to everyman his little cross

to everyman his little cross. till he dies. and is forgotten (waiting for godot, line 154)
an old doodle done in some theory or musicology class.

days of spring is here and to top it all off, it is st. patrick's day. irish or not, we can all be a plastic paddy for the day, drink the green things and bang the floor with heels, along with some sort of jig reel coming out from a satellite radio in a bar. the colour of the day is kelly green and we all yell out: happy st. paddy's day. yay.

two years ago, i wouldve been spending my first day in glasgow, meeting up with good friends to start a hiking trip up in the scotland. st. paddy's@scotland. it was also green with plastic paddies, some sort of fiddle-related noise and attempts of jig reels. a pint of guiness@ 14'c, the room temperature of the united kingdom, not north america. (this is a funny one, the average house room temperature in north america is actually couple degrees higher, at 20'c, decadent!) a self-paid bribery to write my thesis in two weeks, just in time to hand in the rough draft and graduate within the semester. two weeks of red-eyed writing and much cursing at the scanners, trying to work with conflicting file formats and slow processors. the patience and toil of my advisors, especially NAN, going over each and every sentence with monkey who was near burned out and couldnt care less. and my brown bro, who sat with me in the lab, right across, doing his work- a bit of school stuff and keeping me sane *hug.

last year, i was in the mountains of banff, thinking about the dangers of telephone-based communication vs. text-based. looking around the grey mountains, as it started the great upward momentum toward beltane fire. i was thinking about coal fire. this year i am perched on the top of the big concrete tree, where it may host easily up to a thousand people, looking down at the bright lights of the streets and the occasional police siren (thanks, plastic paddy!), it is the first day in a long while that monkey is entirely free (i made it free. it wasnt. i canned things. I CANNED!)- so is this sunday, but i will be making a trip to the gene pools- which is always difficult, hence rather than it being a free day, it may be more of a trial day.

since the 40k statement, it has been busy. i am recording, playing, attending green room, cable winding, cooking, tutoring, writing. scheduling, organizing, laundering, grocery-shopping, booking trips. more and more things, i want the work, i can do the work and i even enjoy most of it. especially playing. and today, the day of pause. ive been short of sleep. the light seeps quietly but surely, every morning, around seven, i am up. however, when the sun goes down, the artificial lights are still bright outside. so i stay up. body is tired and head is spinning- an interesting combination. the mind wanders. just like the thoughts, disconnected thoughts all forced together in this particular episode, like making a terrine mold. layers of things, slightly varying consistency. funny enough, i dont even really like pate.as mousse textures is usually avoided by monkey. if it jiggles, i will have to think about it.

chains of things and thoughts, emotions and reactions. despite of having days of so-called productivity and a good financial result to show for, i am just tired and lost. i looked into a keepsake box, looking for a duster. i found forgotten things, such as few of my old doodles from school days. and it made me laugh. then teary. also the little monkey pictures from different places and different times, however, still holding the same expression of isolation, stoicism, even a hint of cynicism. usually by monkeyself, not much of the wide childish grin. so many events and people since then, and here are the exact same feelings, some pleasant, some difficult.

i called and heard the phone ring. ring. ring. another ring. answering machine.

i hung up, i dont have courage for ruthless things such as answering machines.

today is done and i do not have much courage. i want to laugh but there is no laughter left for st. paddy's 2010. good job st. pats, for driving the snakes away, though all researches suggests that post-glacial ireland did not have snakes. even greater achievement. to drive things that does not exist. much like thought demons. perhaps tomorrow will be different. it must be. i do not want to hear the phone ringing. that is certain.

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