The sound of you sleeping

Childhood fears never will abate, I don't think.

I think once you got scared a certain way, in a certain situation, and/or by a certain person/thing, in your childhood - and, consistently, at that - you'll never lose that fear even as an adult. (I'd call it a phobia, except I don't feel what I fear is that irrational.)

Mephisto has that power over me. He may or may not know it, but he does.

Fear.

The sound of you sleeping

Why call April the cruelest month when the month of May will prove to be so much worse?

Nearly a whole month without pole.

I could just cry ...

=(

Shafqat Amanat Ali Khan - 'यह होंसला'

Album: डोर OST



Watched डोर today, and Hard Candy, and a couple episodes of Boston Legal.

Then I practised my salsa styling routines and street chachacha shines.

Gawd, what I wouldn't give for a pole so I could practise my pole stuff as well.

Two pole classes scheduled for this week though.

Yippee! ^_^

Mastered the position called 'chopsticks', and to switch from scorpio to gemini without hands.

Yesh!

=)

The Mountain Goats - 'Love Love Love'

Album: The Sunset Tree

Text

I tend the mobile now
like an injured bird.

We text, text, text
our significant words.

I re-read your first,
your second, your third,

looking for your small xx,
feeling absurd.

The codes we send
arrive with a broken chord.

I try to picture your hands,
their image is blurred.

Nothing my thumbs press
will ever be heard.



Duffy, Carol Ann. Rapture. London: Picador, 2005.

Dinner with Zenzi, Saket, and Stef went better than the social night.

But, mainly, I remember just the texts we were exchanging and exchanging and exchanging throughout.

Glen Hansard - 'Disappointed'

Jen sent me this link today:

The future takes us where it leads
Our heads just go beneath the waves
Time tells all and we obey
But how can I be mad at you
You did what you did
And you followed through
You were the one who always said
'Forget it and move on'

But I'm not sad, I'm just disappointed
And I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed

Well the years they get on top of you
The working load it tallied up
And you went down
Beneath it all like anybody would
And I'm just ambling on in this town
I can't get out and it drags me down
And these words don't really fit what I'm feeling now

But I'm not sad, I'm just disappointed
And I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed

And you're not lost, you're just misdirected
And we're not going, oh nowhere

Glen Hansard - 'Song for Someone'

Dryin' up in conversation, still
My head was halfway round the world
And workin' through your sleeping I was
Driven by the promise of a quick return
And I wonder if she'll be the very same
And I wonder if she's gonna break the waves
Again...

Tryin' just to focus on the good
I'm tired of divin' for the pearls
And every dawn is another morning less
I have to wait to wake beside that girl
And I hope she's gonna be the very same
And I hope she can survive this wave again

And if we're all for someone
And if we're born for someone
When will she come, that someone?
And put things in their place?

Comin' back to see you girl,
You know there's nothing surer in this world
Remember all the maddened seasons
Back when we weren't old enough to wait our turn
And I hope we're gonna be the very same
And I hope we can survive this wave again

And if we're all for someone
And if we're both for someone
When will she come, that someone?
And put things in their place?

The sound of you sleeping

Impulse is a dish best served steaming hot; distance is a deterrent to that.

Doesn't matter whether you're four or five hours ahead of me (and I behind you), the journey will still take over half a day (if you factored in the time spent waiting in-transit). The steam wafting from the hot dish will dissipate long before it arrives at its destination; time will cool it.

This much I'd been thinking about today.

However, the desire, the longing - the skeleton beneath the cooling, singed flesh - remains. Untouched.

... in this single bed, between these garish sheets, I will find a map as likely as any treasure hunt. I will explore you and mine you and you will redraw me according to your will. We shall cross one another's boundaries and make ourselves one nation. Scoop me in your hands for I am good soil. Eat of me and let me be sweet.



Winterson, Jeanette. Written on the Body. London: Vintage, 1993.

The Frames - 'Rise'

Album: The Cost



So angry at myself for missing my dad's flying off to India today, a day like every Sunday I spent cooped up in my room. Why? Because there's blessed air-conditioning and my laptop. Haven't been pulling my weight around the house.

So. Mad. At. Myself.

I sure hope it's PMS and/or the full moon. I'm alternatively homicidally frustrated and suicidally miserable.

Having to go to work isn't helping; on the contrary, it's possibly both root and exacerbation.

The Frames - 'Lay Me Down'

Album: Here Comes The Night



I know I said I wanted a quiet, early Saturday evening with no drinks and dance, but after Rach left before dessert even arrived, Praveen'd made known he finally broke his dry spell, and we had to celebrate that.

We had the buy-5-get-1-free shooters promotion - 3 B52s (for him) and 3 Cock Sucking Cowboys (he ordered for me =/) - and a gin-and-tonic each at Via Mar. Then satay at Gluttons' Bay.



But at the end of it all, I wish I could fall asleep with you, skin to skin, beside me.

A not-so-good week.

So glad it's ended.

Parachute Express - 'Butterfly'

Album: Sunny Side Up



Scents are a strange thing. I can recall your scent - it brings to mind a pale golden hue, the color of honey water (which is what you smell like to me) - but I can't smell it; the memory of it doesn't trigger the memory of the scent of it ... if that makes any sense (and I think it doesn't).

Spinning could be an analogy of sorts. For beginners, if you started too fast, you'll overshoot and topple; but if you started slow and steady, you wouldn't have enough momentum to complete a spin, or more. Hard to find that all elusive balance ... except, maybe, through hard work and practice.

The Frames - 'Lay Me Down'

Album: Here Comes The Night



Strangely calm and restless. Is that possible?

Saw a dead cat on the road this morning from inside the bus. It was such a sad sight - gray tabby, lying right in the middle of two lanes, some blood. And I have to wonder: What is it about dead anything that makes me so squeamish?

I wish I could devote at least three hours every day to dance practice.

Another fruitless day at work.

Exhaustive.