It's Just What I Imagined

Hello all!

I say hello towards the end of my semester. Which means that I'm a little more than one month away from having only two years left to graduate. This fact is like a permanently hovering bubble around me right now since my seniors had their farewell a couple of days ago. Looking at their pictures from their first year and seeing how much they've grown is making me oddly anxious about my own time to leave. And I'm considering the possibility that maybe, just maybe, two years isn't as long as it sounds like, and that perhaps I may feel as emotional as everybody around about leaving this place. I'm considering the possibility that there may be some truth to the idea that living in hostel, at a time when we're all moving towards real adulthood (not the "I'm 16!! I know all about life" - kind) makes strong bonds. 

But until that time comes, I'm not going to know, am I? So let's not worry about it. 

So yesterday when I was out, I saw this little girl sitting behind her father on a scooter and I remembered the times in my childhood when I used to sit on the scooter behind ma or pa. I used to sit backwards, which meant that I could look at the vehicles coming towards us, veering to one direction or another, and I could even look into the cars behind us and the people inside talking or eating or whatever. And I used to find it most entertaining. Obviously, I used to hate traveling in cars because you were in this cooped-up, little metal box; there's no ease of movement, no wind, less visibility of the fun things on the road. I think that's when I decided that I would buy a motorbike when I started working. I hope that when I actually do get a job, I still have the courage to go ahead and spend that much money on a vehicle that is considered unsafe, doesn't provide safety from the weather and has this whole 'risky driving' tag associated with it. 

Anyway, listen to Lost In My Bedroom by Sky Ferreira.

So happy here 

Everything's fine 

It's crystal clear 

It's just what I imagined 

A Working List of Things I Will Never Tell You

When I said I wasn’t with another girl
the January after we fell in love for the 3rd time,
it’s because it wasn’t actual sex.

In the February that began our radio silence,
it was actual sex. I hate the tight shirts
that go below your waistline.

Not only do they make you look too young,
but then your torso is a giraffe’s neck attached to tiny legs.
I screamed at myself in the subway

for writing poems about you still.
I made a scene. I think about you almost
each morning, and roughly every five days, I still

believe you’re there.
I still masturbate to you.
When we got really bad,

I would put another coat of mop water on the floor of the bar
to make sure you were asleep when I got to my side of the bed.
You are the only person to whom I’ve lied, knowing

I was telling the truth. I miss the way your neck
wraps around my face like a cave we are both lost in.
I remember when you said being with me

is like being alone with company.
My friend Sarah wrote a poem about pink ponies.
I’m scared you’re my pink pony.

Hers is dead. It is really sad. You’re not dead.
You live in Ohio, or Washington, or Wherever.
You are a shadow my body leaves on other girls.

I have a growing queue of things I know
will make you laugh and I don’t know where to put them.
I mourn like you’re dead. If you had asked me to stay,

I would not have said no.
It would never mean yes.




- Jon Sands
http://exceptindreams.livejournal.com/176573.html

random ramblings

I want to be a lawyer see, and today I found this webpage that just changed my perception.
Check it out - http://rinkworks.com/said/courtroom.shtml

It makes my to be ilk look like such a class of dunces :P

If you haven't already, do listen to Eric Nicholas; I find his voice and singing quite addictive. His best are My Girlfriend is a Dime, Crazy on You, and Song for my Future Wife.

I watched Gotham Knight yesterday. I found it silly that they named Indian people Russell and Cassandra; what is the point - if just to make the names familiar, then why use the term fakirs anyway?

I used to write limericks when I was a kid, you know. But I just abruptly stopped, for a reason still unidentified. I aim to start writing soon: that and other stuff, although I was never much of a poet. That reminds me of a line in Ashokamitran's book: he said that poetry is the true pursuit of a genius; prose writing is meant for the 'patient persistent persevering drudge whose heart is so shrunken that rejection slips mean nothing to him...' Very interesting thought, isn't it? Yes, I'm writing that here in spite of the fact that this will mean I don't have much genius. ;)

Quote of the day: Anyone who has never made a mistake has never tried anything new.
                                                                                         - Albert Einstein