(no subject)
The day went well, and tomorrow is my first class, which is Painting II with Steven Gilbert. Hopefully I will be getting to sleep pretty soon, and will wake up ok. Aside from that, I suppose there is little to say.
The feeling is pretty flat, just something indistinct. Today I was out with Erika, Jen, and Michelle, went to Little Italy and then jogged from lit window to lit window in the harbor to shake off the cold when we could. In the Harborplace foodcourt, a man sang about free and not so free fudge (by occupation, not by madness) and on the lightrail a guy hung from the ceiling by hooking his legs through the handlebars(which might have been by madness, because it definately wasn't by occupation), and the others with him screamed for someone to take a picture before he fell off. Outside my window, I have a great view of traffic zig zagging down ramps. Thats the way home, I think, that highway suspended over the trees and that southern general with his sword. The lights, the blue, white, orange ones strewn around on that little horizon are warped into four pointed stars. The red ones and the light yellow ones are smaller and moving.
On the day before I got back, I knew I'd be alone and wanted to go to Brookside gardens for some reason, but I didn't get up the courage to drive until evening, and by then I couldn't go. So I walked a few circles around the neighborhood by myself, like I sometimes used to do. And I felt much better. The place was asleep, the houses, many with their curtains drawn, had the lights behind walls and glass, which meant that from the outside they were the dreams of the whole place. Little separate worlds. Honestly, I think we are as far from some of our neighbors, that might live mere meters away, as the earth from pluto, farther even. Infinitely far, sometimes. So maybe the same principle applies in reverse? I won't be able to describe what I saw on that walk. It was nice, and there were moments, when the streetlamp threw that unreal sort of light and shadow onto something protruding from the dead grass, that for some reason reminded me of when we rode into I think Baku after the airport, in the car. I was very little and hated cars, and it was night time and the only thing I hated more than cars was planes, so I was very sick. But I remember outside there was a moonscape of sorts. Rocks and shrubs and roadsides curving away into what must have been infinity. At this point, it might as well be. Its completely dissolved, and so vague that it can and could and might and should exist in too many variations for anything to be concrete.
Anyways, I've digressed, really badly. (If anyone actually does read this, I apologize for the rambly way in which its written). What I really wanted to say was that during that little walk, which contained in it (like all experience, I guess) more than I can remember or could process or put down here, (so I might as well give up trying to describe it all), there is a point where I come to the very bottom of Cedar Creek, where it meets Fairland, and I like to stand there for a while watching the cars, because they zoom by so fast, in each direction, and I like to try to find faces, and the last time I did that it was much more like an ocean than I ever remember noticing, but its true, it was like that. Even the sound. It was like the sound of waves. Or of some comparable force that goes on, and pushes, and disregards. Sometimes the cars moved in caravans and sometimes in single comet bursts. Claudia said that a crowd of people was like the ocean. This strange vastness has confused me and held me for a while. I tried to make it my IB art focus, but it ended up hard to put into words, or images. Why in the world I am babbling about any of this I don't really know. I should probably sleep. That would be healthiest.
The feeling is pretty flat, just something indistinct. Today I was out with Erika, Jen, and Michelle, went to Little Italy and then jogged from lit window to lit window in the harbor to shake off the cold when we could. In the Harborplace foodcourt, a man sang about free and not so free fudge (by occupation, not by madness) and on the lightrail a guy hung from the ceiling by hooking his legs through the handlebars(which might have been by madness, because it definately wasn't by occupation), and the others with him screamed for someone to take a picture before he fell off. Outside my window, I have a great view of traffic zig zagging down ramps. Thats the way home, I think, that highway suspended over the trees and that southern general with his sword. The lights, the blue, white, orange ones strewn around on that little horizon are warped into four pointed stars. The red ones and the light yellow ones are smaller and moving.
On the day before I got back, I knew I'd be alone and wanted to go to Brookside gardens for some reason, but I didn't get up the courage to drive until evening, and by then I couldn't go. So I walked a few circles around the neighborhood by myself, like I sometimes used to do. And I felt much better. The place was asleep, the houses, many with their curtains drawn, had the lights behind walls and glass, which meant that from the outside they were the dreams of the whole place. Little separate worlds. Honestly, I think we are as far from some of our neighbors, that might live mere meters away, as the earth from pluto, farther even. Infinitely far, sometimes. So maybe the same principle applies in reverse? I won't be able to describe what I saw on that walk. It was nice, and there were moments, when the streetlamp threw that unreal sort of light and shadow onto something protruding from the dead grass, that for some reason reminded me of when we rode into I think Baku after the airport, in the car. I was very little and hated cars, and it was night time and the only thing I hated more than cars was planes, so I was very sick. But I remember outside there was a moonscape of sorts. Rocks and shrubs and roadsides curving away into what must have been infinity. At this point, it might as well be. Its completely dissolved, and so vague that it can and could and might and should exist in too many variations for anything to be concrete.
Anyways, I've digressed, really badly. (If anyone actually does read this, I apologize for the rambly way in which its written). What I really wanted to say was that during that little walk, which contained in it (like all experience, I guess) more than I can remember or could process or put down here, (so I might as well give up trying to describe it all), there is a point where I come to the very bottom of Cedar Creek, where it meets Fairland, and I like to stand there for a while watching the cars, because they zoom by so fast, in each direction, and I like to try to find faces, and the last time I did that it was much more like an ocean than I ever remember noticing, but its true, it was like that. Even the sound. It was like the sound of waves. Or of some comparable force that goes on, and pushes, and disregards. Sometimes the cars moved in caravans and sometimes in single comet bursts. Claudia said that a crowd of people was like the ocean. This strange vastness has confused me and held me for a while. I tried to make it my IB art focus, but it ended up hard to put into words, or images. Why in the world I am babbling about any of this I don't really know. I should probably sleep. That would be healthiest.