as you grow up you look back, staring puzzlingly at your own self, meaning to say/warn how the "heartache" was not as real as you made it sound, not nearly as important as the rightful meaning of the word. honey, you should have bother yourself to fathom these cardiovascular conditions instead. these intricate sounds of the heart beating, pumping life into those muscular tubes all over your flesh. how it has been ingeniously synchronized with every breath of air you took, all orchestrated ever so perfectly into that sole purpose of keeping you alive.

and it is just so horridly beautiful that you start to wonder why on earth those people who, other than deciding to learn science and aesthetics separately (which is understandable; forgivable even, considering the convenience of teaching them in smaller little packages), decide to appreciate/understand them separately as well. i am not a smart girl, but nothing; nothing, i tell you, is ever separate.

so do not go about convincing me there is nothing poetic about the beginning of the universe or the cardio-respiratory system when everything about them is, indeed, strikingly poetic. do not even bother saying there is nothing musical about S1, S2, S3 and S4, when it is probably the most ancient of all musical beats.

just stop even trying to because you, good sir/madam, are just making a fool of yourself.

Labels: you know i mean business when i use italics twice in an entry

probably because of the common philosophical thought of how everything is relative. how one thing is given meaning by the sheer existence of a contrast. like how the same shade of red is more red if it is next to blue. or how some of us (arguably) believe there is no/less happiness without sadness. ("…as if the taste of chocolate will be spoiled by a broccoli" -John Green). life vs. death. etc, etc.

it just genuinely strikes my interest how, to a given extent, it is not low average income that portrays how destitute a certain population is. it's inequality.

as salinger would put it, these things drive me crazy.

"The collision in his mind of what he understands, what he hears, what he figures out, what popular culture pours into him, what he knows, what he pretends to know, and what he imagines, makes an interesting mess. The mess often has the form of what he will probably think like when he is a grown man, but the content of what he is like as a little boy."

Labels: The American Male at Age  Ten,  Susan Orlean

when you don't seem to continuously owe each other's money to a point when you can't keep track of who's owing who and who payed what and how much or when so you'd be like bllerghfdskhaejnfhbav whatever just forget it.

to the point when even when you have too much balance in the bank there is no need to ask how much you owe anyone (anymore).

on a subject completely unrelated to the title, quite recently i have been feeling the pressing necessity to write that comes and goes as my life floats. of anything at all, really. (it wouldn't be any different to the sort of gibberish i have written all my life, i am perfectly aware of my stasis set of vocabulary, but still). it was weird to consider how the thing that pushed me off the edge and actually translates this urge into some sort of a physical thing is some (well not exactly unpopular, but definitely) not very trendy russian writer and physician. it seems like a fundamental challenge for a certain human being; to prove everyone else wrong, and when they say he initially felt that medicine might impair his creativity as a writer, as a physician nurtures few illusions, and this "somewhat desiccates life", it, well, other than reminded me of desiccated coconut, sets something off inside of me. and when the tutor then asked us how many of us still write (creatively, poetically, whatever rocks your boat -and i strongly suspect quoting songs was not exactly what she meant) after being in medical school, it kind of transformed into some sort of an explosion. or, a hit on the head. with a pan. real hard.

so, okay. this is a start i suppose. i think i have Chekhov to thank (or blame) for.

ps. i personally think that "Czar" is a charmingly badass name for a supreme ruler. as opposed to King. or Sultan. or Perdana Menteri, oopsie.

Labels: Anton P. Chekhov, czar, desiccated coconut, medicine, writing

Labels: anyway i never know whether grey=gray, gray or blue, i post only songs because i cant write, jaymay, no im not in love with anyone's boyfriend i just like this song, spelling retardation

Labels: and at the end of all your lines, and I'm breaking at the britches, bon iver, skinny love, songs