Fuck it all.

Went out today for lunch with college people, expecting to come back happier.

Came back, way more depressed than when I went out. I'm not going to be explaining, but I just need to say it out. Fuck it.

On the positive side, stopped by Kinokuniya (my god, Borders sucks) on the way home (okay, this was actually way out of the way, but hey, I needed to buy some books), and picked up Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman by Murakami and the latest part of the Ragnar series.

I could never understand what was so good about Murakami after reading his "Wind-up Bird Chronicle". Then I read Kafka on the Shore. Excellent book.

Must say though, I love his short stories more than his novels. I had to close the book for a while and just try to control the feelings that were wrestling within me after finishing his short story, "A Folklore for My Generation: A Prehistory of Late-Stage Capitalism".... it screamed of serious excellence. Sigh. I can't wait to finish off the remainder of the book.

Was walking into borders and I saw this quote "Books are the quietest and most constant of friends; they are the most accessible and wisest of counselors, and the most patient of teachers." Sigh.

Managed to buy myself my walkman type earphones that I lost during my trials. Love them! Least it helps to block out the buzzing of all the people squashed together in the bus (Just put them on without putting on any music. Excellent noise blocker)

Sigh. YUI - sea is now officially my favorite song. Been looking through a facebook page about Murakami quotes and dayum...

"So that's how we live our lives. No matter how deep and fatal the loss, no matter how important the thing that's stolen right from us -that's snatched right out of hands- even if we are left completely changed people with only the outer layer of skin from before, we continue to play out our lives this way, in silence. We draw ever nearer to our allotted span of time, bidding it farewell as it trails off behind. Repeating, often adroitly, the endless deeds of the everyday. Leaving behind a feeling of immeasurable emptiness.".

“Everyone of us is losing something precious to us. Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back again. That’s part of what it means to be alive. But inside our heads—at least that’s where I imagine it—there’s a little room where we store those memories. A room like the stacks in this library. And to understand the workings of our own heart we have to keep on making new reference cards. We have to dust things off every once in a while, let in fresh air, change the water in the flower vases. In other words, you’ll live forever in your own little private library.” - Oh god damn.

"You know what I think?" she says. "That people's memories are maybe the fuel they burn to stay alive. Whether those memories have any actual importance or not, it doesn't matter as far as the maintenance of life is concerned. They're all just fuel. Advertising fillers in the newspaper, philosophy books, dirty pictures in a magazine, a bundle of ten-thousand-yen bills: when you feed 'em to the fire, they're all just paper. The fire isn't thinking 'Oh, this is Kant,' or 'Oh, this is the Yomiuri evening edition,' or 'Nice tits,' while it burns. To the fire, they're nothing but scraps of paper. It's the exact same thing. Important memories, not-so-important memories, totally useless memories: there's no distinction--they're all just fuel." - Favourite.

Ciao.

Ear food
Praan - Gary Schymann