The Cure for Fridays

Four weeks has it been? Or five, since I've typed out my thoughts in this virtual space. I do enjoy the rarity of writing but the sporadic nature of my posting habits isn't really all that cool...

Neither is the weather.

A scorching inferno humidityfest that blows like a autistic zephyr, the prize sweats out from the pores, permeating across every corner of the cancer ward and drenching its victims in a pool of bad metaphors.

I probably should get started on that assignment due Monday, or at least attempt to look for the question. I probably should stop eating the kheer (goodness the sin!) and have a granola or something. I probably should rid my self of my "-ine" addictions, put on my shoes and go save some whales. But hey presto, blog precedence.

Blog precedence = life precedence = life fail

The best rambles are metaphors, so in the words of Tristan here comes a "fuckin' tsunami".

Ramble in shambles. Loosen your shackled feet and drag them to the furthest corner of the hottest campus in the world only to accentuate the heat, whether it be from the sticks we cradle, the moisture of laughter or the sweat on clenched palms. The perspiration hits the floor and mingles with the ash forming a pool of blithe only to be trampled by our lingering shoes.

The grim coolness exudes from a select few, whose lives bathe in similar oil that ignites in the hands of the Chair on a whim or spur; melt and mold into the concrete beneath our feet.

Run.

The chill emanates from dulled rooms, where the most penile of people stand at attention while the pedantics nestle loudly in their foreign sections, blaring at every opportunity. The Accented Shrill sets into normalcy, as those with greater senses of sanity roll eyes in opposing directions at such expressed stupidity.

But not all them birds are dimwitted.

Escape and respite. Laconic or expressive with the penchant of colour and curls splashed on screen like summer undergoing indigestion, we traverse and transcend the monochrome that envelopes ordinaries and subordinates, far away into a place we vaguely remember entangled with the sensation of freshness and virginity as lovers on a steel sofa. Intertwined and immersed in thoughts and memories that construct themselves on the fly, goofy smiles creep across faces like sunlight on skin as sweet nothings fill the air; redolent and perpetual. Day breaks and die as we sit and witness the world on revolution, barely noticing anything other than the twirl of her hair, her iris gleam and my own selfish giddiness.

But we are spatial beings and thus the weekend is here to give reason to all that we miss.