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The Age of Backwards
Tuesday, May 28 2002 : 11:17 am
Waking up feeling like an Augustine confession, the construction of astral planes already in my head, (fore)seeing exactly where to fold along the dotted (imaginary) lines. In my pocket are mints and assorted letters: I've been to the consonant market and blew my money on a vowel-shopping spree. Suddenly it's later and cupped in my hands are a million little stars, loose connections, aggregations, affiliations, twinkling like faulty blue eyes of a mushroom faerie. The page isn't so frightening anymore, you just don't care anymore, because later becomes now and that's all that matters. This is all that matters. My miraculous letters group themselves into words and march towards the empty notebook paper lying on my bed, with me watching from the corner of the door, almost afraid to disturb their soiree.
can't you see i'm drunk?
Monday, May 27 2002 : 12:27 am
Zeitgeist
Friday, May 24 2002 : 07:15 p.m.
zeitgeist TSYT-gyst; ZYT-gyst, noun:
(Often capitalized) The spirit of the time; the general intellectual and moral state or temper characteristic of any period of time.
juju says: arg, its not so good to live in the past, is it ?
belishabeacon says: it's never been good...but we had nice remembrances
Arguably, some would say that our relationship isn't in the bounds of "normalcy", but what is normal, anyway? It's a word to describe the state we've been accustomed to, a comfortable little cocoon. Is it not normal, that the man I love is a thousand miles away? Or, is it normal, that 3-hour chats are a rare luxury, something that can turn the weekend into a rose-coloured petal? Absurdity and sanity stand too close to the line drawn between them, in my opinion.
During girl's night out my friends Honey and Flem always make it a point to insert a certain question in the discussions : How can you take it? (the distance in between)
I don't know how I take it. There's no science to it, no art to it, no explanation, not even reason. You just do.
Quiet Siege
Friday, May 24 2002 : 2.45 am
My mother had a huge crush on the lead singer of Stone Temple Pilots (what was his name?) when Big Bang Baby came out on video (she liked his little dance). Encouraged, I made her listen to the Smashing pumpkins, but she opted for Thom Yorke instead, stating that Billy Corgan "had no business making records" on account of his "constant wailing". Which is a preposterously un-thought-of comment, because Thom Yorke wails almost as much, if not more, as Corgan.
That was 3 years ago. Today though, I've spent around PHP30 worth of SMS messages to her, demanding the return of my 'Adore' tape, because she prefers this "quiet siege" to their previous albums.
Mind you, tape. Indeed. Just you wait till all your cds get scratches on them. Then you'll come crawling back to tape. Good old tapes. Lo-fi will rule the world. Soon.
-evil laughter from belisha!
PS. Yes, I'm flashbacking to the Pumpkins. On account of the rain, I think.
Fool enough to almost be it and cool enough to not quite see it
Thursday, May 23 2002 : 12:02 pm
Summer thunderstorms marking the end of hotheadedness and cool drinks and playing invented card games on friend's porches.
Enter the task of curling up on damp couches, raincoats and badass umbrella patterns, getting your feet wet! no sandals, just boots, or barefoot, whatever suits you, just like rain, melancholia and nostalgia, your favourite rain sweater.
Then, counting seconds after lightning and laughing nervously at the sound of thunder, explaining to children "That's Saint Peter playing bowling in the clouds", and staying indoors, looking at the window, counting seconds after lightning, counting seconds after lightning, counting seconds after lightning, there it is!, one, two, three, four, thunder, quoting good ol' bald Billy, try to understand, that when I can, I will.
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