When I look into your eyes
I can see a love restrained
But darlin' when I hold you
Don't you know I feel the same
'Cause nothin' lasts forever
And we both know hearts can change
And it's hard to hold a candle
In the cold November rain
Siren's Song
Friday, October 24, 2003
The days in Melbourne must be getting longer. Soon, the sun will set at nine o'clock. More light, more life?
"Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines". Gorgeous hot day. Today.
I wonder how him and him are doing now. It should be half past seven over at their side of the world, or is it half past eight? Daylight savings, I'll never comprehend that.
Neuronal firing. Depolarization. Ain't human relations not following the same rules? Two paths cross in time, a spontaneous combustion, an instant connection, then the diminishing of signals and the eventual fading away of that spark of superfriendship. The wax and wane of a stimulus (read: random friendship) is nothing but a burst of neurotransmitters (read: common interests, common topics to talk about etc). Then time and again another neuron will fire and subside. Sometimes a few fire en masse, at other times there is no stimulus at all.
I see him and him and him online all the time. What used to be an endless song (or din?) of OH-OHs or dengdengdengdengs has quietened down to the occasional, almost undetectable alert tone. Even still, the messages are not from him and him and him. Especially, Him. No email, no SMS, no MSN, no ICQ. Him whom I so adored. Him, whom I was in love for one and twenty days. Him. Ayes.
Does he chat to other people online? Does he email other people? Does he SMS, or call, anyone, for that matter? Is it just me that he ignores and not see?
But that's besides the point. All I wanna say is that, someone's online presence is an amazing thing. Everyone. Someone. Anyone. Even if no one's on the other side of the connection. If one's connected, I'll consider the online presence valid.
I thank you all who leave your computers running twenty-four-seven. Because of you, I don't feel so alone.
Ayes.
Memories have a peculiar capacity to flood back like stinging bees in the hottest summer's day. Especially when one is alone. So beautiful is the world laid out in front of me from my throne room lookout, so many shades of green and gold, so pleasingly serene. Must those dust-choked memories surface right now to shroud everything in shades of grey instead?
Shades of green. Shades of gold. Shades of grey.
Each hue brings retrieves a different image, unlocks a different scene, reminds of a different emotion, in a different place, a different time.
Hot summer, bright sunshine. Who do I recall? What recollections come to mind? Him, him and him. Maybe him too. *smiles* Such vagary. Such coquetry. Such fang-dangnicity.
Driving at 160 kph along the coast in a WRX, with windows wound down, and RnB blasting. Relishing in the crisp air rushing at my face; blithely, and somewhat carelessly, tucking stray locks of wind-tousled hair behind my ears. Some say that angels cannot feel. Do you recall the little girl innocently asking Nicholas Cage a.k.a. angel Seth in City of Angels, "What good will wings do, when you can't feel the wind on your face?" *smiles again* Were the angels green with envy, do you think?
Then again, I read somewhere else that angels neither love nor feel for the ones they're sent to watch over. Guardians of their charges they are, but nothing more. It's their mission to guard and protect their charges, not to love.
Strangely, angels do not love us. Str-angel-y.
As such, does endearments such as "you're such an angel" or "my darling angel" make sense? I used to have this special thing for angels. No longer. Hence the retraction of some lines.
Shades of green. Shades of gold. Shades of grey.
People come, people go. But memories are here to stay.
Him: Even though I'm not in love with you anymore, I loved you, and I love you still. Your presence online has ceased to cause a ripple in my heart, yet my thoughts often wonder about you still.
Shades of green. Shades of gold. Shades of grey.
Cruel games on my heart and soul do memories blithely play.
I still keep his SMSes. They're already three months old, and taking up storage space, but I keep them nonetheless. Alasheemashees. Ed's gonna get me for this.
Robert Frost comes to mind:
Nature's first hue is gold
Her hardest hue to hold
Her early bud's a flower
But only for an hour.
Then Eden sank to grief
As leaf subsides to leaf,
As dawn goes down to day
Nothing gold can stay.
"Blackouts, or alcohol-induced amnestic episodes, were a top diagnostic indicator in Jellinek's disease theory of alcoholism. Although the theory has been challenged by many, blackouts continue to be regarded as a warning sign of problem drinking despite mixed evidence of their prognostic value. Prevalence rates as high as 40-50% have been reported among young adults."
I prolly can't understand the dynamics of en block memory loss after you drink, but I do b-e-l-i-e-v-e that you can't recall all the supposed silly things you do when you're gone.
Aikes.
If it makes you happy, it can't be that bad.
4:28 PM
Alamakeroos.. I'm sinking into that unproductive non-conducive time-wasting Bloggamaniac mood again. Holy ruminants and defecation! Sheeties.
Am working on my paper. Ermz, somewhat. Am doing the appropriate readings. The phrase 借酒消愁愁更愁 so aptly fits my hypothesis that I simply HAVE to dig out the original piece. It's an obligatory tribute to the author behind such a fine line.
Aw niceeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Pardon my bimboticity. But that rush of pleasure up my spine, infusing my whole heart and soul, is totally indescribable. A generic "nice" doesn't do any justice to the beauty of the prose above, but that's really all I can muster - n i c e. Nice to the max!
Ops, I digressed.
My term paper for Brain and Cognition:
Hypothesis: 借酒消愁 is a common phenomenon.
Findings: 借酒消愁愁更愁
Conclusion: 解酒消愁愁不愁
