Dreams of Flying Daggers

Today marks the end of our weekly show. Due to circumstances outside my control, or yours, it has been decided that the 7-9pm slot be allocated to other programming. I will remain employed by the radio station and you will hear me in other places. However, the Thursday Night Lights show, as you know it, will no longer be.

We will end with two pieces of music. The first is Yes' Close to the Edge. This was the very first album I ever played on the show, and it is only fitting that it be played on its last instance, too. We have come full circle.

The second hour is dedicated to one of the greatest musicians ever to grace us with their presence. Ella Fitzgerald's birthday was today, and so the final hour of our show will consist of her songs. It will be the end, but looking up towards a beginning.

Alexandru Nita, signing off.

Funny how, here, it always rains on the fourth...

"The hunting season shouldn't start for another few months!" thought the geese as they pedaled faster, trying to reach safety to their nest along the shore of the lake. Their nest, nestled among the willow and douglas trees and moss; the lake, nestled among the quiet waving foothills. All around, loud booming shots went off, putting out smoke and strange glowing multicolored lights.

The father goose was only a gooseling the previous year, when the same thing had happened, a couple of weeks after the beginning of summer. He was not too young to remember what his parents had told him then, about people's strange habits around this time of the year; he had forgotten, though, the feeling of fear at hearing all the raucus. So he did what any responsible head of a family with four young kids would do; he brought them all to safety. Except, this year, their nest was no longer the cradle of peace he had hoped for. Instead, more fireworks were going off barely thirty feet away. So, not ten minutes later, against the quiet whining of the sleepy gooselings and the anxiety of their mom, they all proceeded back towards the center of the lake, trying to find a quieter spot that might, perhaps, offer the protection they were so desperately seeking.

On shore, away from the source of all the loud noises, the human gooseling screamed, seeking more sparklers; more attention; more... she had forgotten what she was seeking, now, and was screaming because she was tired, rubbing her eyes with her fists as she tried to overcome the noise and her body's desire to sleep.

The fireworks went on for a while, as in the distance the sun inexorably set behind the mountain. I lay down on my back, immune and impervious to the bustling, the whining, the booming and the crackling, and watched the clouds go by. Almost too inert to move, too relaxed to speak; I could but watch, and listen, and take in the world around me. I felt rain drops caress my cheeks, as the clouds continued to gather, and the sun slowly made way to the darkness of the night, pierced only here and there by the bright, effemeral explosions.

As the first bolt of lightning struck, all around cheered at how nature joined in the celebrations. Had the father goose, now - perhaps - in a safer place down the lake, away from the human insanity, joined me in imagining a different, darker alternative, in which nature had decided to punish us instead?

I'm tired of lying. Of lies. Lies by omission, lies by assumption, lies by disconsideration, lies by ignorance. Lies by hiding. Lies.

Yet social convenience dictates that things happen the way they do and so it all goes on.

A man with yellow hair, head cocked to the side staring down at something, a puzzled expression upon his face. Intelligent eyes, musing, hand raised atop the forehead as if to hold in place the myriad of thoughts, of possibilities, of creation.

I talked with you today, perhaps longer than I have in three years. I miss you and yet I'm still afraid, afraid that I'll hurt you again if I try and afraid that I'll lose you if I don't. Yet I never really had you and now I never will, the gap is too big. I wish I could say sorry but social convenience makes us, makes me dance around the issue, and you would clam up if I said anything anyway. As well you probably should. I don't want to hurt you and yet I probably will.

People never really change. Of all the people I know, of all the people I've tried to get close to over the years, most had things which they were unwilling to compromise on, which they were unwilling to let go. And that is why I know things would never have worked out. Would they have worked out with you? I don't know, probably not. Yet I think you, of all people, can change. Maybe I just have so much faith in you because of a song, a handshake, and a time that will never be. A phone call reaching across the sky, one cold, dark evening.

But we are where we are and things can only go forward.

Afraid of the future, of letting go of the present, of running away before it's time to run away. Afraid of being so cold. Afraid of change that will inevitably happen, trying to hold on to my youth for yet one more moment. I can still think that I'm 21, here. For a few more short weeks, until reality catches up again. It would be easy to let go, to not go forward, to close my eyes and remain stuck in time. Yet, now that the tide has ebbed, I can but go forward.

Alone.

We were looking at joysticks in CompUSA this evening and a sales boy walks up to us and starts chatting with me. So we talk for a bit and as my bf notices one of the force feedback controllers he says "hey, this one vibrates". So the sales boy goes "do you like things that vibrate?". He gets very shy about it and says "well, only when my car does it, it kinda shows it works" and then the sales guy suddenly goes quite and walks away without saying another word. WTF? He wasn't completely bad-looking either...

In other news, windows 98 sucks. But so fun to play with again, in a slightly masochistic, slightly nostalgic way. And assuming this new install works properly, we might even be able to play FFVII again :) I've had the Midgar theme stuck in my head all day today.

A couple of nights ago, I saw a cat up on the roof of the building across from ours. It seemed quite happy there as it was walking around all over. Eventually it hid behind a chimney, then re-emerged to pose on top of a ledge. It then climbed up on top of the building, posed again at the very tippy-top, and moved down on the other side where I couldn't see it anymore.

I snapped about 10 pictures of it, if anyone wants to see them I'll share them here somehow.

A bunch of other stuff is going on, but the proof is too long to fit on the margin of this napkin... sorry.

For Luke's purpose: QOW is back!

http://www.collegehumor.com/movies…

Nothing really interesting to say but since when did that stop me...

Actually, one interesting question (to me anyway, and thus rhetorical). Why do people like me?

He bought me flowers today. It was completely unexpected and so it made me so happy. I was actually thinking about how I wish I received flowers and stuff from time to time but it never happens. I was thinking about it Friday, and as it turns out he was going to get them Friday but he didn't get a chance so instead he got them today. Sometimes I do wonder about how close and alike we really think and feel...

I was reading this gay-themed novel called Where the Boys Are which really made me think about relationships again. It's a little too stereotypical for my taste (too much about clubbing and how drugs are really ok) but on the other hand it made me think about how fluid relationships can be, in some sense. Yet on the other hand how stable they are, too.

The book style is very similar to Andrew Winston's Looped but not as well-written. But it was still a good sunday/monday morning read. I'd recommend it, at least for some "graphic" imagery :P

I heard this song on the radio again today and it really hit me just how much I associate it with you.

You had called me a few days before, but I couldn't answer. I hadn't talked with you in quite a while, and I was missing you a lot. Then the next few days I still couldn't really get a hold of you, then when I finally heard from you (through livejournal) and you seemed very sad.

Then Tuesday rolled around and we all went out to a pub in the afternoon to celebrate our slave-driver's one-year anniversary among us. Chatting loudly, we started to cross the traintracks, oblivious to the train hurrying towards us at godspeed. The siren blew and we hurried across the tracks, missing our chance encounter by mere moments. No worse for wear, we carried on towards our bubbly destination.

An hour past, I headed back towards my bus stop, alone but no worse for wear, System of a Down blazing in my ears. This time I had enough sense to look up before crossing, and thus miss my second chance to take a train in my face. Steady paced but internally shaken, I carried on, got to my bus stop, and caught the bus home.

Only later did I realize that your effect on me is much the same: you hit me head-on; I could never escape, and every time we meet you become my world.

Yet, perhaps unconsciously, I did know. For after listening to this song, on my way home, I realized how much I missed you, then as now, and called you. I didn't get a hold of you, but hearing your voice was enough. I left you a message; it made your day; it made mine.

Such a lonely day
And it's mine
A day that I'm glad I survived