.

One moment the fireworks are illuminating the night sky with their sparkling brilliance, the next moment it's dead silence, encompassing your entire being so rapidly as if it's jealous of that happiness you felt for a mere fraction of a second. You're at the edge of the surface, the crown of you head touching that space separating the liberating air from the suffocating water, at the threshold of clarity but not quite breaking free. Struggling. You're struggling so hard to see, you blink, once, twice, but to no avail, your eyes refusing to give you a clear image of what's beyond the water, rather like an old digital camera out of focus, like a photograph of bokeh effect. It's just a game, this moment, not amounting to even a chapter in this treacherous game.

(More ramblings transcribed from a notebook)

Cocoon.

Distance. The other side of the world, at an unreachable distance.

It's almost as if you're wrapped up in a cocoon, a seperate entity from the universe. Like you're viewing the rest through a layer of frosted glass, seeing, but only vaguely, hearing, but not really. And through this frosted glass, the happenings of the world, seem not as important, the magnitude of dire situations seem to lighten. And you see that nothing really matters anymore, nothing had ever really mattered much before.

Breathe.

Take a long, hard look at your life. From a third person standpoint.

What have you accomplished? What are you? What do you want to do? How are you treating people?

Me, I don't really know. 

Never really fully committing to anything, never really giving it my all for anything, just floating, like a stray leaf lost in the season of transition, without purpose. The only reason being that little push that your surroundings constantly give you. The power of context, a much more terrifying thing than what it may seem to be.  You move, because your environment tells you so, like a marionette doll. 

And then, when it comes to people, you're always wavering, fickle. It's not really anything logically thought out. It's like a mood swing. A relations mood swing. 

[Ahem, I should apologize for the sudden change from first person to second person view, but, damn it it's my blog, I'll do whatever I want. It's not like anyone actually reads this anyway, so technically, I'm having conversations with myself. So, um have a good day Tamara?]

Stars.

It's silly isn't it?

Knowing, that all which will be revealed to your eyes is a sky, pitch black.

And yet, hoping, like a child, staring up into the sky for the hundredth time, to see the dazzling bright lights of a starlit sky.

Currently sniffing:

Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov.
Penguin Classics, hardcover
Smells like vegetables, specifically, celery left too long in a wooden cupboard.

Number, 01

Mechanical, perfunctory, superficial.

That, is the world in which we live. A world where stability is desired, where we search for a fixed routine, either consciously or unconsciously so. Like clockwork. Nothing but a dull world wrapped up and presented as one full of excitement and mystery. A beautiful box, empty inside, rather like an Easter egg.

Surface, surface, surface.

They say, the older you get, the more wise you become, the more experiences you gain, the more benefits you reap. But, it seems to be the exact opposite, the older one gets, the more bewildered one becomes. It's like a veil has been thrown in front of your face, blurring your vision, your mind, your physical self.

And that's where you start being more and more superficial, no longer minding what truly matters. (what does truly matters anyways?) That's when every stride, every gesture of the hand, every word you may utter, becomes a perfunctory one.

(Note: The above is constituted of unnecessary ramblings, and much bullshit.)