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an alternative poetry.
written: 1:36 p.m. on Monday, Oct. 03, 2005

For the record, I'd like to say that I'm only writing this because I'm at the Central Forum waiting for 2.30 p.m. to go to class and I'd be doing something productive with my time instead of checking my Alias/Desperate Housewives S2E1 download every five seconds but I didn't bring any books today, not even Chuck Palahniuk's "Invisible Monsters" which I was gonna bring until I realised that I haven't wrapped it up yet and there's no way in hell I'd carry an unwrapped brand-new book around and I have nothing to do 'cause Mel left and Khai overslept so I'm all by my lonely self with the exception of Mel's theatre studies partner who's currently sleeping on my right and my battery is dying and I didn't bring my adapter so more joy and laughter to me, yippee.

I spent this morning's Tort lecture half-listening but mostly searching for movie stills from Chungking Express and imdb.com-ing 2046. I couldn't focus and Rui was typing random sentences into my Word document on the Remoteness of Damage in Negligence and chucking her random comments all over the place and it was funny.

I want to write but I have absolutely nothing to say.

You know how it is. School and Mondays and a cute guy who just walked up the stairs, a growing realisation that you're really fucking fat, the mind-numbing thought of library research training that'd take place later on, more and more reminders of how painfully average you are, the elusive demarcation between "lonely" and "alone", I don't even know sometimes because there seem to be so many people around me and yet I'm by myself.

I love poetry because it puts into words the feelings I can't express.

I still want to read Franz Kafka's "The Trial".

I want to read all the books I can possibly get my hands own, and I want money to buy all the books that pique my interest.

I'd read anything as long as it's worthwhile, as long as it's good, and I'd like to believe that I have a pretty high standard of what 'good' entails: 'good' is more than good, it transcends boundaries of ordinariness and permeates into the spheres in which Extraordinary and Mind-Blowing are kept, words so true and beautiful that they take your breath away and send chills all over your body.

Reading Julian Barnes's "England, England" at 1 a.m. (accompanied by eight slices of bread) and I've read those words before but it was rejuvenating all the same. She knows the contours of her solitude, for thine is the wigwam, the flowers and the story, Martha Cochrane's grace that saved her from humiliating bitterness.

It's sad how things turn out sometimes. And then there are things which I'd never understand.

I guess it goes both ways, then.

before sunrise // before sunset

Previously:
- - Tuesday, Aug. 29, 2017
I'm moving. - Sunday, Jul. 11, 2010
In all honesty - Tuesday, Jul. 06, 2010
What I want for my birthday... - Sunday, Jul. 04, 2010
On Roger's behalf. - Friday, Jul. 02, 2010