circling the text

i am thesis-consumed.

thinking back on how i have been crafting my posts, i wish my thoughts would flow into such a shape when applied to the contemplation of the Thesis. i find i am able to put the essence of my argument, the core of my contemplation, into a neat, apt sentence which would invariably open the post and head the chunk of words that eventually flow out. as is the case now. but the Thesis refuses to be opened, and the hammering of that Sentence has been going on for months with no great success. all i have achieved is the resultant hammering of the thumb, accompanied by curses that comes instinctively from the pain and frustration of feeling the Sentence slip once again from my grasp.

the rains have been falling. the waters pool, flow; my thoughts do not find their shape.

i am extremely conscious of the numbers. i quote 12,000 and 10 and do multiplications and divisions. i know the lines and boundaries and the horizon which is the edge. i wish i knew as well what to say.


oh, You. you are words on paper; you are the intangible in the tangible, the tangible in the intangible; you are loops and infinite; you are real; you are my imagination.

you are my pain. and my pleasure.

the lost treasure

where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

i've been engaging in the operation of treasure-transfer for the past week or so. the western shores have achieved liveability for some time, but it was only today that it has enough reason in it for my heart to choose it over the east. because the books have made their transition.

even then, the eastern land remains the abode of rest because the whole of Pratchett and Tolkien still reside there. and nothing beats Pratchett when i want to be entertained, inspired, provoked to think, or affirmed that the human race is indeed a pathetic species.

but the academic books are almost all in the west now. and whether i want to or not, i have to take them to myself and consume them. met my ht supervisor yesterday, and the session reminded me with no little sting that i am quite a failure of a lit major. i am unable to perceive, express, or summarise in neat, concise phrases what a book is about or what its failings/successes are. i am not thinking about things, and what is a lit student to do when she has lost her desire to think or to engage with words.

find back her heart.