words written by the dude who write this blog

untitled by kagogo


so what are you doing next year? he asks, looking at me expectantly. there's only a few correct answers to this question. associateship with a judge (but only State Supreme or Federal Court level); work for 1 of 6 top tier firms; miscellaneous. i want to say i'm taking a year off to find a new shipping route for merchant vessels and accidentally find the new New Indies; take a year off to listen to the full discography of the Beatles; maybe read something really long... the Story of Civilization, in 11 volumes... the Golden Bough: A Study in Magic and Religion (3rd ed, 1906-15) in 12 volumes.


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when we were young we sat in coffee shops. we drank hot chocolate. we spoke of the future (which... looking around me, must be about now sometime).


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- whatchya reading? [i'm sitting on the 38th floor of a fancy high-rise in the city. the question is directed towards me by the partner of 1 of 6 (said) top tier firms who will spend the next 40mins telling me about himself while i nod in feigned interest]
- bit of light on-the-train-at-8-am-reading: Crimes Against Humanity by Geoffrey Robertson. [he laughs]. Oh, it is funny, i mean, who doesn't want to start their day with 600pages worth of genocide and systematic and serious violations of human rights? [he laughs]
- count me in
- that's the spirit akrM [i know his name already because the receptionist told me 'you'll be interviewing with krMa today', as i say this i reach out my hand and we have a firm, very satisfying hand shake].
- i read [can't remember the title] at a hearty 900pages a few months back. it was so damn heavy i got sick of holding it up in bed - i had the wife find me a copy for the ipod. even then you read for hours and you see the little %read dial move up from 1.4 to 1.6. [i laugh]
- it's annoying heavily <-- get the pun? [he thinks...
- ha! yes. exactly.
[i forget the rest other than to remember to nod occasionally and say: wow, really? that's incredible. sporadically: is that right?]


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after the coffee we forgave each other our/their shortcomings.
___what now?
easy.
___what?
something that involves glitter. sparkle.
___like what?

(___k__i s_s
_________t_a_ s
____________r
_y o u r_ e ye__s

l__a_c k___ time. )

(i wish we did)


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i never sleep on planes. not until i'm the last person awake. darkdark, everyone else huddled in cocoons made of just-not-quite-large-enough blankets. me and one of those little lights. pluto that'll eventually get annexed. or just an out of the way star, one of the too-many temples that you visit just to say you've been there take a compulsory photo of a wall or cement something-or-another and walk on thinking whether you're brave enough to try the street food again while trying to psychically connect to your stomach's mood-of-the-hour.

everyone wakes refreshed, i'm trashed. why didn't you sleep? i can't answer that question. it was quite. so? so... it's too delicious not to have too much of it. but now you'll be annoying and dopey all day. this makes no sense. no sense at all. i'm always dopey and annoying all day. my point is acknowledged, more so.

(but i'm saving up to cry about it all one day).


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they sit silently in the coffee shop. she resents him for having picked up a magazine before he sat down. in their secret parlance this means 'no-talkey-time'. she flicks through photos on her camera. does experiments by taking photos of reflections in the glass. he's oblivious. although it would ordinarily amuse her, she's irked to think she's like a child playing around while her father minds her absentmindedly. she tries to start a conversation. mmm-hmm he responds and turns a page. it will be winter when we get back. he nods this time, rright-right.
(but everything is so lovely she thinks).
he looks up to watch her take a photo of nothing. takes a sip. smiles. what are you thinking? he makes a face that means he's not sure there are words for it. just wandering he says. about what? not wondering, wandering, with an 'a'. oh. about what? i'm not sure there are words for it.


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on election night i wore burgundy pants and a tie, with a sweater-vest. some people drank and i spoke to this guy about what he'd do after he graduated (one of three options). later we went to the bar and i hugged some people i hadn't seen in months. where have you been? they kept asking, studying i kept saying. after that i realised i hadn't much left to say to anyone. half an hour later i walked back to the apartment. sat and watched the elections while eating little cubes of cheese just because they were in front of me on the coffee table.

that was... like a year ago.

how'd that happen?


___*___*___*

so what are you doing next year? he asks, looking at me expectantly.

goddamit i can't go through this sh*t again.