duncan heights

December 1, 2003:
Yes, I realise I haven’t updated much in the past few months. I blame it all on college. Anyway, I was reading my posts from December 2001, since I just moved a bunch of stuff around internally to make it easier for me (and, perchance, you all lovely fans). You know something I “discovered”? I whine like nothing else. It’s actually pretty pathetic. I officially apologise for all the sorry excuses for updates you people have to perpetually put up with. And I also apologise for the ones you’ll see in the future, for likely I’ll not stop this bad habit of writing all of three sentences and leave you hanging… again.

Sigh. And apparently, I must do that now… how sad. I’m just so tired. I have two weeks of school this semester and I’m basically failing three of my four classes. And I’m not doing too well in the fourth, either. So, I’m going to sleep; I leave you with the lyrics of one of my favourite songs. Enjoy.

Bowl of Oranges by Bright Eyes

The rain, it started tapping on the window near my bed. There was a loophole in my dreaming, / so I got out of it. And to my surprise my eyes were wide and already open. / Just my nightstand and my dresser where those nightmares had just been. // So I dressed myself and left then, out into the gray streets, / But everything seemed different and completely new to me: / The sky, the trees, houses, buildings, even my own body / And each person I encountered, I couldn’t wait to meet. // I came up a doctor who appeared in quite poor health. / I said “(I am terribly sorry but) there is nothing I can do for you that you can’t do for yourself.” / He said “Oh yes you can. Just hold my hand. I think that would help.” / So I sat with him a while and then I asked him how he felt. // He said, “I think I’m cured. No, in fact, I’m sure of it. / Thank you Stranger, for your therapeutic smile.” // So that is how I learned the lesson that everyone is alone, / And your eyes must do some raining if you are ever going to grow. / But when crying don’t help and you can’t compose yourself. / It is best to compose a poem, an honest verse of longing or simple song of hope. // That is why I’m singing… / Baby, don’t worry cause now I got your back. And every time you feel like crying, / I’m gonna try and make you laugh. And if I can’t, if it just hurts too bad, / then we will wait for it to pass and I will keep you company through those days so long and black. // And we’ll just keep working on the problem we know we’ll never solve of Love’s uneven remainders, / our lives are fractions of a whole. / But if the world could remain in a frame like a painting on a wall. // Then I think we would see the beauty. / Then we would stand staring in awe at our still lives posed like a bowl of oranges, / like a story told by the fault lines and the soil.