Even Western medicine,
it couldn't save Danny Callahan
Bad bone marrow, a bald little boy.

But the love he feels he carries inside, can be passed
He lay still his mother kissed him goodbye 
Said, 'Come back, where are you going to alone?'
Where are you going all alone? 

Self-Fulfilment.

Cue hyperactive, chirping music.

Cue dancing man, wearing a grin as big as the blue sky overhead

Cue suburban imagery, beautiful plants, sepia tone garage doors,

Cue luxury car,

Cue FedEx deliveryman,

Cue the happy, beautiful, dream-like land.

Cue the television ad,

Sensory overload, a pill for your most special gland

Cue the flurry,

Cue the rehearsed joy,

Cue the disguised medicated turmoil,

Cue luxury car,

Cue FedEx Van,

Cue the happy, dancing man

The dancing man,

Wearing his sharp suit,

He's fulfilled, because his penis is wood

Autumn's Fog

Driving down the dark stretch of road after a long day, my surroundings seem unfamiliar. Senses exhausted, one eye twitching from a lack of sleep... the world around melts in the soft autumn's fog... the music on the radio plays... incoherent voices... an old one-hit-wonder, the strange sounds resonating... melding around my mind... like that same fog surrounding the constantly moving car...

Constantly moving... ever in motion, always trying to reach some destination... amidst the haze, the comfortable disorientation, an old passing landmark catches my eye... hiding in the darkness and the fog of the night, the small piece of land, lying side by side the empty and now baren corn fields, awakens me only slightly out of the faze... a distant, distinct, metallic taste lingers in the back of my mouth... the passing sense of its existence at first foreign to my tongue... as the sensation leaves my body, my mind begins to place the taste... the feelings... my mind places the meaning...

An old deserted graveyard, fallen leaves, a naive mind and a heart eager to experience its first break... the cold feel of a late October frost, the sloppy, tingling hands of teenagers... eager hearts... one looking... desperately searching to mend... another yearning to open to something real... something incandescent, intangible, and ever fleeting.

Minor in Cynicism.

Having arrived to school about 3 hours early for class -- intent on studying at that -- I found myself having breakfast with a university friend instead. As we talked about the every day things we came to the realization that we graduate in less than six months. This of course lent itself to conversations about finding a job, and our frustrations towards the recruiters that had circled our school like vultures this past month.

"We interview 2500 people to fill 6 positions within Canada," was what I was told by a perky man at a two hour long group interview for a multinational brewing company last week.

Still, as we talked about everything that there is, as I mentioned having already booked my graduate portrait appointment for November, we came to a very simple conclusion. As I ran into an old classmate from my creative and critical fictions elective in 2nd year-- someone I had not seen for two years-- my friend and I realized what could be the underlying essence of all of our four years in business school.

"You guys will find a job no problem! You're hard workers and you're graduating from school of x," my old friend said happily.

We shook our heads in disagreement.

It seemed four years of business school, four years of preparing for the "real world" and four years of recruiting hell had taught us one simple lesson: it had taught us how to be jaded.

"Most people graduate from university starry-eyed and ready to face the 'real' world."

"Yeah, they don't become cynical and jaded until they actually end up in the workforce. At least school X taught us something." 

We were only joking around and making light of the situation. Still, the conversation had some deep truths in it and left me wondering what kind of a person I would be today if I had simply chosen to study something else.

Red.

Today, as I was rushing to catch my bus to work, I threw a bunch of strawberries into a ziplock bag and threw that into my bag. Ten minutes later, by the time I was sitting on the bus, they were nothing but mushy red chunks. I ate them right then and there. They stained my hands red.

I'm reading The Count of Monte Cristo. It's an alright so far.

I napped too much today but I'm still a bit sleepy and consistently yawning.

That's all...

- Amlie

Youtube's Recommendations for Me.

I especially like the first one.

I'm weird.

Nothing like scrubbing the bathtub to the sound of Regina Spektor to pump me up for the work ahead.

UPDATE:
Sometimes I feel bipolar. It's been... two hours since my spur of motivation. Now I just feel confused and disheveled all over again. Not much makes sense. Am I insane?