[im'mature] Blog

Downtown, 2am.

Ron, Ben and I uncover Korean eateries in hidden lane ways and complement our bar-hopping with bibimbab.

The spring air is balmy, and the night brims with possibilities: Truth. Beauty. Freedom. Love.

~ + ~
All the winter blues melt away, seeming no more than distant fireflies.

The narrative timeline™ pauses, contemplating the geography of a new year.

I can see tomorrow from here.

#include <stdio.h>

#define MOTIVATION 2.7182
#define PROCRASTINATION 3.1415
#define CRY -11111
#define PARTY 11111

int main () {

int assignmentCompletion = 0;
int assignmentProgress = 0;

while (assignmentCompletion == 0) {

assignmentProgress = assignmentProgress + MOTIVATION / PROCRASTINATION;

return CRY;

}

printf ("You have won one internet!\n");

return PARTY;

}

I think my code contains an infinite loop... :o\

So your mother's still crazy, forever the wronged little girl liberating herself from imagined oppressors, over and over in her head.

Your father, weary, has been sledge-hammered into a lost little boy - coherent, but no more in the pilot's seat than she.

And the kids: Knowing beyond their years but constrained by the tyrannies and impotence one suffers in childhood.

Who is leading the herd?

~ + ~

You look back at the people you were, and suddenly nostalgia hits. The air was sweeter, the people warmer.

You know it's all in your head. You know there's more of her in there than you'd like to admit.

Somewhere a telephone rings. "Hello?"

"Press one for more options."

~ + ~

This rabbit hole loops, doesn't it? Like clockwork, the winter blues set in - and it's only just past daylight savings.

The husband is a million miles away, and there's more truth in that than you'd like to admit, too. "It's not unusual..." you hum to yourself.

Frozen smile, wide-eyed, jittery heart. How does the pilot light stay on?

You are now leaving the herd.

Little did he know, he had already embarked on a downward slide on the colour spectrum...from #0000FF to #000000.

So this is how it feels
To be in possession
Of a lighter keychain

Peeling them off
One by one
Into the evening breeze

Unburdened
From all the things
I didn't say

awake
pre-dawn hush
sleep hanging from
bleary eyes

racing
into the wind
a flimsy umbrella
and me

downhill
to a bus
30 minutes away
from wages