your life as awesome as possible. You believe in happy endings. You are willing to put your a lot on the line in hopes that things will work out.

You Are a Chocolate Mocha and Orange Cheesecake

Enthusiastic and intense, there's so much you love in the world... it's hard to do it all. You are good at getting things to mix - friends, flavors, hobbies. You're the master of fusion!

Your Burger Says That You are Not Gluttonous

You are a compassionate and caring. You know how to enjoy life while still looking out for others. You are likely a fairly picky eater. And you're secretly a little squeamish about some foods. You are a very open eater. You like many types of tastes, and you'll eat just about anything. You tend to gravitate toward strong, pungent foods. Even if it means having bad breath! You consider yourself a healthy eater. But you're not about to sacrifice taste or quantity! You are emotional. You have a big heart, and you tend to go for comfort foods. You have trouble making decisions quickly. Everything looks good to you... especially at a restaurant. You are social, outgoing, and a risk taker. Among your friends, you are the first to try a new food. You are creative, open minded, and friendly. You are interested in all types of food and new dishes.

You Should Light a Citrus Candle

You are optimistic yet restless. You love your life but always are thinking of bigger and better things. You love being on the move. You have plenty of energy to chase your dreams. You're the type of person who trusts your gut. You're very independent, and you've made some unusual choices in your life. You are cheerfully offbeat and a true free spirit. You challenge others to get more out of life.

You Are From Mercury

You are talkative, clever, and knowledgeable - and it shows. You check in with your friends as often as possible! You're witty, expressive, and aware of everything going on around you. You love learning, playing, and taking in all of what life has to offer. Be careful not to talk your friends' ears off. Temper your need to know everything.

*chuckles*

You Crave an Unpredictable Adventure

Life has gotten a bit too boring for you lately, and you're really looking to stir things up. You couldn't imagine planning your great adventure. That would go against the whole point of it! All you need is a plane, train, or bus ticket to anywhere. You'll make the rest up as you go along. You want to visit every corner of the world and have many different experiences. The sooner you start, the more you'll see.

Your Heart is Blue and Green

Your heart is open and dynamic. You are flexible, optimistic, and expressive. You bring honesty and intimacy to relationships. You're good at expressing your needs to your partner.

It's Rather Easy For You to Fall in Love

Looking back on your life, you will have a few true loves. You're a little scarred from your past relationships, but who isn't? It's important to you that your lover is very attractive. You like to have someone to show off. In fights, you seek compromise and back down from conflict. You always try to smooth things out. Break-ups can be painful for you, but you never show it. You hold your head high.

alrighty.

trying desperately not to feel like the non-chem parts of my brain together form a live (civilian) correspondent caught between the crossfire between the chem paper and my, well, valiant but very stupid chem-parts-of-brain, which are the guerilla forces holding up in the jungle, which have been just bombed by the army of the totalitarian militaristic government in power.

yes, watching the news and mugging history at the same time have hardly placed my brain is a sensible state at all. i'm experiencing that opposite of deja vu with the word interest. sigh.

*

um. i came up to here, to the library,
to reflect over how this has all been going, i guess.

( musing over how i've been going for this thing, so far )

As for History and Math?
Well, we'll see soon enough.

*
later

Histoy went shockingly well. I might actually be getting a hang of this writing-a-clear-essay thing. :D Also, I adore Rolly's tables.

It starts with essay planning. The good essay plan comes first from a clear, coherent argument structure that answers the question. The main points must come first, they are your base. They must then be complemented by the meaty goodness of relevant content and elaboration. Then, to finish with a touch of some light, zesty key phrases or quotes, used with finesse, that make your - uh, essay, one to remember.

- does anyone suspect too, that I'd really like some steak one of these days? Preferably wrapped with bacon, at that. Medium, thank you.
I miss cooking, at that.

( and so on and so forth )

I'm starting to forget the reasons why I should drop History.
I do believe I can do this.

*

Also, I'm afraid that free jazz usually gets on my nerves after the third or fourth endless, seemingly directionless improvisation, but Miles Davis' crooning trumpet? On the cool, light vibes of Time After Time? This is a dream.


LAST PAPER YEY BYEBYE
<3

Poets

They are seldom racing cyclists
and are largely innocent

of the workings of the petrol engine.
They are, however, comfortable in taxis.

They are abroad in the small hours
and will seek out the caustic blue liquor

that you purchased in Majorca
for comedy reasons, and will rise late.

There are whole streets
where their work is not known.

Spectacles,
a father in the army

and a distance to the next farm
made them solitary.

Their pets
were given elaborate funerals.

No one understands them.
They are inordinately proud of this

for they have shunned
the brotherhood

of the post room
and the hair salon.

They write a word
and then another word.

It is usually wrong.
Their crossings out are legion.

They sit in trains
and pass through cotton towns at nightfall,

conscious of the shapes of cranes
on the violet sky

and how the poured creamer
pleats and billows in their coffee,

and how both of these things
whisper, softly, 'Death.'

- Mark Haddon

And wellll, because I can't resist fangirling Chenoweth.

NewsweekVideo: 4/30/09: The Broadway actress and author of a new memoir, "A Little Bit Wicked", talks about her Christianity habit, why she feels for the Jolie-Pitts, and how gays beat girls

- YES I IZ READIN ECONS NAO :D GOOD LUCK BYEBYE

- I keep coming back to this song, I have to say. If you've never heard Menzel & Chenoweth, go watch the rehearsal of this song. Believe me, you won't regret it - they also do a small intro into Wicked. Have I mentioned that I am ridiculously in love with Stephen Shwartz's musicals at large?)

I was just playing For Good from the musical 'Wicked' on the piano, and I realised that in the sum total of my life, I don't have that much longer left here, where I am. I have no idea about what the future would hold. I'm not afraid. But there are things that I'd like to say to a few people, that I wouldn't want to leave to the very end.

I'd like them to remain here, as a reminder, for now and for the future.

So here goes.

( if you're reading this )

Lord, I love Jack Conte's grandma.)