To Aid An_ Cage

2006-09-16 - 10:38 p.m.

and Isolde
in addition to that long last one, I watched Tristan and Isolde for the first time tonight. Even now the music from the credits swells up around me as I type. I have grown up forever hearing of this story--people hear my name and pass mention of it as if to explain the sounds my mouth makes as I introduce myself. It is so hard to watch it with this in mind. It is such a high drama--so much entwined intimacy and situation, love, war and duty. Beautiful images, people, acting, story, history, lives--Ridley Scott was involved, though he did not direct. I am moved by it, in as much as I have been followed by it--haunted. Wagner wrote for it too, which I will see someday--maybe in Toronto at the new house. I want a Djarum, but they are all gone. Smoking sucks, but those ones are just hard to put out. I have no desire to be a smoker, yet to sit and have a Djarum smoothly burning holes in my lungs--somehow this I crave. I'd like to study Tritan and Isolde. I'd like to study anything other than what I am currently. I am going to class because I know this is the first half of the first yar, and it is always like this. I will talk to my English professor about this story. Tomorrow I must do a draft of my essay for her class, and read for all my others. Tristan and Isolde revealed--in as much as what I watched did reveal it to me. Well done.

LOVE - Tristan
PS-I want to make mention of the isolation I have out here, because it has come up. I am really alone, in as much as I was not alone at home. I have no close bonds here, save Luna the cat who sometimes seeks my attention. It is not a burning desire to make bonds, but every day I turn to pass the joke on, and there is no one. I am just laughing to myself. It has almost stopped being funny. I sit now on level with everything else in my room. There is no sense of elevation. I get home and sit on the floor with everything else. It means nothing, but I know when my bed comes, and I get that desk up here, and that char, and bedside table, and a couple clothes baskets, and posters and a lamp to read by, I will be eased so much. I will have comfort beyond the comfort of things, even as I get these things. I will have the comfort of a reason to set things up for myself. What reason have I in this transition? I think that could be key too, this sense of continuing transition, so that even as I am transitioning back into school, I come home and find I have yet to fully transition into my space. This picks away at my sense of awareness. It does, I swear, because I wake up on the floor with a sore body, and return to my bed in the evening--arranging my pillows and laying into the night. I am unsure of how to word this, so I will stop. I just feel off, and it is reflected in some things I am doing, and I don't want to freethought fifteen pages of free hand to find it. I want to dream it and type it clearer. It is a coupling of the anxiety I feel for being on a schedule again (and having actual 'to dos,' where last year I had nothing but continued social convalescence), with the lack of personal identity at home--but it feels weak to say that I cannot pull myself from the reflections of me that would be present when I am more settled. I would need to pull that from inside anyway. I think the feelings I have are based largely on loneliness, and absent communication--mostly text messaging, or not knowing the names of the people I have spent more than two sentances worth with. I have to refine myself harder to get at the base courses and find what is real in what I am hearing/reading about all week. I am tying to get involved, and this is a sacrifice for me, because I don't know if it is purposeful fully. I am unclear.


before || after

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