After A Midterm
There's that weird feeling again, that sense of blankness. A feeling that percolates through me like coffee, not imbibing but infusing. Why would anyone want to read this? I want to say that my life lacks any poetry, but that's wrong, a romantic throwback that says that meaning goes here but not there. Even I, who have been accused of being that melodramatic romantic, still can't help but realise that everything is a matter of perspective. Things have meaning because you give them meaning. It's impossible to escape, eventually you deconstruct until there's nothing left, just a field of molecules that is a collection of atoms that is a collection of particles, that maybe is a collection of strings. Within a context, things can have meaning, but without context, nothing does.
I ran into a kindly little irish boy who shares my brother's name today. It was nice, we wandered around looking for a computer for him to use. He reminds me of how I was when I first got in, he's even got that wonderfully incongruous mix of youth and wear. A mop of hair that covers up the face of a twelve year old (his words, not mine) with visible facial scarring. How delightfully Canadian that it came from a hockey puck.
Written On: Laptop
Currently Listening: the chatting of young academics upon a canvas of a faint whirr
PS Man, that midterm was really easy.
PPS Today I attended a lecture on the similarities between Neil Gaiman's Sandman and Ovid's Metamorphosis, isn't that cool?