Blank Tablet

I haven't been writing. Somewhere between second year and now I stopped committing my brain ramblings to paper or document file. This is not a system that works very well for me because I promptly lose all of my mental ruminations due to my THC inhibited memory enclave. I suppose the problem is that the older we get, assuming we are continuing to take on more and more responsibility, the less time and energy we have for the supposedly frivolous and superfluous activities we may enjoy. I've had one of those non-stop summers of joy, so I can't complain, well I could but I certainly wouldn't deserve any sympathy, but it does mean that I've had little to no time for something like blogging. Now that school has started up again and the day job is getting hectic I have little energy for the brief moments I have at home before sagging eyelids demand sleep-deprived attention. Maybe after the first wave of tests I'm facing in my American Lit and Archaeology courses I will be able to set to record the wondrous shows and places I've had the pleasure of experiencing this year. And it doesn't stop there, I've still got two more trips to America for concerts before my overseas journey to celebrate the New Year. I'm beat from the show last night and my ears are still ringing, so methinks this is not the time to start into it. Or course that brings up the fear; will I ever find the time to start writing again? Therein lies the battle between rest, industriousness, ambition and choices...there will be no clear winner and I'm sure I'll have to join a couple of parties to form the majority and get a mandate. *sigh* More work.

NYC

I just got back from a week long adventure in the fabled city of New York. It somehow always feels more real to me than any other city in the world, but as my good friend has also pointed out; it also feels like you're on t.v. or in a movie. Having spent a great deal of my formative years in America I don't feel quite as overwhelmed by the Pleasantville experience but it is true that years ago the very sight of NYPD cars and officers elicited feelings of fantasy and I would near laugh out loud. After many visits to the city I now realize how unfunny these grim officers are. I think that maybe part of my draw to nyc is the very fact that while it feels tangible, true and honest it also glows with a kind of mythical power of dreams that somehow manages to make the cliché sentiment that your dreams really can come true more than believable. It certainly has an undeniable draw, almost as soon as I arrive I feel like I belong, like the city has been waiting for me to get here and show me what its got. And whenever I leave I end up sitting here on the west coast feeling about New York the way Mitch Hedberg thought about Koala Bears-wondering why it has to be so far away from me.

voices?

My brain never stands still, and while it churns I can hear the voices chatter...but I can only hear them in my head not in my ears...so how is it that I can hear it at all? There are distinguishable voices using noticeable inflections but it's not aloud. Are the hearing portions of my brain active when I listen to these tones in order to transmit the idea within? It's like thinking about infinite space; dwell on it too long and a neighbour will call the mad house on you.

clarity

my indifference is false
i could be happy if i felt nothing
an impossibility strikes me
she does not rise