I turned off my laptop, put McMurry aside and listened to the cars as they sped north and south on the 404. The cars cutting through the late cold winter wind makes such a harsh, yet beautiful sound. It really is an orchestra out there. The frequency, the amplitude of it changes with the time of day, day of the week and time of the year. The summers are usually just as loud but sound warmer. In the winter, it sounds like a blade cutting through steel, if thats even possible. Sounds malicious though or rather fierce, whichever way you look at it.
I really need a break. I do and while I am away, can we also rewind to the days of 0-three and go back and do it all over again,with the wisedom of today minus the experience of it all. A friend of sometime ago suggested that I needed an epiphany long ago. I believe that I need to wake up, snap out of this hellish nightmare. It all goes back really, to those certain days with shitty dsl, curious teenage minds, bitch-fests and wanting more and trying to be more. I wish I could erase it all off and start again with a fresh, clean white board.
I wouldn't miss anything if I were to go back, except, maybe sleeping to the lullaby of the eversoclose highway and ofcourse the black metal bed by the window peeking over suburbia.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Thursday, March 06, 2008
Its like sleep amnesia.
Emma never really knew how to say the right things at the right time. She was accustomed to long pauses, anxiety attacks and being lost for words. Before going to bed each night, she would ponder over the highlights of the day and try to figure out if what she said was all she meant to say. Ofcourse, this was never true. She always had some 'ifs' or 'buts' to add or disagree with something that she previously agreed to. Being double-minded never helped, nor did being a dreamer. She made do with the fact that she thought herself to sleep everynight. Every morning the previous nights' thinking would just be erased.