Friday, May 11, 2012

a few paragraphs down


hahaha I just found out that Robin McKinley, the goddess of books and baking (LOL) is actually married to Peter Dickinson, who wrote The Ropemaker, one of the first books I asked my parents to buy for me. It's got a place of honour in my room! small world :) :)

when I run I think about all kinds of stuffs, in a sort of blow-by way because I'm running and can't follow any complicated trains of thoughts. It's probably the best time to be thinking about complicated stuffs. By necessity they all get dumbed down. Am I going to write down my internal monologue? nope. not now. I mean, not exactly now. a few paragraphs down...?

I love talking to the she who updated her lj because she has this uncanny way of seeing beyond what I say. because, 

"No. It's too heartless."

"Heartless?" She pauses. "It's true that they die too quickly." 

"It's just that, they're so sweet, so pretty, but then they die." It's heartless. 

and it was so noncommittal, like we were talking about the weather. Like the way she describes it - "first I'm just annoyed, used to it, then I start thinking about him, about it somehow - I mean, somehow thinking about it seriously, and then I can't believe it happened and what he's doing and then I think, I despise you." And her eyes are looking straight ahead, the last three words reserved for him who can't hear her. and I can't bring up enough indignation against the guy because I sort of understand. I really do. Not to say I don't agree that he's wrong. 

sometimes I can't help but wonder. but I'll never ask, she knows it, and that's why we can talk in this manner and write in that manner. <3. 

I'm sleepy. I have a headache. blame bio tut. but aww no, heaven forbid it be all gloom and doom.


look. isn't it a little too obvious to need saying? I'm sorry, but it is. 

it's awful to think, but you don't believe it at all. and I won't ever let that come around to make me speechless again. something's terribly wrong, isn't it, and I can't help wondering what the hell I'm doing practicing how to run because I don't really intend to run the next time. 

what more would you like? my unformed soul? 

don't worry, I intend to get this right. for once. just let's (soon!) conclude that lip service is no longer worth it, y'know, please do stop. how many times? saying things so that it can be ticked off the checklist, I have done it, and then it's no longer a concern. it has not been done. it has only been ticked off. you only believe it's done. it's self-delusion. is it too hard to face?

it may be. I couldn't answer her, you know, I struggled to find a box to tick and came up with something so sad and sorry-looking I gave it a half-hearted try then returned it. watched it smoke and decided I need to get rid of all those little boxes that are plastered everywhere just so I can feel better. try. 

Thanks. I meant it that time. thank you :) 



because it's so easy and effortless. 

because - I'm sorry, I value honesty too much, it's still too much black and white and that might change and would that change be for the better? - despite that 

how on earth do I collect fairy dust and formless clouds and compress them into words? it's definitely possible. just not now. all I have is the despite that which is kind of cold and rock hard and - a little - like - a wrecking ball at the end of a chain. 

amazing. I have plonked something almost coherent. now it's just whether I'll read tomorrow and wonder what the heck? hahahha. 

night :) :) :) 

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