subject: so cold. so very .. cold.
time: 3:31pm
music: you turn me around - aqualung
mood: headache

sporadic randomness for i have died and killed you so many times .. and yet we keep waking up alive. you cannot deny, however, that there is a necessary appeal about chaos that we are unable to function without. see, there's that noise, the clutter, the flickering fluorescence, the piles and piles of books and the beautiful madness that we sometimes call life. but love is not the point, love is hardly ever the point. the point? it is here, somewhere, anywhere, hidden beneath the layers of words and run-on sentences; allow me to search for it now, look deeper, probe, gather meaning where there is none and only pretty words and longer statements. what is a point? it is meaning - no! it is meaningful - no! it is (it could be) an all-encompassing thought, a story in a nutshell, a short phrase, a single world, a finger's direction, a mathematical necessity. the point is lost on me. i have died and killed you so many times .. and yet .. we keep waking up alive.