Tuesday, August 31, 2010

School Time and Time

I hoped school will be nice. It was way outside town, and some fields ran nearby and you could see the hills from the school.

During the assembly on my first day, under a nice, chilled out cloudy sky, I stood in a perfect mood. And a girl came on stage. She began singing a song; it was something that sounded very Welsh. I stared out into the fields, and in my head were some good, Welsh people with drinks they were raising to each other. And the girl finished her song and bowed to the school.

Sometime during my second week, my desk partner passed a chocolate to me. I did not smile, I held my smile tightly, and I took the chocolate gingerly. And I put it on the table in front of me. He quickly snatched it back, and I moaned something and he laughed like a demented madman.

The last period before the bell rang; it was a very long hour. I was idle, and I looked out of the window. Sometimes, I yawned, and other times I stayed shut. Humility and humanity made me crease up my forehead, and my shoes lost all signs and all importance. Please, I uttered. Then, I turned a side, patted my friend on the shoulder (lightly), and I coughed, and I told him about my mom. He did not listen half the time, but I kept talking.

How would it be if I kept roaming the streets of London throughout my life? It would be a long walk, wouldn’t it? And I would see half-deserted streets, and busy shoppers, and I would stand with my hands laid out open and inviting and some old motherly lady would smile from across the street. The sun would also light up her oiled hair, and she would be a complete lady.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Nothing

But what can I do? Can doing do anything for me?
I cannot be anything but my own writing style, my own voice.
Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony’s third movement is not a foray into romanticism, and it is not a flowery, peaceful praise for love. It is just the apple of my eye, and it is the thing for me, and I just cannot exist without feeling that existing without it is futile.
And the dark is not crystal clear, but it makes some things very clear.
How can I become anything worth becoming? Because it is very worthy – being yourself. You cannot and must not escape. For real, at least.
And music makes sense of the world, and it follows written commands of destined grace.
And music.

Saturday, August 7, 2010

We were children once, yes we were children. And now we have outgrown the children we were, and now we are not children. And now, we are different people from the people we were as children. It has all changed. We were children once, and now we are people. Yes, we are not children, we are people.