| The sight of AstroLand had always brought joy to me when I was a kid (it is an amusement park, so it's not that surprising). It was strange because I hadn't been on an ephemeral trip to space, guided by the gargantuan roller coaster in AstroLand. I've been high almost at every parks in New York and at Six Flags in New Jersey, but never in AstroLand. I'm twenty-one going twenty-two and the landscape of Coney Island still bring back an unfamiliar territory of nostalgia. People probably think it's just a phase during youth-- a phase where I can place nearly everything at heart and not get tired. Stupid youths. I am getting tired, though. But the sky is always gray during autumn time, with trees and bushes as naked as the year, and a billboard counting down the days till the next Nathan's hot dog eating contest. Everything feel a bit arbitrary, though pleasantly chaotic, and as I march down the boardwalk, I listen for footsteps, my own and the strangers', creaking the loose plank boards. The footsteps sound a little different, but we can deduce that they are all the same-- like fallen leaves that was once attached to ancient trees. The leaves that are representation of dying flames, the flickering reminiscence of unbearable summer nights. The gray clouds bring a mist of melancholy that completes the autumn sky, a natural longing for the sun, but the Earth continues to travel further away from its elliptical orbit. That is how the universe of my mind functions.
I need to learn to let go of certain feelings because it has to happen sometime. I need to learn how to write because syntax (such as verb agreements-- quite evident) and such is a little off lately. But I write how I think, and I don't think about syntax. It's getting a bit problematic, my thoughts are getting more and more difficult to understand. Or maybe I'm starting to care less and less about my feelings. Can't be.
|
| |
| "We never stop reading, although every book comes to an end, just as we never stop living, although death is certain."
From "Dentist", Last Evenings on Earth, Roberto Bolaño. |
| |
| Porque mi amigo es Soledad. |
| |
| Good evening everyone. Life has taken an unexpected turn. Not sure where we're heading.
le mauvaise grammaire
Aujourd'hui, je suis sans espoir
Demain, j'explorerai l'inconnu
Je peut choisir seulement mon sort
Toujours, je dirai "bonjour." |
| |
True