||[Sep. 9th, 2003|07:53 am]
No One Really
The routines people form are somewhat interesting.
I've never met a person who hasn't formed some sort of routine. I've seen a number of people who routinely (har!) try to break from their routines, but I think we instinctively are drawn to something that is familiar and stable.
I've begun to form a little bit of a school routine, although obviously I'm still pretty new at it. I usually end up at the Memorial Union every morning, eating a little bit of breakfast and surfing the web, or doing a little homework, or what have you, before class.
Today, I have a little more time than normal. So I thought I'd share with you some lyrics that have been going through my head recently. I'll give a cookie (or prize of equal value) to anyone who happens to be able to name all of them, but really... I'm just thinking about the words. Playing with the words. Turning the words over in my head, thinking of new meanings, new ways to conceptualize them... but mostly just playing with the words.
Some of you might have been on my old mailing list when I wrote that "found poem" of a variety of lyrics. If anyone still has that sucker, please let me know, although I don't think it'll be anyone on LJ.
A question well served
'Is silence like a fever?'
'A voice never heard?'
'Or a message with no receiver?'
She shuts the doors and lights and lays her body on the bed
Where images and words are running deep
She has too much pride to pull the sheets above her head
So quietly she lays and waits for sleep
But when I became awoke my alarm clock was broke
And my Grandfather clock was staring right down my throat
And he leaned a little bit closer and he told and I quote:
"If you ever race against me, you will surely come up short,"
And I tried to reason with him and I tried knocking on wood
But he said don't you bother knockin', I'm a Grandfather clock
And everything you do, I'm seeing through your masquerade
At midnight you will hear the serenade and don't you be afraid
It's like clock work orange lemonade with the bottomless glass
When it's time for that ass
We are history's detergent
Water soluble, light particles, articles of cleansing breath
Articles amending death
These words are not tools of communication
They are shards of metal
Dropped from eight story windows
They are waterfalls and gas leaks
Aged thoughts rolled in tobacco leaf
The tools of a trade
Maybe that's enough words for today.
Pointless? Maybe. Just what's going through my head. Isn't it always? =)
Other than all this... things are going relatively well, if extremely tired.