![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(it's been 2 months since the last proper update, and august and september must have slipped through my fingers into the strange days of numbing fog and mist unfettered by words. at the urging of kiona who, while scrolling through livejournal in lit lecture today looked at me and said, "my friends list is dead, hint hint." also because the first wave of midterms has ended, hurrah!)
late-night 'the killers' concert that saturday and it was pure ecstasy and loose fun. a mass of white mist was unleashed upon us and for a moment we were anywhere. all around us the canvas of white destroyed any presuppositions of time and space and being, like we were plucked from our grounds and engulfed us in the endless realm of possibility, no grounds or limits. the beats would send reverberations that sent gusts up my legs and when i lifted my lids to sky the reacquaintance to night time breezes i'd only met in secret in my kitchens before and both these things would send the vestiges of youth reigniting through my veins again.
nights going home from church i pass by this epic bridge stretching across the roads and i don't think i've ever seen it before but it suddenly strikes me -- the overwhelm of senses, the barrage of lights in the vision multiplied infinite times over because of the reflection off glass windows of the bus. but i don't know where this bridge is, which is the strangest of all things. we learned in political science that the government puts a name and place to every one; thing possible, and in the dead of night and my mild disorientation and fascination this bridge manages to escape the grips of human obsession and defies all context. i feel sometimes we should exist without names; that the language we are born in restricts us and we are all subsets of the culture we didn't choose. because each language has its own set of alphabets and shapes and accents, and what if i'm bigger than all of that?
but what about the things, places and words that make me want to shrink into myself further? we grow up only to discover how small we really are, and how small the world can seem. feel like i'm growing into an illusory world where possibilities are endless and the world is big but then the edges of my brain are vignetted black and there are corners i cannot touch: words that are independent of themselves and which i cannot think for fear of associative functions, places that stand detached to my memories and impressions of it and hold no ghosts, things that remain things. and all these things i will force into space and vacuum, for space dilutes affection and feeling. (i think i have been blunting my edges, since then afraid to offend or chafe any longer).
late-night 'the killers' concert that saturday and it was pure ecstasy and loose fun. a mass of white mist was unleashed upon us and for a moment we were anywhere. all around us the canvas of white destroyed any presuppositions of time and space and being, like we were plucked from our grounds and engulfed us in the endless realm of possibility, no grounds or limits. the beats would send reverberations that sent gusts up my legs and when i lifted my lids to sky the reacquaintance to night time breezes i'd only met in secret in my kitchens before and both these things would send the vestiges of youth reigniting through my veins again.
nights going home from church i pass by this epic bridge stretching across the roads and i don't think i've ever seen it before but it suddenly strikes me -- the overwhelm of senses, the barrage of lights in the vision multiplied infinite times over because of the reflection off glass windows of the bus. but i don't know where this bridge is, which is the strangest of all things. we learned in political science that the government puts a name and place to every one; thing possible, and in the dead of night and my mild disorientation and fascination this bridge manages to escape the grips of human obsession and defies all context. i feel sometimes we should exist without names; that the language we are born in restricts us and we are all subsets of the culture we didn't choose. because each language has its own set of alphabets and shapes and accents, and what if i'm bigger than all of that?
but what about the things, places and words that make me want to shrink into myself further? we grow up only to discover how small we really are, and how small the world can seem. feel like i'm growing into an illusory world where possibilities are endless and the world is big but then the edges of my brain are vignetted black and there are corners i cannot touch: words that are independent of themselves and which i cannot think for fear of associative functions, places that stand detached to my memories and impressions of it and hold no ghosts, things that remain things. and all these things i will force into space and vacuum, for space dilutes affection and feeling. (i think i have been blunting my edges, since then afraid to offend or chafe any longer).
