Books
Recently, I've been haunting the non-fiction shelfs of bookstores, history, sociology, social anthropology, feminist literature, business, management, marketing... so many things to read, so many interesting opinions, so much comedy to be found in the real world and so little time to pursue the wealth of useless information they promise me. So little time to stock up on the opinions that aren't really mine. And how very tiny a sum of money with which to pursue/ peruse? (hah) the knowledge that parades itself before me.
Cloudy days like today allow me the luxury of feeling like I'm some sort of grown up in some little suburban paradise somewhere. Cloudy days are also reminiscent of Edinburgh.
I'm writing again... does this mean I'm trying to detach myself from the situation that I find myself in? Maybe I guess it's just not enough anymore. I thought things would change, but I suppose in the time that has gone by, I've just found myself growing colder. It is easier to do that when your needs and your wants are not taken care of. It's easier not to need. So I detach, I withdraw and everything is peaceful again. Everything is peachy on the surface while inside I've finally started to stir. The words doing somersaults and back-flips in my head, turning and stirring my internal night sky...
"Starry starry night
Paint your palette black and blue"
Just three miles from the rest stop/ And she slams on the breaks/ She said I tried to be here but I'm not/ And could you please collect your things/ I don't wanna be cold/ I don't wanna be cruel/ But I gotta find more
Than what's happening with you/ If you'd - open up the door/ She said - while you were sleeping/ I was listening to the radio/ And wondering what you're dreaming when/ It came to mind that I didn't care/ So I thought - hell if it's over/ I had better end it quick/ Or I could lose my nerve/ Are you listening - can you hear me/ Have you forgotten
Cloudy days like today allow me the luxury of feeling like I'm some sort of grown up in some little suburban paradise somewhere. Cloudy days are also reminiscent of Edinburgh.
I'm writing again... does this mean I'm trying to detach myself from the situation that I find myself in? Maybe I guess it's just not enough anymore. I thought things would change, but I suppose in the time that has gone by, I've just found myself growing colder. It is easier to do that when your needs and your wants are not taken care of. It's easier not to need. So I detach, I withdraw and everything is peaceful again. Everything is peachy on the surface while inside I've finally started to stir. The words doing somersaults and back-flips in my head, turning and stirring my internal night sky...
"Starry starry night
Paint your palette black and blue"
Just three miles from the rest stop/ And she slams on the breaks/ She said I tried to be here but I'm not/ And could you please collect your things/ I don't wanna be cold/ I don't wanna be cruel/ But I gotta find more
Than what's happening with you/ If you'd - open up the door/ She said - while you were sleeping/ I was listening to the radio/ And wondering what you're dreaming when/ It came to mind that I didn't care/ So I thought - hell if it's over/ I had better end it quick/ Or I could lose my nerve/ Are you listening - can you hear me/ Have you forgotten