Monday, February 6, 2012


the thing is that you are a soft spoken mystery
An empty sheet of moonlighting fantasy
Long am I loathe to repeat such history
Of gazing at more empty tapestry

Okay Now

The thing about facebook is that, the advantages outweigh the disadvantages so much that it's impossible to get rid of. You can be moody with it and cut yourself off for a bit...but then you remember the cousins across the seas, and more vainly, you wonder if anyone cares to hear from you, and whatever you think is important to post on your status.
I can't return to DC, there are so many wonderful people in DC, but I don't go to school there anymore and I don't think I can separate that in my brain yet.
Which sucks...when I have wonderful people like Sabih who even offer to pay for my ticket, friends who live so far away visiting (Berchem), and wonderful people who care for me more than they should, what am I selling them short for?
The tangible minor open mic night Friday, a few more days with Max, a job application to Stop and Shop because the cashier there is cute and I need some friends here, teaching a stranger guitar on Saturday and free Bangla classes with 5 and 50 year olds on Sunday.
They are minor, but they aren't nostalgic, so okay now, I know I'm stupid for not wanting to return right now, but I want to do this, and I want to just grow up in...that way?
I'm going to the Peace Corps, most probably Africa, and Andrew was right, I need to train myself...and right now I want to just be stronger, harder, more of an adult. And by adult, i mean not hang on to things longer. Just let go in the sense that "I don't owe you anything".
As usual, it's 3 am, so good night

Wednesday, February 1, 2012


If the glories of the day
Surpass the treasures of the night
I will keep this last torch lit until my dying breath
To Remember the virtues of the light

If the maiden beauty of the stars
Forgives the harshness of Winter's fright
I will dance and bellow to the dark
Until the moon takes swift flight

I am the frozen dreamer's pulse
To recall the virgin truth
I am the Pilgrim's final convulse
Of God's lasting sooth.