There's something about clean slates that get to me everytime. Ergo, the new blog.

Will post the link when it's up and ready.:)

I'm sorry. If you read this, I'd like to make it official: You are humming inside my head. Humming. Do you understand?

What you will remember most from that evening are the branches from the tree that loomed above your pickup truck. There was wine although I could have imagined it. There was an elephant but everyone says elephant nowadays, as if it were something real to begin with. Let's try song or kiss. There was a song in the room. Let's talk about the kiss in this room. A line from a song I 'discovered' a couple of days ago clearly illustrates the feeling: In the back of your car I feel like I have travelled nowhere. Isn't time strange? Once, you believed all those things that you thought kept you standing on your feet and in another minute you are in the middle of government property where are no lamplights. After all, a good story doesn't have to start with two strangers meeting under the most extraordinary circumstances. It could be this; this could be the part of the story where all the endings get stripped away like an afterthought. There were words, many of them. Some I could remember, some I could understand well and cry at. And no one can ever say that we are or that we will ever be sorry for all the things that happened in between that last time in this same car and that moment. There were many good people to meet, many lessons to trip over, vows that we both refused to keep. The tree, you see, doesn't hold any secrets for anyone. It'd be a fine mistake to think that. And if someone loved me at that very minute and if I knew it, I wouldn't have laid my weary head on your chest. And we wouldn't have waited for morning to come before we kissed so that we could see each other, clearly, closely, for once.

Because I fell in love with Hornby's book, 31 songs, I've decided to resurrect my music blog: http://leopardskinhat.vox.com/

That's it, I guess, for this blog. Nyahaha.

My passion for language is one thing that I have always been vocal about. But sometimes, I feel so betrayed by it; that inspite of these words, I can never really tell you how I feel today, or how much I want to know about death, or why I think anger is necessary for one to keep on living.

It's funny how we develop associations for things we love so that no one can really catch on that we keep on talking about one and the same thing.

I am existing in a world that thrives on codes.

This morning, I plucked out a single white hairstrand from my head. Then I think, who first thought of the word forever? He must've been the most hopeful person that ever lived.

That ever lived.

And now that person is gone and no one knows about the fact that he was the one who was able to name the first real lie. This, I think is one of the world's greatest tragedies.