Tunneling Through Time and Space

Excellent, I get to build a tunnel.

Problem is, I live in New ZealandWe’re so far removed from half the world that you need a time-warping, space-bending tunnel if you want to go to Europe, which is where I would like my tunnel. Let’s say it brings me to England so I can always pay homage to Shakespeare and Chaucer first. Think of it as my own pilgrimage.

Wouldn’t Chaucer be proud?

And from there I can roam to a variety of other cities and countries. I hear rumours of buses and trains that go throughout Europe very cheaply. I’ve had some form of wanderlust for years, I suspect it’s only going to get worse now I’m not in study. I’ve read books, okay, I’ve seen pictures. In times gone by I would sit online happily Googling the winter Christmas (so jealous; I’m sure I remember a barbecue Christmas one year) and I would very much like to experience it once.

This tunnel would be an all-access pass to some of the biggest things I dearly want to see.

… Y’know what, I’m going to go create a travel wishlist. 

solitary

everyone’s alone.

the ghost treads a path
through a smoky bar.
present goes unregistered,
eyes passing over her.

she sits and watches
from a corner.
people laugh too loud,
smile too wide with too-white teeth.

people cluster in pairs
saying little.
the room is quieter for it,
music almost achingly loud.

together yet not.

Studying for Fun

The other day I learned about a magical site where you can learn all kinds of stuff online, free. Basically as far as I can tell it’s structured like your regular university class, but done with videos and stuff. My perusal of the courses revealed no immediate human evolution, about which I was disappointed, but I soon rallied. 

(If I tell you guys I pick calculus, please quote lengthy words at me, in the language of your choice. I’ve always thought calculus was the meaner, scarier sibling of algebra)

I picked a course today.

Dinosaurs.

The Reading Corner

Okay, time for a confession. 

I buy loads of books, and haven’t read them all. I have a bookcase crammed with the A to Z of classics: Aristophanes to Woolf. Most of them have gone unread. This is primarily due to the fact that while studying I didn’t have a lot of time for reading. When you have two or three books per week to read, you don’t want to confuse things further by reading something off-syllabus. Well, that’s just me.

However I’m now trying to find work, having finished my studies. I started Crime and Punishment some months ago and didn’t finish, so I’m going to go with that. As I remember, I got halfway through and wondered where I’d formed the stereotype of impossible-to-read. So, let’s go with that.

No, wait. What about Madame Bovary?

Or perhaps Jane Eyre

Second confession: I buy books and then get indecisive. Just look at my wishlist: I currently have a wishlist of 200 items, and it’s still incomplete. So I flutter around and try to decide what to read, and nothing gets read. I’m working to cure myself of this.

the fallacy

act, and try to convince yourself.

weave series of excuses,
pulling the threads too tightly.
keep track of it all -
trying to protect you here.

pretend to read minds,
i’m not right for you.
scramble to explain -
i’m selfish, busy, unemotional.

speak over you,
at all times.
can’t pause to let you speak -
might derail the course of action.

it works perfectly: too well, even.

A Mystery Delivery

Well, since there’s no card, I can’t say who is sending me flowers, or why. I’m not a mind-reader, though it is a little suspicious that the flowers are inside the apartment – where I live alone, and virtually no-one else has access or keys.

Not to mention that they got past the security alarm.

There’s a lot of pale colouring; I get the sense of wistfulness. Looking at them, I have the idea that the sender is thinking “I miss you.”

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I don’t think I’ve ever named a possession. It just doesn’t seem logical to name something; get attached to it and then lose it. For instance a computer went bye-byes some years ago, so I upgraded.

And so the next computer was different. It sat taller and prouder, had a different personality. I couldn’t trouble myself to name it, because in a few years it might go bye-byes and – so I didn’t see a need.

If I did however give something a name it would be to my computer and it would probably mean faithful or loyal; it’s sat with me through countless nights of blogging, days of music and movies and everything in between.