In the morning chill, I walked into the rehab classroom in the Town Center, looking for my faith again. I'm in these lengthy behavioral class just to learn to say no. I don't have to be logical; I don't have to find a reason for my feelings; I don't concentrate on the past. I already knew, my mistakes, excessive probing, logical thinking, calculating, as well as a level of steadiness. And I got to think whether I've treated myself like a doormat all these years. Selfless is also a lack of self esteem. And there's only myself to be blamed, but I have never caused you trouble, I never meant to do you harm.
If I can see it, then I will understand. I was not in control, from the start in the wrong way, until the end stage. And I can't tell whether my dimishing desires are due to the completion of my collections of reasonings, or the conclusion of a disappointing cause. I can't internalize myself, I don't know how to deal with it. And I'm not sure whether it's doing me good.
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Sunday, October 23, 2005
|| It's the music that we like, it's the soul that we are after.
Flowing in the air, they were the notes, but didn't give a clue of what they could bring, if there was ever an answer, it should be hope and faith.
I love dreary weather, 'cause it makes you the owner of the day, gives the reason of just staying put and thinking hard, even if it doesn't turn out to be a single thread of anything new. Driving under the weather is another experience. I was happy that I took the Espresso shot earlier in the night. It was densely foggy at times, and I didn't know how to react while I was driving real fast. All of a sudden I was totally lost in the road, hardly saw anything out of it. There was no warning sign, just like that.
Walking back into the campus was strange, somewhat intimidating. I was getting old. I looked at the many students, the differences were striking. They were so young, and the liveliness was never to be faked. I know that look, that I don't want to be told, and that I don't give it a damn. The Johnson center I stayed briefly was a nice and versatile place, the ground floor is the cafe, then there are shelves of books on the second floor. I was on the third, my favorite position of being in not-quite the crowd. It was easy, it was peaceful, in the long run, to face the fact that I am really detached from living in the school life.
But the crispy air, along the path in the darkness, the coldness penetrated into the jacket. This summer was long, tough and deadly. And the cold air brings but something I need for a pass. Every object stood there beautifully, from where I landed at the balcony of the Center for the Arts building. The first half of the program has hardly given me any information, it was Beethoven. Accidentally I said that traders and art performers are but technicians. And I said that Beethoven is too upward and gayish for me, a lack of roughness and suspense in the flows, and I couldn't find any spirits that could relate myself to. After the intermissin, I decided to help myself by reading ahead the commentary of the second half, and then there says that even the music workers couldn't "find an appellative or running story to this work". It was like running a futile life path, without knowing where to head for, where to get down. I'd rather think that it's because people don't understand, and I don't understand.
It was good music. Symphony brings the power of harmony and strength, I just need to find myself in it. Sometimes getting to recognize differences is harder than to find out the common, and this was one of those, the night was a second time, in George Mason, with Rocky, of Munich Symphony Orchestra, Philippe Entremont as Conductor and Piano Soloist. The times will be remembered many years to come, for me, rare moments of being different, and didn't have to give a damn ...
I love dreary weather, 'cause it makes you the owner of the day, gives the reason of just staying put and thinking hard, even if it doesn't turn out to be a single thread of anything new. Driving under the weather is another experience. I was happy that I took the Espresso shot earlier in the night. It was densely foggy at times, and I didn't know how to react while I was driving real fast. All of a sudden I was totally lost in the road, hardly saw anything out of it. There was no warning sign, just like that.
Walking back into the campus was strange, somewhat intimidating. I was getting old. I looked at the many students, the differences were striking. They were so young, and the liveliness was never to be faked. I know that look, that I don't want to be told, and that I don't give it a damn. The Johnson center I stayed briefly was a nice and versatile place, the ground floor is the cafe, then there are shelves of books on the second floor. I was on the third, my favorite position of being in not-quite the crowd. It was easy, it was peaceful, in the long run, to face the fact that I am really detached from living in the school life.
But the crispy air, along the path in the darkness, the coldness penetrated into the jacket. This summer was long, tough and deadly. And the cold air brings but something I need for a pass. Every object stood there beautifully, from where I landed at the balcony of the Center for the Arts building. The first half of the program has hardly given me any information, it was Beethoven. Accidentally I said that traders and art performers are but technicians. And I said that Beethoven is too upward and gayish for me, a lack of roughness and suspense in the flows, and I couldn't find any spirits that could relate myself to. After the intermissin, I decided to help myself by reading ahead the commentary of the second half, and then there says that even the music workers couldn't "find an appellative or running story to this work". It was like running a futile life path, without knowing where to head for, where to get down. I'd rather think that it's because people don't understand, and I don't understand.
It was good music. Symphony brings the power of harmony and strength, I just need to find myself in it. Sometimes getting to recognize differences is harder than to find out the common, and this was one of those, the night was a second time, in George Mason, with Rocky, of Munich Symphony Orchestra, Philippe Entremont as Conductor and Piano Soloist. The times will be remembered many years to come, for me, rare moments of being different, and didn't have to give a damn ...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
