This is for you wimpola.
http://www.angryflower.com/keepsm.gif

Been listening to Cutting Crew since 9 in the AM. My brain has been sufficiently addled by now. I'm enjoying my new found vegetarianism.

Very very very very very very very restless.

*explodes*

I wanted to stay awake all night but I have college. Sleeping through classes is not an option here. I was told that I live in an illusory world and some day reality will bite. I hear things which make me truly uncomfortable with my happy state. I got upset but I also noticed that I didn't get as upset as I used to. It was more of a dull throb, to be shaken away. Reality will bite someday and I won't be prepared to deal with it because I'll have conditioned myself with my delusions. My delusions are fun, they keep me warm, it's how the world is in my head and my universe, they are mine.
Bitch college makes me get up at 7 something.
I miss L. Quite a bit. Especially now that I'm awake after 11 invariably. I miss sleeping at 10.

http://www.freshlimesoda.com/poetry/mahima_singh.htm

Nim.

Last night's MS Word rant:

My cable refuses to work some problem my cursory knowledge can’t fix. So I’m going to write this here. There is something essential being forgotten somewhere. Today I couldn’t take college anymore. It just got to me like it does sometimes, when I have convinced myself that I like the place and that when I have to leave I probably won’t want to (which is a lie, every time I say that to myself I know that) and when I try to get back in sync with this place that teems with activity and what irritates me the most contentment and a sense of self satisfaction. I find my presence there a jarring, sharp note that ruins something relevant. It’s a matter of pride for these people to be where they are. Well, I agree to get in you need high marks (I got high marks, that means nothing to nobody) but the essential "spirit of LSR" which *really* pisses me off is that these people believe, truly believe, that they are superior. They are confident in every sense of the word. It sounds like a stupid thing to gripe about but they believe that just by being in this college, it’s red distemper simply rubs into them some truly special quality that makes them different from normal, human people. Because some people in some societies are talented (and they most definitely are) everybody just by virtue of being in the same college as them must be a very well rounded personality. It makes me seethe, their complacency, their self-assuredness. I suppose I am a feminist in some sense of the word. But I do not believe that all females are going to save the world just because they are not men. I propose a healthy distrust of all people irrespective of their sexes. The world, ladies, is not yours for the taking. The reason you love this place so much is that it lies to you and makes you believe that it might be. It does not ask you to reflect or improve; it asks you to celebrate every little thing about your sexy, wholesome, razor sharp selves.
To sum up, when it got to me, I skived off National Income Accounting and went and lay under a tree.

The plans I make still have you in them. As you come swimming into view.
And I'm hanging on your words like I always used to do.

Restlessness is happening.

Don't ever be a slogan because you're poetry aka Tune for the Almost

She is still almost quiet. Almost at war. In silence she is almost waiting. I see her in my dream clawing at the air. What if- or maybe- and then if. Surge almost hopefully, lovingly. She reels, she staggers.
Almost there.

Nobody but Maitreyi recognised the daffodils line. It's not mine.

I told the daffodils that at last my heart is an open book

I love how crass his poetry is.
Almost crude. Like his hands undoing a clasp on a bag.

Extract

listening to the waves ...

I have died too many times
believing and waiting, waiting
in a room
staring at a cracked ceiling
wating for the phone, a letter, a knock, a sound ...
going wild inside

while she danced with strangers in nightclubs ...

out of the arms of one love
and into the arms of another

it's not pleasant to die on the cross,
it is much more pleasant to hear your name whispered in
the dark.

I look at the first one and tell myself I do not want this. And the next, and the next.
Even if we ignore the fact that it's something that I can not have, I would like to tell myself that I do not want it.

I want to be on the more obtuse plane because when this mood prevails, I'm simply more comfortable there. I'm still thinking of practical things, consequences.
----

She was talking to him and I don't think he could tell the tone of her voice. It was a lot softer than he imagined. She was genuinely trying to talk to him. The message was taken as something a lot more regular and insignificant than it was meant to have been.
--------

Today we are invincible : D

My Yahoo works again.
I wouldn't know what else to say. Things are .. thick. Lumpy, goopy thick. I miss L.