singin’ in the rain

lovesong of the buzzard

its amazing the kind of timewasting that comes alongside having the notebook. the one whole month my notebook was gone and didnt grow legs to fix itself, no doubt there were dignity-trampling instances i had to beg the older sibling to allow for pleeease 40 mins to check my email and breathe alittle of that cyberspace air, all in all the self-sufficiency was very liberating. now, im back to facebooking very twenty minutes (stalking those same few profiles/walls oh the maturity the maturity !), checking sgselltrade everynight, and ontd.lj every 2 hours. having the notebook back also does not entail being productive (i wonder why i am even mildly surprised; i should know myself well enough to know noo i wont get my event stats up by today even though i promised myself so) or useful (ayee modules mapping !). infinitely sore is the return of the msn syndrome. somehow without msn you live a life so much more self-centered, like you dont wait for people to come online, or to say hi to you, or really you dont wonder much about how come theyre not online, like heyy its 10pm theyre not online are they not at home have they blocked me ?? wtf are they doing ?

its awful ! and sad as this entry is, i think ive become emotionally dependent on my notebook again ):

the sky was candy luminous

the
     sky
          was
can    dy    lu
minous
         edible
spry
        pinks shy
lemons
greens   coo   l choc
olate
s.

  un  der,
  a    lo
co
mo
      tive     s    pout
                            ing
                                 vi
                                 o
                                 lets

im secretly having pre paris jitters and blues all. and im going to miss many people alot, and i dont know how im going to have to deal with that in time to come. OH I AM JITTERY):

ell jay eff

YOUR STUPIDITY IS INSANE; I WANT TO RUB YOUR SMIRKING FACE ON DOGSHIT.

tonight the streets are ours

the other day we went kiteflying, yesterday we cycled through an awesome storybook stretch with feathery trees abov, crunchy leaves below. i am certain nothing beats cycling through a pile of crunchy leaves with wind through your sticky hair, specs sliding down your sweaty nose (otherwise tucked into my shorts pocket), your fingers tired from gripping the handlebars, the sweltering sun beating down on your hands and face, singing nationalday songs on the top of your lungs. the neverending road which ended way too early !

♥