My own cynicism gets to me sometimes. But for what its worth, it helps me see the other side of the moon. I know, what i am writing is not coherent. But thats how its flowing out of the nerves, into the hands and right into the key board. It has stopped being a thought I visualise on the paper. I see myself writing anything at all like a long text, a long essay on a typed set, with Times new roman font. If I ever see anything written in my dreams, which is anyway very rare, its typed. Except math symbols, which again is funny. If I ever dream of my house I dream of the old one. If I ever see my desk in the dreams, I see the one I used when I was 13. But then when I am awake, I hardly even seem to remember anything. I so hope I remember the faces as distinctly as I saw once upon a time. But that part of memory is giving its way. I seem to have a extremely good memory of voices though. I remember people's voices. Very very distinctly. And please don't think I am talking about dead people or something. I am talking about people I talk to every day, or am in touch with a lot etc. I basically remember them as voices. Its funny that one uncle of mine called me after 3 years and with his hello I knew it was him. He was shocked that I recognised him so easily over the phone. I even dream of people as only sounds.
After I saw this movie called Waking life, I have tried that I dream lucid dreams. But dreams seem to be something totally out of control. A continuous thread, a recurring theme etc etc are all common. But I never seem to realise in my dreams that I am dreaming. If I did would I do differently? May be. May be not. I don't know. Power they say is addictive.
Pardon me once again for my incoherence and possible repetitive blah. I must warn the reader that, I suffer from lack of sleep as I think, as brains send signals down my nerves to the fingers to type these bunch of keys on the key board. Did I already mention the monotonicity of hand-writings (rather the lack of it) that bothers me when I read even the best of the blogs? However, thats besides point. The main thing I wish to get back to is: I seem to dwell a lot lately on this whole thing about remembering and forgetting that our brain does almost randomly. Next weekend onwards a good friend of mine will move to another city. It already troubles me as to how less I will remember of her after say 2 years. I don't mean remembering as in what kind of person she is, or what her habits are. But more like when I think about her how she will not appear as in a full image. As if gimp will try to erase a few pixel of information every now and then, to make the whole image hazy over the span of time. (Oh, it gets on to my nerves that the only example I came up with was about gimp and not how wind corrodes stones or how water washes away the sand). But after all, evidently, the lack of sleep seems to make me melodramatic. For apparently, with cell phones and emails, one just needs to say a hello. Cynicism gets over me once again to shatter any such reassurances, or is it just lack of sleep?
On this note about remembering and forgetting, for you, here are lyrics of some really nice song called Science vs Romance by Rilo Kiley. (only some parts of it are pasted here which I like the most.) Do also listen to the song. Its pretty melodious. And is on You tube :) (Can't words help me express this smiley better. Well, doesn't look like they can. Do kids write such emotion icons in their essays these days?)
I used to think, if I could realise I'd die
Then I would be a lot nicer
Used to believe in a lot more
Now I just see straight ahead
That's not to say I don't have good times
But as for my days, I spend them waiting...
.
.
.
As for those things
That act as markers in your life
But in between you can't remember
.
.
.
Text versus romance
You go and add it all you want
Still we're not robots inside a grid
Zeroes and ones
After I saw this movie called Waking life, I have tried that I dream lucid dreams. But dreams seem to be something totally out of control. A continuous thread, a recurring theme etc etc are all common. But I never seem to realise in my dreams that I am dreaming. If I did would I do differently? May be. May be not. I don't know. Power they say is addictive.
Pardon me once again for my incoherence and possible repetitive blah. I must warn the reader that, I suffer from lack of sleep as I think, as brains send signals down my nerves to the fingers to type these bunch of keys on the key board. Did I already mention the monotonicity of hand-writings (rather the lack of it) that bothers me when I read even the best of the blogs? However, thats besides point. The main thing I wish to get back to is: I seem to dwell a lot lately on this whole thing about remembering and forgetting that our brain does almost randomly. Next weekend onwards a good friend of mine will move to another city. It already troubles me as to how less I will remember of her after say 2 years. I don't mean remembering as in what kind of person she is, or what her habits are. But more like when I think about her how she will not appear as in a full image. As if gimp will try to erase a few pixel of information every now and then, to make the whole image hazy over the span of time. (Oh, it gets on to my nerves that the only example I came up with was about gimp and not how wind corrodes stones or how water washes away the sand). But after all, evidently, the lack of sleep seems to make me melodramatic. For apparently, with cell phones and emails, one just needs to say a hello. Cynicism gets over me once again to shatter any such reassurances, or is it just lack of sleep?
On this note about remembering and forgetting, for you, here are lyrics of some really nice song called Science vs Romance by Rilo Kiley. (only some parts of it are pasted here which I like the most.) Do also listen to the song. Its pretty melodious. And is on You tube :) (Can't words help me express this smiley better. Well, doesn't look like they can. Do kids write such emotion icons in their essays these days?)
I used to think, if I could realise I'd die
Then I would be a lot nicer
Used to believe in a lot more
Now I just see straight ahead
That's not to say I don't have good times
But as for my days, I spend them waiting...
.
.
.
As for those things
That act as markers in your life
But in between you can't remember
.
.
.
Text versus romance
You go and add it all you want
Still we're not robots inside a grid
Zeroes and ones
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