Back Home

Back home, where the early sun shines through soft mist, where the sea smiles with wind and sand, where rain gently laps over emerald leaves, where small animals whisper hidden words to each other, where the waiting dog pensively smells the air, colors, smells and sounds are reborn. What was once color becomes evermore colorful, mocking it's predecessor, and every sense tingles with newfound love. The cat, slit for eyes, purrs on the chair, while birds call out outside for one another. Mice slip by hawks, and fate is suspended. The unescapable sleeps while life takes a leap; the silky valleys, aglow in morning sunrise, awake gently. Men and Women lie in bed, the soft steel-gray moment is stolen away into the innermost fold of Humanity's soul. For a moment, life is a perfect harmony of senses but not even Jealousy, the worst counsel and the most seductive temptress , can disrupt it.

The Sound of Laughter

Funny how laughing really kicks you up a notch. I was talking with Neroli today, and I felt so happy I couldn't help myself from laughing. I was having a pretty bad week, what with end of session rushing...She's pretty nice, but I don't know how I'll handle it with the Tunisian girl and the Brunette. I mean, last time I was dancing with three girls (which was not a long time ago...do men ever learn?) it didn't work. Of course, by dancing, I mean nothing close to commitment. I'm all for commitment, but not with three different women at the same time. I mean, think of the jeweller's bill! Egads! Last time I spent something on my girlfriend, it ended up costing me a sizeable fortune (for a teenager) in one night, (including an eighteen carat gold necklace...), not that I care about money.

The mist falls on Quebec city, the French valley. It sprays a fine blue tint on the buildings downtown. People look, as I look, at the painting etched on the dying day's face. Miles Davis' Flamenco Sketches come to mind; life takes a break. A few people linger on their doorsteps, watching the sun burn a trace on the naked trees. On the balconies, high up, young women look through gentle glass, with pensive eyes, at the coming calm. Young men, their jest stolen, stand with hands in their pockets; eyes with a grin at the future. For once, people are happy. Some even smile. The departed once again become dear. Babies make small soft laughs in their parents' arms; the birds of Autumn glisten in love and adoration of the musical northern winds .

The cigarettes burn themselves off, slowly, in their owner's hands. Then suddenly, twillight, and no more.

Argh!!

Two perfect blogs that couldn't be posted because of freaking network lag... I'll try again later.

The Radioroom

The radio room is very nice, at my college. It's dark, with only a few old lamps in the corners. The walls are wheat-colored with a dark green ceiling. I walked in to lend a few CDs from artists I'd offered to share. The room had a combination of smells that were quite peculiar, like hashish and pot at the same time. It's a given they smoke something, what with them constantly playing The Doors or Yes. Don't get me wrong, I love those bands, it's just I like to listen to them without having to look at my hands every 5 minutes.

I wrestled with some programming with one of the computers at the college today. Computers are just like women: some of them take a long time before you get to talk back. I mean, MS-Dos programming, OK, done it. Easy, old stuff. It took me 6 hours to get one thing done. At least I managed to understand the main functions and commands. Then I went to this guy who is the computer nerd. Freaking genius. Has a 98% avg. in Linear Algebra and aced all his tests in Differential Calculus. Helped me out. Great guy.

I saw Neroli today. Yesterday she wouldn't stop looking at me and smile, but today she didn't even bother to sit with me between courses, and I was alone! She's very attractive, I'll give her that much, but she's still not above casual conversation. I guess we were able to weathertalk, but that's as fun as poking a dead squirrel with my index finger: fun for a very brief moment, then after the realisation of how little cerebral activity is necessary, you stop and wipe your finger with a cloth that was dunked in sulfuric acid.