My thoughts on life, love, and the pursuit of - generally - happiness (or happyness, if you're whimsical like that). Poetry and kind-of-essays will abound!
Video of "Unraveled"
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In case you wanted to know what I look and sound like hahaha!
Writing notes on actual paper, the kind that rubs the palms of the hands, with a pen filled to the brim with smooth running ink, is like etching thoughts onto the mind like God's fingers on stone. Minus all the constant scratches and cross-outs, a bizarre map pointing to a deliberately innocuous key to the most inane treasure. Every measured mark on parchment is a covenant forming between now and then: a covenant to remember what was left preserved for the hands to trace and the eyes to meet. So I'm in a wee bit of an impasse: once I've finished writing this letter meant for you, do I send it through or keep it for personal use, my own memento ...
Looks to me to be another Valentine's Day weekend all on my lonesome. It's extraordinary how a majority of individuals are single yet a majority of the holidays that I know of are burning reminders of your singleness. I mean seriously, couples everywhere! Why do you have to do this to us single people, world? Come on, give us some slack. We can't all get someone special to spend the holidays with. Anyways, this Sunday has been spent listening to BBC Radio 1/1xtra. Wonderful music station, give it a listen at their site, BBC Radio 1 and Radio 1xtra . Whilst listening to these top-class beats, I've busied myself with schoolwork. Ah, what a diligent student I am. Not to say that the couples spending their weekend loving and cuddling aren't so diligent, quite the contrary. They're totally legit people who have good reason to spend time with their special someone over some paperwork. I mean, seriously, who would want to spend their day doing schoolwork? Certainly...
Because I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselves And Immortality. We slowly drove, he knew no haste, And I had put away My labour, and my leisure too, For his civility. We passed the school where children played At wrestling in a ring; We passed the fields of gazing grain, We passed the setting sun. We paused before a house that seemed A swelling of the ground; The roof was scarecely visible, The cornice but a mound. Since then 'tis centuries; but each Feels shorter than the day I first surmised the horses' heads Were toward eternity. Emily Dickinson "Because I could Not Stop for Death..." I stated in an earlier post that I'd venture into poetry - I never said I'd take another's. But this isn't a poetry post - this is one of those kind-of-essays. I have just recently been given the news of the passing of my grandmother on my mother's side. It's hard enough to deal with a relative's dea...
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