i've outgrown whitebeachchairs and sunnyblueskies. moved.

There are no guarantees in life
Not for the present,
Nor for the future.
All I know is
That I'm here;
Don't know for how long.
I love the way
You live so intensely
Enjoy every minute of life
With space to swing
Your arms around
Laughing loudly

Unlike me
Unlike me
Do you think I'm strange?
Unlike you
Unlike you
I am not pretending
----------------------
humpty dumpty sat on the wall,
humpty dumpty had a great fall.

if love was enough, it would glue all the cracked-up humpty dumpties in the world back together again.

these days a lump has been in my gullet. it was a aching flaming wound and everything i swallowed hurt. not much slithered down that downtrodden hose and for a few days, that pain was good. the parchedness and hunger was good. it was fuel and sustenance for me.

i lament its loss as i scribble frantically mathematical proofs. once again, i've healed over. was it in sula i read that "the only hell is change"? yes, change is hellish. whatever happened to the constancy, the reliability, the distraction and the relief that physical pain brings? odd as it is, i'm looking forward to the next kind of pain in my life. at least nursing myself takes me back to a more primal state. there, i don't need a heart and soul, just a body. not just a body, but a broken body. solace lies in this broken body, like hunger finds its end in broken bread.

i think i've spent too much time with underground man, and tunnelled too deep into his psyche that i, too, feel as though i need to find respite in some crazed volition. so let the underground take me too - it feels like a better place where reason is scoffed at and no haranguing. just peace of mind even in the face of irrationality.

at least i won't feel guilt letting the saltiness spill out.
------
i'm getting too emotional. damn you society.

:( i got locked out of my room after a long hard day of writing my huma paper. i am really despondent now. help.

Sula/a ship abuoy

...Eva mused over the perfection of the judgment against her. She remembered the wedding dream and recalled that weddings always meant death. And the red gown, well that was the fire, as she should have known. She remembered something else too, and try as she might to deny it, she knew that as she lay on the ground trying to drag herself through the sweet peas and clover to get to Hannah, she had seen Sula standing on the back porch just looking. When Eva, who was never one to hide the faults of her children, mentioned what she thought she'd seen to a few friends, they said it was natural. Sula was probably struck dumb, as anybody would be who saw her own mamma burn up. Eva said yes but inside she disagreed and remained convinced that Sula had watched Hannah burn not because she was paralyzed but because she was interested...
(sula, a lovely book by toni morrison)
-----
psychosis of the human spirit: it turns one shades darker insidiously and inperturbably just like how we at the u of c balloon outwards as we gorge ourselves on oily american dorm food. we don't notice the degradation and stench until we return to whence we came and smell feel touch our foulness. were we born without discernment? do we always need a nanny to babysit our every move for guilt to set in and transform? i think we do. i dread going back home to find how far i've sail'd, a lone boat abuoy
and barnacles on me, stinking of neglect and saltiness.
-----
in the library, on one of the more boring days where the air buzzed with caffeine-laced breaths, i read through my notes for civ and i noted with mild interest, disturbed and enraged, that i wrote 'color'. no 'u'.
there's salt in me now.
-----
caught off guard
all worked up
the air is as dark and cold as night
let me go
i'm not done
i swear i'll take just one lifetime and i

i won't lie
i won't sin
maybe i don't wanna go
can't you wait
maybe i don't wanna go

i should've asked
i could've helped
at least a fucking 1,000 times before
will this offer get me in
or does this prove that they gave more and i

i won't lie
i won't sin
maybe i don't wanna go
can't you wait
maybe i don't wanna go

to infinity and beyond

all these books i'm reading for hume, how is it that the authors know every curve and crevice of emotion? how do they know them so intimately? is it because they know themselves inside-out or they read others like a book...but at least i find solace and respite in my readings, although i'm supposed to stretch my brain to search for answers. even if no one understands me, i feel that these books, my friends, understand me. these books, these authors, they're interchangeable to me.

i have a pill stuck in my gullet again. it's driving me up the wall. i can't swallow without discomfort tugging at my base of my throat, and i feel the need to purge but i'm held back. what a parody of real life.

you're like a bullet in my head, swerving down into abyss, my eyes glaze over and i look through things as though they're ghosts, virtual beings. these days, i think i walk around as though half-blind, as though i'm not real. and then i remember that i am still yet alive, a modicum of human flesh, and i speak. and the spell holding me does not break. "the power of words is the power of creation." NOT.

speaking of NOT jokes: www.apple.com/trailers and go find the Borat trailer. -pause pause pause. NOT.

healing over now. racing on with life, not knowing if i'm ahead or behind trying to catch up. don't worry guys, i'm still alive.