What time did I get up today? I think it was half past twelve. Great, waking up when half the day is gone. It could be the story of my life, if I were to think it were full of missed opportunities, but really, it’s more about how I don’t think I have anything interesting to write about.
I suppose interesting is all rather relative. By all accounts, i do think I have it interesting when I see thing through my rose-tinted glasses. I play in bands, am rather enamoured by the inane things in the world, I have my own domain space, I do things the way I normally want to do them, although at the end of the day, you’re not above what’s commonly expected of you. It’s that grey line that keeps sifting back and forth between right and wrong.
Anyway, I do feel rather funky today. Not in the groovy sense, but more like some kind of sticky situation. Not that it’s trouble, it’s that, I can’t find myself being creative funk. I just packed my room today, and it feels great to have plenty more walking room, and being able to find my stuff. However, it just doesn’t feel like I’ve accomplished much.
Accomplishments like I want to write some of my own music, I want to commit them to a recording, but I don’t seem to really get along with commitment. In some sense, that’s also why I seem to be typing less. The only thing that I seem to be doing rather regularly, is taking snapshots of moments in time. Maybe there’s a certain distance I put between my subject and me, that doesn’t seem so vulnerable. Maybe it’s an element of control I still feel like I have, rather than plunge into an unknown element doing something I’ve never done before, whether it’s putting new thoughts down or penning new tunes.
Maybe I am afraid that people will hate it. It’s a rather real fear, that when you birth ideas into the world, and you think they’re really special, but in the end they’re not. Like children. Heaven knows how many brats grow up thinking they’re a gift to the world when they’re really just taking up space with their banality. (Which sounds like what I’m doing now.)
It could be misanthropy. I wonder if I’m a misanthrope? It seems like a rather unhealthy disposition, but they can’t say anything if it’s a medical condition, can they?
I also wonder if there’s a condition for an overuse of punctuation marks.
It’s my last night in Spain, and I’m spending it at my uncle’s home listening to music by Ennio Morricone while sitting on a couch, bashing this out. I’m slightly buzzed from the alcohol, with a burning fever to type all this down lest I forget.
I remember a time when I used to talk with my friend, Yuanheng, when we were still in university and he used to tell me of the genius of Sergio Leone, and we would talk about Spaghetti Westerns, Clint Eastwood, Chow Yun Fatt and all the points about cinema that spat in the face of classics only to become classic styles on their own.
This was a time of fearless daring, when we wanted to break rules, or adhere to rules, it didn’t matter. Homage or youthful dissident, we wanted to do our best in creating something, we didn’t care if we were recognised or not, nothing else mattered. On days, sometimes the project would consume us, on other days, we would wish we’d never started on it. We would live in that perfect, paradoxical moment of creation’s cradle, and we would allow ourselves to be shaped and molded on a moment’s whim and trust in the all-encompassing creativity that what we did would ultimately find meaning, ultimately grant us success, richness and glory.
It was a furious time when everything mattered and nothing mattered. Those times of being a student, not an adult, before we were sucked into the corporate deluge of endearing profit margins and making the world a better place. This was before all that, when we had a youthful ignorance of how the world operated, how we could change everything about the world into our image, how we were the very centre of our own universes before it collapsed like a house of cards around us.
Seemingly perfect in the things we didn’t know would break us, like all stallions will be broken before they are ridden. This age has broken us, to ride us like prostitutes in a brothel, no longer the majestic creatures that fairy tales would have us believe, that in a dream. we could be anything we desired. No, this world has only taught us we can be what society desires of us. THIS IS WHAT WE BLED FOR.
And in the end, that is all we have left, save for moments like this. Hazed upon by alcohol, a connection to the Internet, a subscription to a server and I can pen this down, that for one moment in time, I remembered, before I am consumed again, what it was like to feel alive, be alive, exist outside of the shackles of perception, of the all-seeing eye, we were free of it’s gaze for once. And I fear the addiction to such a feeling. Fine.
I fly back to Singapore tomorrow afternoon, and I should arrive back on her shores on a Saturday afternoon. I must admit, I go back with mixed feelings. On the one hand, I have been having a tremendous time here in Spain, seeing new things, natural things, being with my family, appreciating the slow, relaxing pace of life while on holiday. On the other hand, I do miss to a degree, the bustle of the metropolis, but even more so, the familiarity, my friends, being in my element of music, and being part of its community.
Still, nothing is really preparing me for what I’ve been reading about in the news of late. It all seems like familiar problems, the same old problems, the same old habits, the same old bullshite that could only happen in Singapore.
SMRT fiasco where they rebuked radio personality for using Twitter as a source for reporting that one of their train lines were down. I don’t know the specifics, but it seems the train lines were really down, and Hossan wasn’t just talking through his arse. I don’t know what exactly was said either, but as long as misinformation wasn’t spread, I don’t think Hossan did any wrong by doing what he did, and if one wanted to be pedantic, we could always stick to disclaimers that “Twitter reported blah, blah and blah
Then we have taxi fare hikes, gangsters launching death threats over YouTube, and everywhere I look, people seem powerless to do anything except talk about it online. Does anyone actually listen to all this, and then do something about it?
Maybe, what’s the biggest burden on my heart right now, is that we have a thousand and one concerns about life in Singapore, and all we’re doing is talking. It’s not enough is it? But it’s the most harmless, the most non-committal, the thing that costs us the least. And that frustrates me more than anything else. Not peoples’ inactivity, but rather, my own. I’ve led a rather inactive life, perhaps my only contribution has been creating music and writing on my blog. Anything else, I will admit that I feel rather useless, weak and powerless to affect any sort of real change. Productive change.
Maybe there will be a moment in time, but I can’t tell the future, and I think I’m just going to tolerate the fourteen hour flight back home and see where it takes me.
While this sounds like an ideal title for a spiritual, self-help book using the imagery of trekking, it’s not.
However, I would like to bring up certain reflections whilst I was doing a day hike with my sister in Andorra, Spain.
We started our trek at ten in the morning, armed with warm clothing, combat boots (for me) and packed lunches, we attempted one of the easier hikes, a supposed two hour trek to the Salamandres lakes (a rough translation.) It was to be my first real trek, and tiring as it was for an individual like myself who’s not in his peak physical performance, but the memories are staggering, and no medium of audio nor visual can truly do justice to what’s burned into my psyche.
Firstly, we were walking a path dutifully maintained by other trackers, so there were good directions and signs left behind by people who maintain the trail. In that sense, it was easy, but my sister brought up a point about the original trekkers, the trailblazers who literally cut a trail so that others may follow. We constantly talk about this idea when it comes to doing business or pursuing creative goals. Do something different, walk a path that nobody follows, carve out your own niche. Big words for small dreams if I might be cynical enough to offer my coffee house discussion.
Trailblazing is not easy, and when it comes to trekking, it becomes dangerous. One slip and you’re lost, fallen off an edge, broken bones, fractured necks.. the risks are rather paramount, and for those of us who want to at least experience what these stalwarts have achieved, it only makes sense to follow in their footsteps. Literally.
However, the sense of awe and adventure do of course come into play. Imagine, if you were the only one walking into unchartered territory. I almost got that sense as we were the only two people walking the trail in the godforsaken conditions of winter. But as you stand alone in the vast open spaces of tundra shrubbery flanked by endless mountains that seem to reach across the horizon to heaven itself, that sense of achievement, that you’re the only souls to experience something significant, it truly is an astounding elation.
Which leads me to the next point of enjoying the sound of silence. For someone who’s constantly plugged in, augmented by music or technology of some sort, my mind was a veritable blank. No songs came to mind except the songs of creation and majesty that I sing about in church. Sure they might be geological constructs, and looking at the markings, paths, rock cairns left behind by trekkers before it dawned on me that humans make sense of their surroundings by putting order to nature, but what if for every random artifact we find in nature truly is the orderly construct of God himself.
It was a bracing notion, an encouragement that there is nothing random for the omnipotent. Humbling surely, but I was at ease to surrender that part of my intellect to something greater. And the silence, the sound of your own breathing, of your own heart beating, the signs of life in a most otherwise lonely part of the world. It makes you think, we’re never truly alone as long as your vital signs still blip and bloop within our biological vessels.
Finally, the ‘rest-step’. A trick my sister taught me to haul myself up steep inclines so that weight is evenly distributed and the strain on your leg muscles is eased. A simple repositioning of your body and the careful adjustment of how we normally walk and take for granted, allow one to achieve much greater heights.
The simple lesson, or life hack that comes from someone more experienced than you, points you along the right path and you get to make it out alive. Mentorship is what comes to mind, but I suppose you get the imagery of all that.
The reason why my last paragraph seemed rather brisk, is because I’m trying to end things off because I have a bus to catch. So with that, I’ll see y’all on the other side.
I’m still up because I procrastinated. I’ve been playing video games all week (read: Skyrim) at the cost and extent of actually being a productive member of society or a relational person with social ties. In the sum of all my parts, I am a deficit. Yet in the game world, my character build is quite a marvel. I soldiered through the initial difficulty and now I am starting to feel like a dragonslayer with enough tools and magical items at my disposal to aid me in my quest. It didn’t come easy, the game didn’t make it easy, but I grinded, clawed and toiled my way to achieve whatever success I can claim as my own (read: in-game Skyrim).
I’m pretty convinced that anybody who doesn’t enjoy RPGs (read: Skyrim) will think that I have wasted all my time, and am wasting my life. But might I just offer some perspective, that success can come in many forms, and if this form of success actually brought me millions of dollars or through sheer hypothesis actually brought some standard form of benefit, most folk would have the traps clasped. I know I’m exaggerating, so all I’m saying is that success depends on a set of pre-imposed rules but our minds tell us otherwise.
It’s five-thirty in the morning, nobody should expect anything coherent at this time of the day.
I got into the shower, and those words entered my mind.
Perhaps it had something to do with me watching Real Steel earlier this week, or maybe it’s a secret desire about me wanting to enter a slug fest and come out tops, or at least say that I’d been in a slug fest before. Maybe it’s got something with me wanting to best the punches I’m rolling with, or the inevitable punch up that life is going to swing my way once I get out of my corner. Whatever it is, it’s a tad cooler to say “prize fighter” than “world champion”.
No, wait, on second thoughts, “World Champion” has a nice ring to it.
// Excuse me while I reconvene to my campaign of Battlefield 3 //
Well, that was engaging. Ridiculous single player campaign, too difficult. Didn’t feel like much of a winner while I was playing it, but I was going to make it to the next level, and when I did, oh yeah, I did feel like a winner. For about 2 minutes. Then, lethargy takes over and you realise it’s time for bed, a 630AM tomorrow morning, and a whole day ahead of you.
As I’m sitting in my usual corner of the house, typing, Ryan Adams is singing a beautiful cover of Oasis’s “Wonderwall”.
To me, the line that always tears the most, is the word, “Maybe”.
“Maybe, you’re gonna be the one that saves me.”
It’s a song about wanting something or someone. A yearning to be included, to be accepted, to be loved, simply put. Yet when faced with the possibility of finding happiness, it always boils back down to maybes.
Maybe it takes a certain amount of trepidation to always be confronted by maybes, and heaven knows I’ve walked such a path. My heart always being served back to me on a platter, thinking too much about the future, the infinite possibilities, the phobia of commitment should the heart fail some day. A lack of confidence on my part that I can play the part.
Maybe I’ve seen too much, heard too much, said too much, that cynicism runs like blood through my veins and I cannot help this condition. Maybe it has infected me to the very core of my soul and is such a big part of my identity that I no longer am capable of separating the character from the writer.
It’s all a little much to come to grips with, that this might be who I’ve become. Possibly maybe I’ve started to believe all the things I’ve preached and there is no hope left. None in the distance. Dusk has already come, and it is a long night ahead for all of us.
I woke up this morning with that phrase stuck in my head, albeit with a slight hangover. I suppose I was thinking of the deadlines and what needed clearing. There are things that I need to do (by Monday) and things that I want to do, such as playing Fallout: New Vegas or churning out some music entries for I’m Waking Up To. I have until 630 to get this shit in order, because that’s when my next appointment awaits.
I also think that the phrase got stuck in my head because my subconscious was thinking it when someone told me something last night. That familiar feeling of claustrophobia or a noose tightening came creeping back in. Time is running out, yet I’m not doing anything to help the situation. This time it doesn’t really concern my personal being, because I think I’ve got enough slack for the time being, but the reality for some people I know is very much real, and since I’ve been there before, I cannot help but empathise.
Why am I telling you this? I don’t know. Perhaps I need something to write about, and I;m just drawing from the well that I have in reserve. Talking about it here won’t help, but I suppose I just need to chronicle the feeling before it passes.
I’ve had an absolutely massive day and I am incredibly knackered by the end of it. I’ve only just gotten back, and I think I pulled close to a 12 hour shift. I taught four classes today, finished marking one set of scripts and proceeded to co-teach a 2 hour remedial session. That’s 6 hours of classroom time and I am absolutely bushwhacked.
Today was not a day without it’s own fair share of surprises. All over the Internet, condolences were given to Steve Jobs. Job’s legacy goes beyond the company, Apple. It’s a legacy that introduced personal computers to mankind. Fast forward a few years, he spearheaded the charge into mobile devices with a viable ecosystem of users and developers, that it’s pretty much impacted how each and everyone of us uses a device to create and share. So for what it’s worth, thank you Steve Jobs. You will always be remembered as a visionary, a maverick, a pioneer, helping to bridge the twentieth century into the twenty first.
Today is also the absolute last day that I will be conducting any formal lessons of sorts. I’ll leave it at that till things become official, but suffice to say, my time as a teacher is coming to an end. I’ll probably do a bout of reflecting some time in the near future, but for now, I’m glad I did it, I learned a lot about myself as much as I was able to teach the students entrusted to me.
So now we wait. Mom’s still away in India, so I’ll be going out with Dad to meet my sister at Liang Court for dinner soon. Some family time will really hit the spot right about now. Although I’m a little too tired right now to have any real sense of excitement.
I really ought to either be marking or sleeping. Both would be more beneficial to my health and well-being instead of typing in here, but as I was taking my shower, I thought, “Why the hell not?”
I’m still in the process of trying to get my writing groove back, so since I had some semblance of a mood, I decided I’d try at the very least.
Perhaps I hold on to that romantic notion, that when lightning strikes, you try to catch it in a bottle. Those scenes where inspiration comes unawares, and you see the protagonist furiously applying to whatever he or she is supposed to do to get better in some sort of time-warping montage, and BAM! You’ve achieved what has been eluding you a half hour ago.
My mind tells me it doesn’t happen that way, my heart sways like the wind, and so I sit, and type by my window sill, committing these words into a blank screen, hoping that whoever reads it shares a glimpse into my soul, even if it’s just me reading my own blog the next day. This is for you when, as you’re reading it now.
I went to The Pigeonhole today to catch a private screening of a Doctor Who tele-movie. I met up with Xander and Joanne, and it’s always fun when they’re around. Geekish kin, it’s nice to feel comfortable around them. It was nice to kick back and enjoy a terribly campy movie with cheesy lines and dry humour. Camp is an amazing style, whether it’s done intentionally or unintentionally. To me, as the audience watching, it’s the constant deconstruction that gives way to some of the heartiest laughs.Nobody does that in real life! Did he really just say that? Suspension of disbelief is torn to shreds when it comes to shreds, as the medium of film narrative is torn asunder and the veil before your life is lifted. The make believe life is worth living. Or at least worth making fun of.
So here we are, detached from reality, escaping from the harshness of responsibilities and expectations. I might be retreating more and more into this haze of unreality, that I might never find a partner to share these idiosyncrasies with, though it doesn’t really matter at this stage. They don’t build love like they used to.
Immature, detached and completely oblivious to everything around. Life’s a joke, you’ll see me whistling along the streets as bombers pass by overhead and I would be none the wiser.
“It’s easy to pretend we’re running out of time
It’s easy to forget, we’re walking in circles.”
- lyrics to a song I’m trying to write and may never get written
We’re running out of time, everyday is one day closer to the end. We have an expiry date, and we want to get as much done before that end comes.
But this is where I think some harmless resignation is in order. Since we know the end, let’s enjoy what we have now. We’ll never have it all, so let’s enjoy what little we have. The economy has failed us, our institutions have failed us, our relationships have failed us, we’ve failed ourselves, so let’s enjoy what hasn’t failed us yet.
It’s all a little cryptic as usual, but I’m really just typing in here as practice once again.
It’s the last week of school before the final exams begin, I’ve been busy preparing the students for their papers, offering consultation after school, and so it’s been a tad busy in that regard. However, there are certain things to look forward to, like the year-end break, or something a little earlier, a gig that I’ll be playing on the 14th of October. That’s what I like about dual lives, teacher by day, rock band by night. I’m pretty excited about this gig, because it’ll be a Friday night, I can play my heart out and party like a rockstar after that. What’s not to love? Escape into another reality, into another world, one that doesn’t involve screaming teenagers prone to mood swings.
On stage, we are masters of our destiny for forty-five minutes. It shall be glorious.
Also, men know when other men are hitting on a girl. It’s just so obvious, because the MO is pretty similar across the board. I may not have a working gaydar, but years of neurosis have impressed certain powers of observation upon me.
Damn, my mind is starting to fade. I did quite a lot of productive things today which involve sending money across to various parties, finished writing articles for I’m Waking Up To and ordering some new music from Ujikaji. I’m pretty excited about that last point, because it’s all music made in Singapore, it’s experimental and I’m starting to feel like a pseudo rock journalist.
Really trying to get back into the habit of blogging, and I do want geekulture to succeed, but I can’t seem to blog as regularly as I should. I would like to people to visit the blog and like the things that I like, or debate with me about any of the opinions I bring up. Wishful thinking if I’m not writing or engaging with folk on the blog. Ah well, hopefully I’ll sort that out soon enough. I just extended the domain for litford.NET so that’s another year planned out, let’s hope I take it more seriously this time round.
I also realised that I have not posted many photos into this blog, and I should because it’s a journal for my life, so I’ll do that in the next post.
I haven’t written in here in awhile, so what else is new? That’s both a question to events happening in my life, and a rhetorical statement to the fact that I’m a terrible caretaker of this blog.
Well, I’m not really going to answer those questions, but I suppose you could say I had a bout of writer’s block. They say one of the best cures to the block is to simply force yourself to write, that waiting for inspiration is what paralyzes most writers in the first place. It’s easier said than done, really. I suppose it’s like trying to quit an addiction, or simply forcing yourself into an unknown, into a place that you can’t control, and why wouldn’t anyone be afraid of that? We’ve all been bred since day one to be able to set goals and resolutions for ourselves, that we’re all supposed to be following some sort of a plan, or have some sort of a plan. Writing freely without an objective in mind seems to almost be the anti-thesis of trained life.
Yet here we are, words flowing freely, not thinking about the consequences to these words. Given that as always, I am rather cryptic as to what I’m really thinking in my heart, and still have some level of self-censorship, it does feel right to type in here again.
It’s time to pay my hosting fees again, and I am still seriously contemplating if I should upkeep this piece of digital real estate at all, given that I’ve learned the hard way that maintaining a blog and website on your own is a fair amount of work, especially with keeping up to date with the updates (hurhur, see what I did there?) and making sure that things are still relevant. Also, with a schedule and escapes into computer games, I just don’t find the same urgency to write as I once did. It’s easier to do and let actions speak louder than words. Perhaps the pressure is also off, because since I’m a teacher, I don’t really have an obligation to blog anymore.
But I started writing without an obligation. I started writing to be a part of something, and to be able to express myself on the Internet. I got my own space because I wanted to own my identity, rather than share it with a service, and that narcissistic part of me still exists. I think I’ll continue with hosting my own space, as a sort of testament that I should still exist in this digital form, an avatar to roam the Net.
Another thing that prevented me from writing in here, is the limitation I have with my lifestreaming service on the main domain. It messes up when I don’t insert in image in each post, and I’ve been torn to find proper images because it involves having me to upload pictures to flickr and then pulling the code, and it takes too much effort to find the right images (especially if you’re a visual person like me). I created placeholders of course, but it would involve me needing to find the code over and over again. Finally, I realised I just need to save the code somewhere and just reuse it, and hopefully I can just journal effortlessly like I did when I first started.
I wonder why it always comes back to the beginning. It seems to pure and unbridled, when I started blogging in the beginning. I was a nobody and it felt natural to express everything down in words. I suppose things change when I had to do PR and that social media engagement drivel, and certain things were expected of me. I hate expectations, especially when they’re expected of me. I don’t think I take to them well, and I tend to shut down in the face of challenge. It sounds really wussy, but it’s easier to solve somebody else’s problem rather than your own.
So, I’m going to stop here for now before I get carried away. I need to meet my family for dinner, but if things turn out the way I want them to, maybe I’ll be writing in here more often. Maybe this is a first step again, me re-learning everything I learned and unlearned. Maybe I’ll remember who I am, and wouldn’t that be a treat? Again, I don’t know who’s reading and listening, but if you are, thank you for letting me share all that.
I may not know much about brain physiology, but it seems that it is common knowledge that our frontal lobes are not fully developed in our youth, and according to a friend of mine, the frontal lobes fully develop in adults at around the age of twenty-five.
Long story short, the frontal lobes lean toward the executive decision making portions of our thinking. It is able to understand the ramifications of our choices, it is able to see into the short and long term consequences of any of the actions we choose to take. They explains to a degree, why youths tend to live in the moment and not fully appreciate the consequences of their actions. I was like that once, and I think I’ve indulged a little too much of my under-developed frontal lobe back in the day.
It might also explain some of the paralysis that I face today, when it comes to completing certain tasks. There are so many things that I want to do, that I know I have to do, and there are occasions when I just don’t want to do anything. Perhaps my brain has now developed a tad more than when I was younger, so I can appreciate the consequences of my actions and inactions, yet with the limited amount of time all humans face on earth, the logical conclusion is to either not try so hard, or go out with guns blazing.
Sadly, maybe I choose inactivity a little too often. Oh, the irony of having to choose to do nothing, like it was the most difficult decision to come upon us.
Alas, there are just so many things to consume, rather than create. There are so many books to read, TV shows and movies to watch, games to play, food to eat, clothes to wear, homes to decorate.. etc.. We live in a world of abundance, so much so that it has almost made us too lazy to create anymore.
I talk of recording the songs I’ve written, or perhaps doing more visual work, electronic music or even writing a novel, but I’ve done none of that in all the time that I have after work. I merely consume more information, but it doesn’t have any proper utilisation or output. It almost sickens me that I’m living this opulent lifestyle with the wealth of information that we have, that I’m just not getting fat physically, but mentally as well.
A slow plodding whale of pop culture facts and opinions. And the closest thing I have to output is this sordid blog that I maintain. Even that itself is a chore sometimes.
It’s been too long since I’ve typed in here. I guess I’ve been rather afraid of this blank space. Most days I come home tired, uninspired, and just escape into my little bubble of video games, books, TV or the random discovery of the Net.
It’s not the healthiest of lives, since there’s very little application of self in such activity. There’s a lot of passive learning that goes on, and you get to fill your head with all sorts of knowledge and ideas, but then they don’t go anywhere else, and they just stay inside me, and I wander this world like it’s one big inside joke.
I don’t want it to be this way, I’d like to change certain things about myself. I feel like I’m in a dream, and I want out. I don’t want to just exist inside my head, or live by myself with all these ideas, but they don’t translate themselves into the physical realm.
Then again, why is the physical realm, the one that seems to matter the most? One reason, is that it’s the only realm where we begin communicating with other beings. We understand and the stimulus comes from external sources. There’s an unhealthy imbalance of internalization on my part, so it only makes sense to balance it with some form of externalization. Perhaps when the two are balanced, we, as physical, intellectual and spiritual creatures, are then able to walk the thin veil, the void of existence where the two meet, and where nothing exists. Perhaps then, we will finally bring balance to the paradox of our cosmic importance.
I’m not smoking up by the way, but the words just came out by themselves, guided by a motivation that I can scarce explain if it was from me, or some other force. But it doesn’t matter. I like the way they filled the blank, white space that plagues every blogging interface, and surely, that counts for something.
Perhaps, just as a signpost of sorts, I would like to mark down things that I would like to see myself doing in the near-sighted future. They’re not necessarily goals as much as they are whims and fancies.
1. Get better on bass and music in general
2. Learn how to create electronic music
3. Write a 5 song EP
4. Start a music label / community
5. Write a novel
6. Blog consistently
7. Clean my room
8. Install the network drives that I bought a month ago
9. Lose weight
10. Be physically fitter and healthier
I’ve just finished reading George R.R. Martin’s “A Game of Thrones”, and it was a thoroughly splendid read! I’m delighted that I had decided to get the box set that includes the three other books in the series so far.
Right now, the only things that ring true in my brain are the sigils of each house, the locations in relations to Westeros, and the names of the great Houses in the story. Starks, Lannisters, Tullys, Arryns, Targaryns.. etc
That’s how it always gets with me, the moment I attach myself to the lore that someone else has created. It’s a powerful manifestation of words that almost make me believe, or want to believe that such a world exists. It’s a futile exercise in escapism, but for those few moments that you’ve escaped, the cares and wants of the world seem to be left at the door when you enter the other realm.
I fear that one day, I will lock myself into an alternate reality and not find it in my best interest to step out from the veil again.
Back in the real world, I’ve been afflicted with some sort of ear infection, that caused my ears to itch and bleed for about a week. Last Sunday was the worst, when my left ear was in extreme pain, almost like a pressure building up from inside the ear and wanting to burst forth from a dam, yet.. for an inexplicable reason, the dam held, and my nerves were on fire. Some paracetamol did help relieve the pain.
Now, it feels like my left ear is plugged up. I had feared that my eardrums had ruptured, but I still have my hearing, so I quickly ruled the possibility out. I do fear that I’ll lose my sense of hearing though. I mean, I need it for music, and enjoying music, and I don’t think I’m genius enough to write masterpieces as Beethoven did. It would be incredibly anti climatic as well, to fall from grace in such a manner.
“Why did you stop enjoying music, Brian?”
“‘Twas an infection in the ear that made my sense of hearing leave my being.”
“That sucks.”
I can almost see it now.
Well, hopefully, now that I’ve awoken from my stupor of reading stories, hopefully I shall be more productive with my time, and do more creative things, and not just consume, like a swarm of locusts.
