maybe there is no such thing as growth, not figuratively or in an idealistic sense anyway. we think we're all learning to decipher between the lines and periods of sentences spoken, or even the deafening lack of it. the things we swore under exasperated breaths to never repeat, to never relive, suddenly arrive at the foot of our doors in the form of another year, another name, another split second of our dearly guarded walls crumbling down.

maybe all we have is a whirling cycle of circumstance, or tornado if you please. it begins in the calm of a sunny day being enveloped by a mass of gray imposing clouds; then the arrival of the storm over the horizon and its cruel descent on our lives. the catastrophe left of its passing--the helplessness and despair that soon follows after. and then a moment of acceptance, resignation and understanding.. getting off of our knees buried deeply on the ground and cleaning up the mess--salvaging what is left of the crushed and broken, if there is any at all.

/will edit more

lack of update(and words and thoughts and whatnot) due to tracing 100k+++++ lines of code with reporting by next week's Tuesday. so here's a neat photo i found on the net that would pretty much explain what i'm feeling at the moment.

i miss being at a concert; i miss feeling that nothing mattered when you were at one except the music. there is no tomorrow, no yesterday, no years ago or the years that will be--only right now. everywhere you look you could see it in people's faces: they're all waiting for the next song, the next rhythm, the next strum of the guitar, the soft tapping of piano keys, or the clang of the drumsticks like one waits for love or some other amazing emotion that gives them butterflies in their stomachs. and you realize, right then and there out of the thousands of people you've never seen your whole life, that you all have and share something in common--this night is something you're never ever going to forget.

there is no consistency in death, no comparison; for the grief spent on a soul lost is never the same as the other.. and so it is with life, that its birth always brings in itself another form of joy--a new reason why the world should celebrate.

i want to start this year right.

and that, for one means, writingslashpostingonblogs often. i will try to make it as substantial (or interesting) as possible, for thoughts like anything else, should not be used in excess of what is otherwise needed or asked.

so here's an awesome concept for an exhibit or maybe a cafe: walls super-glued with tons of manuscripts!!


i do feel awfully sorry for the books, though; but it is better this than the dump (which these babies would probably be in, if not plastered in these walls).

* * *

i see black coats, hear the
noise of heels against the rough pavement
empty stares, empty conversations
of how doomed the world is,
or theirs for that matter.
i see glances of people
passing by.
none of them honest,
not even mine.

dated 12jan2010