A blog post about a poem found in a library book... I am exactly the kind of person I never wanted to be right now.
Gripped firmly,
In the jaws of melancholia,
I find it hard to find the time,
To find the strength to find out,
What is the date or the season?
Frankly, that sort of thing doesn't interest me.
I'd rather sit over cup after cup of luke warm tea,
And think of how things used to be.
I found this poem written lightly in pencil in the back of a library book. And while I don't think it is very good, I love it. How pretentious and dreary of me to say so (especially having just come back from a minuscule screening of a subtitled film) but it's so inspiring that someone has taken to this notion of sadness, for whatever reason they might have, and then taken the time to share it with me, a perfect stranger.
Here I am sitting, at night, under my large window with a creepy yet picturesque view of a graveyard and writing a blog post. I updated my twitter today and sent many text messages and I'm signed into MSN, as per usual. Gripped firmly in the jaws of superficial, technological, clichéd youth and not those of melancholia or of poetry or of intangible connections to people I will never see. Somehow it seems the latter would suit me better.
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