A New Semester

Ah, Two weeks off.

It's been a quiet two weeks, with only minor events happening. It was good just being able to sleep and not worry about assignments or meetings or class or work. Just sitting in my chair, in a minor coma, quietly reading or watching hulu.

But now it's back to work.

Back to school, to assignments, to meetings, to work. It's not all bad, it is just the end to relaxation. Back to being swamped by papers, or worrying about the future. It is a return for writing both for class and on my own. It is a return to life.

The campus is overwhelmed by students and cars, not a parking spot to be found. People bustle about, running to class and trying to get back to their normal schedules after summer break. The bands in the square try to entertain when no one wants to listen, they run to class, annoyed at the wailing speakers and campus guides. "Do you want a credit card?" "How about signing up to help our athletic program?" " Free Food!"...well, the last one isn't so bad, but still. I've never been a fan of the first few weeks of school, as everyone is trying to normalize their lives, and the constant attempts by the school to be hip does not work. If they did these events throughout the year, maybe it would be different, but these things only appear twice a year, at the beginning of each semester. Eventually life will return to normal, but for now, the falsely overburdened campus will continue its dance through the weeks ahead.

Nighttime Musings Pt. 01

Over the past few days, when I was alone, I started observing different places and people. These were mostly musings about random events. There’s a lot more where this comes from, but it needs to be edited because of personal matters mixed among the writing. But here’s a bit of it. Enjoy.

What is it about the night that calls to our souls so? The darkness? It hides our true nature in the silence. It is in the darkness that we are truly free, escaping from our desks and cubicles to strip away the masks of our lives, to dance under the moon. Like a shroud, the night mist masks us, and we can escape the frail existence allotted to us. We become true to our souls, when no one is the wiser, forgetting our mundane lives to become something more. Something true. Suddenly, we are all musicians, players, poets. We create, and thrive within the world that most will never know. For the city is most alive when you are asleep, safe in your bed. While you dream of sheep, we create your nightmares. We play with our demons, our monsters, our Faye. They understand the darkness that lurks in your soul, for that is their playground. And while the darkness allows, our true souls come out to play, and dance under the electric streetlamps and moon shadows.

For in the night, a spell is cast. One that can only be broken with the coming dawn. But while the sun stays down, we still celebrate. The night with its buzzing streetlamps and roaring engines. Its calls of people intoxicated, stumbling back to their homes while notes from musicians unseen float through the air. And in-between the pools of light, lurk our demons, our angels, our monsters, our saints. What they are to us is in our perception.

Late, past two. It is morning now; soon the sun will appear, to break the spell of the night. Black dispelled by pink and red. An orb that brings with it the mundane world. But before then let us dance to the music of the stars, the light of the moon, the groans of the city.

Silence falls. The streetlamps buzz. A train moans in the distance, trudging its way through the sleeping city. The air is thick with dew and anticipation that the dawn will soon break. What will it be? With the new day, new beginnings, new possibilities. All is forgiven? Not likely. But it is a step. The dawn brings many things. But it dispels the one thing I love. The night. The night with its beauty so rarely seen, and its ugliness uncovered. The nighttime is our time, when our mind thrives, and is alive. Under the cover of darkness we are all who we want to be. But with the dawn comes a certain reluctance. A longing that the sun will never appear and we can play forever in the moonlight. We can free ourselves to dance with the monsters, the demons, the Faye. We join them in delighting the stars with our dances. And just like the darkness, it vanishes with the rising sun, only to be seen under the light of the moon once more, when the stars dance and look on in expectation.

The dusty gray of morning brightens. They sky is turning blue. Already the stars are fading into the sky, their serenade done for the night. The sky is a rosy-peach, as the false world wakes. They stir from their beds, falling into their routines of coffee and cell phones. The bustle of day life has begun again, a spell is broken with the rising red orb. And with the cool wind rising, the night is gone, hidden for another day. Only to be discovered anew when the mother star sleeps. The breeze ruffles the trees. Stand. See it rise.

Full Days

I think we need a day in between Sunday and Monday.

Call it whatever you want, but I think we need it. At least it’d give me time to complete everything. Sitting here, I have a few projects to finish, and a bunch of meet-ups planned. A Big problem will be solved, but then it’s back to trying to fit 35 hours of work into 24.

The problem isn’t that I don’t want to do as much as I do, but rather time constraints. I barely have time to myself anymore, or for social interaction. Most of my free time is eaten up by the various groups I work with, and if I ever have any time alone anymore, it’s spent writing down thoughts from the last two weeks or so (I keep a journal on me at all times so I can write down ideas).



And yes, I did steal it from Dr. Jones.

I just need more time, because even with planning, too much is chaos in my life.