My mum went home this morning. The clear beautiful day that we had awoken to in the dawn hour had vanished in the hours spent battling trafic and drooping eyelids. For the first time all year, I went to class as a means of forgetting everything else I had to be doing- rather a waste of the time. But the taxes are nearly done, Goodwill has been called, I have someplace to take my car to at least find out what the *&@# is wrong with it, and I have something of a notion of what I am writing on my paper...

I want a stop button for life...

... or perhaps just lessons from the guys who seemed to think they could live in the manner of the last quote posted...

Omnipresent phrase in my mind
Spoken words I've said one million times
Who are you to tell me
It'll always be this way
I close my eyes
And I turn around
And leave it all behind

So free for the moment
Lost somewhere between the earth and the sky
So free for the moment
Lost because I wanna be lost
Don't try to find me

Always try breeze through my life
Repititious things I've done one million times
Who are you to tell me
That I'll always be this way
I close my eyes
And I turn around
And leave it all behind

What could I do
It's not such a terrible thing
What would you do
It's not such a terrible thing

So free for the moment
Lost somewhere between the earth and the sky
So free for the moment
Lost because I wanna be lost

So free for the moment
Lost somewhere between the earth and the sky
So free for the moment
Lost because i wanna be lost
Don't try to find me

The Martinis, Free

I want to stay as close to the edge as I can without going over. Out on the edge you see all kinds of things you can't see from the center.
-Kurt Vonnegut, Jr., writer (1922- )

How possible is it to live like this for long? Is one able to live in this manner for all of life? what of security and stability? it almost seems as though the "edge" were characterized by the 'not knowing what is going to happen'... there is an allure about this, but time makes everything familier, even the most spectacular and beautiful or awful and terrible of things. that edge would have to keep being pushed and expanded, a sense of place would never be developed... can you really live like that?

Pretend you're happy when you're blue
It isn't very hard to do
And you'll find happiness without an end
Whenever you pretend

Remember anyone can dream
And nothing's bad as it may seem
The little things you haven't got
Could be a lot if you pretend

You'll find a love you can share
One you can call all your own
Just close your eyes, she'll be there
You'll never be alone

And if you sing this melody
You'll be pretending just like me
The world is mine, it can be yours, my friend
So why don't you pretend?

And if you sing this melody
You'll be pretending just like me
The world is mine, it can be yours, my friend
So why don't you pretend?

~Pretend, Nat King Cole

... and not I am not going to give an explanation for this...

I think I am beginning to think I am getting stressed, if stress levels have any relation to an inclination to depression (or at least mild bluseiness- and if that wasn't a word already I just made it one...). There never seems to be enought time to do even the minimal amount of everything that needs to get done, and I am always exhausted... Each week-end I think "ok now I will be able to get caught up on things" and then somehow I don't, not homework, or paper, or sleep... sigh. Perhaps it's just the weather getting to me. It has turned cold and damp without actually raining yet, with a fitful wind that wanders below skirt hems and down necklines. Watching the massing grey clouds out beyond the hills from the lab class window an hour ago I could think of little to drive away the feeling of pressure and tension (although I was in lab class and that generally has that effect on me, cloudy day or no). I started scribbling and between the notes and objections to the ramblings of the instructor these came out...

play me the falling rain
the gradual sweeping up and covering over
of all things seen and not
by soft sheets of
colors muted, angles grown soft
coming down of cares and sighs
whether washed away or
sunken slowly deeper...


song of falling rain
set'ling cares and sighs deeper
in growing chillness

I fear nothing, I hope for nothing, I am free.
-Nikos Kazantzakis, poet and novelist (1883-1957)

What sort of freedom is this? I don't understand. How can you be free if you hope for nothing? It makes no sence, unless you think of freedom as a sort of nirvana or state of nothingness. Even fearing nothing does not seem to acuratly represent freedom, just express an aspect of it.

~ ~ ~

The sky is grey and clouded over today, but it fails to bring the pleasure that such a sight would ordinarily bring. Instead it seems lowering and forboding. The ache of beauty is still present (when is it ever not?), but it does not satisfy, does not fill. I have too many things on my mind, and not enough substance (or focus) in any of it to hold my attention. Thoughts of the near and far future keep distracting me form the present, and I keep returning time and again with a thump and bump of semi-painful awarenesss that I am neglecting life for chimeras and might-be-perhapses. And then I begin to wander off again telling myself that unless I work and plan for the future now, then I won't have much to work with when I get there and it begins all over again.
*sigh* balance will come, with practice and a few more bruises.

three haikus written during seminar this evening... I've been wanting to write and finally gave in...

green tips edging limbs
black wings looming close sit silent
hearalding chill rains

~ ~ ~

falling drops chill hands
'plashing amoung small heart cracks
bringing beauty nigh

~ ~ ~

memory recalls
sardonic smile causitc tone
known - missed- air and walk

I am going to get prefected in a moment I'm sure, and justice requires me to be gone anyway...

But to reiterate me annual complaint: I hate taxes and everything related to them!