Friday, February 10, 2006


There is something so terribly unknowable about him. The pool of enigma that surrounds him is one that is utterly impenetratable that when I lifted my finger and touched him, only harmless ripples trailed in his wake.

(Happy Valentines all!)

- - -

"I tell myself it's not the fall. Falling doesn't hurt... it's when you stop."
- John Constantine; Sandman #3

(written on the 5th of February)

So I tried answering calls in a clipped tone laced with a haughty British accent. Not at all my usual syrupy, singsong voice in a distinct and an almost-too-cheerful American accent.

I chose to have lunch at 11pm instead of 9 pm as scheduled so that I will only have to take calls for less than a couple of hours.

I will go home, wash my face, brush my teeth and then sleep. I may have some errands to do tomorrow. Some deadlines that need to be written.

Before I know it, I'll be waking up to the 7pm alarm (preternally set), take a bath, eat dinner, and pack my lunch before I set off for work again.

This will be the inane cycle that I will follow as it runs its course.

The pattern, yes the pattern.

I'd run through the pattern like the raindrops that I trace with my fingertips against the glass windows until I had discerned that the beginning and end had met such as the cruel twist of the Mobius strip.

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