back to the classroom

The bunch walked noisily towards the gate of the school. They have all resigned their jobs and have went back to their high school class as students. I remembered the old days that we were now trying to reenact. One fond memory is about walking down the road from school to tuition center during the monsoons. The roads had large potholes and we would splash the muddy water till everyone is wet.

The clock has just struck 10 and the three others in the group dashed to the classroom. I couldn't understand what the fuss was about and maintained my usual speed. As soon as my friends disappeared into the main corridor the headmistress appeared at the lobby entrance. Oops, no time to hide, i am caught. She came close to me and lifted her right hand.

"You wanna go back or?"

I silently turn my face to the right. All of her hand falls on my cheek and there is a tingling feeling followed by one of numbness. I walk on to my class room. The corridor is very windy as its other end opens to the sea. As I reach my class I take a peek inside through the window. The class room has changed a lot in the years. The wooden benches and desks have been replaced by metal benches with sloping back rests. I feel the eyes of 80 students on my face as i enter the class and feel a bit self concious. The teacher is standing at one side with a remote and the black board has been replaced by a large movie screen. A Tsai Ming-liang movie is playing on the screen. I find a seat in the first row of benches.

what exactly is mediocre ?

Precariously pouncing with irresponsible irrelevant thoughts , consistently finding a new goal for the morning yearning, something to get up from the bed and goto work, reanalyzing rethinking reliving each decision, nothing is mediocre, even if that means just doing whatever is required to live and let live. Fumbling through the tumblers like Alice, once in a while a magic potion, reveals the beauty of the wonderland called life, even for the seriously psyched and cocooned sleeping introverts. Nasty, but nevertheless, it makes no sense to edit ones thoughts, before papered it is, i mean written on, digitized, preserved for the like minded souls, to ponder on; why on earth did he write that? This para is meant to make absolutely no sense; like a slingshot, it is just a meandering enterprise, words wasted, one that is not supposed to persist for any amount of time. wandering back and forth between how and why tediously, putting all the equations to work ever learned for the best forecast, decision or prediction; it is, but, a cage, and the tangent of normalcy only adds flavour, just to return back to the orbit of thought, the one and zero, the dyer colorer whose job is but to paint, paint whence given a chance...

Musings on a February 14th

To all you lovers out there...Happy Valentine's Day.
To all you stupid lovers out there...Happy VD :P

Funny cracks aside, there was nothing that really prompted me to come back here and put something to paper (?)

Just the original wisecrack made me feel like a wiseass. So here I am lording it over all you poor readers who have to pay the price of this insufferable guy if you come here expecting some pearls from Neo or Trinity...

It is what it is, my friend and you do not have a choice. Thats it I am bored now...maybe I will come back later...maybe not...