Mooncake Marathons

where is it? the motivation? the desire? the passion? the dedication? all gone. I sit in this kirby vacuumed, two-story 'brary packed with ghosts of students that lost their academic sanity last winter semester, with my eyes gazing at the study materials of my independent study course, while my mind is dumped in its self created clink. The lack of purpose constantly hacks away at my psyche but it's catching me like a dear caught in the headlights resulting in my inability to escape. Instead of actually doing the required assignments for completion of the course, I find myself running or biking on concrete oceans to the point where stoppage doesn't happen till it feels like someone took a baseball bat to my knee caps. Even though my body begs for a break, the feeling of exhaustion is so cognitively gratifying it makes me crave for even more milage on the concrete oceans. After the 8th mile, the measure of distance becomes meaningless and the battle to physically out do myself until I no longer have the strength to mentally continue on with my narcissistic ways becomes the centre of my desire. Yet ironically, this entire process of making love to the concrete oceans is the painting on a canvas of narcissistic thoughts. It has only strengthen the monster of the independent study course, that I have created through my procrastination.

hymnal riots

this is it. this is really it... why must I wait till July for the new Most Serene Republic Album to come out.. shit. They make us wait like little kids in line to see Pikachu at the Emporium. There's so much other music I could be indulging my musical palette with, yet its the zany and organically symphonic sounds from this Ontario band that I crave the most. That reminds me, I still owe Camille, Briana, Kristy, Danny, Dave and Phil music.

you know.. ever since I've come back my headphones have been making love to my ears for about 60% of the time that I am out of my twin-size and over-blanketed divan. It seems as if my ipod does almost a better job of isolating me from the real world than BYU does. Every time, I put those headphones on I feel as if the music has lifted the ban of embarrassment on public dancing and has killed my body's ability to cease running after 4 miles on concrete oceans, even when my heart feels like it's gonna burst out of my chest. Whenever I think about the 2 k's, the music flowing through my headphones acts like joint straight from eugene and puts my persona in warm blanket and redirects on my attention away from those sunk emotional costs. Strangely enough though.. this music also makes me miss the Y.

It was so easy to hate and complain about that place. But, I think this is just a reflection of my "wtf" attitude on life. The Y was like my second home and the LDS, for the most part, didn't treat me like a non-lds. It was like they took me in as one of their own. Being a non-lds at BYU wasn't as bad as it sounds, but it was still culturally raping more times then I can recount. Sometimes, I would occasionally mutter to others "I have no reason to be LDS", but truthfully, that is a lie. Every mormon that I get close too, every time the hendersons allow me to stay in their home and treat me like one of their own, every mormon girl I fall for, every good feeling I get from reading the book of mormon, every time I hear from friends on their missions, every time I see a friend get married to their best friend, I get more reasons to become LDS. Yet.. no matter how many reasons there are, I could never become one...