Your Humble Narrator

Vertigo.

Protectionism is a good thing. At least, feels good to me.

---

I miss this.

(I think that beige thing is my @#$%^&* knee invading upon a stunning picture of innocent guileless joy- no, wait. I hate kids. I like kids. Oh well. I can't decide. It's a swinging thing.)

All of this. Cannot remember the last time I lost myself in a good song, or the last time I laughed so hard I couldn't breathe, or a shrieky pillow fight, went to a studio, sang in the shower, curled up with a book from dusk to dawn. Cannot even remember the last thing I drew in my own time.

It's quite strange to think that past present future are all the same. It's all already happening isn't it. So this is how we live our lives.

(I'm enigmatic tonight and I'm still trying to figure out why. Ha ha ha)

I shall end this post off with a QOTD and a poem, because poetry is good good good for the soul.

QOTD:
yici: (doing work) oh god...
qianrou: yes?

(or rather, a fragment of a poem)

'Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.'

27082007; 11:32pm