(no subject)
Yeah, so life has been taking all kinds of twists and turns.
I started reading "The God of Small Things" and am about half way through, and it's absolutely engrossing in its beauty and poetry. It's refreshing to read something so profound and unique...makes me have the urge to write something too. I feel like writing could be my calling, too bad I never figures it out. And geology...wish I had taken that first semster firstyear and not second semster second year. Blah.
So I've been heearing things thathaven't been too cool. I don't know if it's all true, because one shouldn't believe everything one hears...even if it is from a source that seems to know what he's talking about.........and yet...............some smalllittle gut feeling tells me that it's not far off the mark in its accuracy--which in turn, makes my blood boil.
I try to supress the anger, yet I find it hard not to want to work at my punches, just to get him square in the fucking jaw, perhaps break his nose? The only reason I ot for punching is because it's more insulting, more personal to hit someone in the face as opposed to their fucking loins...although that's exactly what the asshole deserves--a half severed penis and black balls--not blue, oh no...that would be what the French call "un service rendu".
I saw Vince yesterday and today. Lauren, Steve, and Greg and I drove 2 hours to Nice to hang out that night with Vince...but eveywhere was so expensive and after we chilled at the beach for a while, drinking and smoking, it started to rain; a few drops at first, then it started to pour...so we got in the car and left for Marseille again--we all figured it's be the same thing to catch a train from Marseille to wherever he had to go or get one in Nice, so he came. he saw the appartment, we chatted, we had a relaxed time, steve and Vince ended up sleeping, and Lauren, Greg and I held up the fort, watching to clock for when we had to leave to catch Vince's train in the morning. He made it by one minute.
I went to bed around 9:30 am, slept until 3:30 pm, then went to work. I took off clothes from the clothesline, hung up wet ones, folded, and ironed for a while, had a coffee with the parents (they like me there, wwant to know if I can stay next year--cool!) then got more dry clothes, folded and ironed some more, adn then straightened up the boys' room, then went and put more wet clothes to dry...then went home. Easy as cake.
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Last night, June 14, on the way to nice, a silence fell upon the car..well, sort of, Steve and greg might have still been chatting, but a silence fell upon me.
Looking out at the mountains, the sky pregnant with
subdued cloudy pink hues with streaks of clay-colored brighteness outlining the wait of rain above...looking out to that mix of sky and vineyards and moutains, I thought of Marcos. Not because was aware that exactly one year ago that evening, his soul rose once again, coming full circle to the infnity of life. And I thought about him, and his soul...wondering how amazing his soul must be to continue on in his spiritual journey, leaving the earth for the ?teenth time.
I whispered a prayer in my heart for him, looking up to the greenpinkclay-colored symphony of God.
Marcos...I am happy for you. To be corny and quote song lyrics...I will end this entry with this thought: "Life is eternal, Love is immortal, Death is only a horizon...and the horizon, is nothing but the limit of our sight." --Carly Simon
I started reading "The God of Small Things" and am about half way through, and it's absolutely engrossing in its beauty and poetry. It's refreshing to read something so profound and unique...makes me have the urge to write something too. I feel like writing could be my calling, too bad I never figures it out. And geology...wish I had taken that first semster firstyear and not second semster second year. Blah.
So I've been heearing things thathaven't been too cool. I don't know if it's all true, because one shouldn't believe everything one hears...even if it is from a source that seems to know what he's talking about.........and yet...............some smalllittle gut feeling tells me that it's not far off the mark in its accuracy--which in turn, makes my blood boil.
I try to supress the anger, yet I find it hard not to want to work at my punches, just to get him square in the fucking jaw, perhaps break his nose? The only reason I ot for punching is because it's more insulting, more personal to hit someone in the face as opposed to their fucking loins...although that's exactly what the asshole deserves--a half severed penis and black balls--not blue, oh no...that would be what the French call "un service rendu".
I saw Vince yesterday and today. Lauren, Steve, and Greg and I drove 2 hours to Nice to hang out that night with Vince...but eveywhere was so expensive and after we chilled at the beach for a while, drinking and smoking, it started to rain; a few drops at first, then it started to pour...so we got in the car and left for Marseille again--we all figured it's be the same thing to catch a train from Marseille to wherever he had to go or get one in Nice, so he came. he saw the appartment, we chatted, we had a relaxed time, steve and Vince ended up sleeping, and Lauren, Greg and I held up the fort, watching to clock for when we had to leave to catch Vince's train in the morning. He made it by one minute.
I went to bed around 9:30 am, slept until 3:30 pm, then went to work. I took off clothes from the clothesline, hung up wet ones, folded, and ironed for a while, had a coffee with the parents (they like me there, wwant to know if I can stay next year--cool!) then got more dry clothes, folded and ironed some more, adn then straightened up the boys' room, then went and put more wet clothes to dry...then went home. Easy as cake.
---------------------------------------
Last night, June 14, on the way to nice, a silence fell upon the car..well, sort of, Steve and greg might have still been chatting, but a silence fell upon me.
Looking out at the mountains, the sky pregnant with
subdued cloudy pink hues with streaks of clay-colored brighteness outlining the wait of rain above...looking out to that mix of sky and vineyards and moutains, I thought of Marcos. Not because was aware that exactly one year ago that evening, his soul rose once again, coming full circle to the infnity of life. And I thought about him, and his soul...wondering how amazing his soul must be to continue on in his spiritual journey, leaving the earth for the ?teenth time.
I whispered a prayer in my heart for him, looking up to the greenpinkclay-colored symphony of God.
Marcos...I am happy for you. To be corny and quote song lyrics...I will end this entry with this thought: "Life is eternal, Love is immortal, Death is only a horizon...and the horizon, is nothing but the limit of our sight." --Carly Simon