Thursday, May 31, 2012

On This River is Wild

Sitting on the no. 13 bus -- it's a little red bus, single storey. Watching life race past, the people, the roads, the shops and the grass.

So I'm sitting on the no. 13, listening to This River is Wild by The Killers. I feel better if I put the video here:

And I'm thinking, this song defines me at this moment:

This town was meant for passing through
But it ain't nothing new

Oxford's just Oxford. Everything will be as is even if I came back here years and years from now.

But then there's that whole zombie scare in Miami:

Run for the hills before they burn
Listen to the sound of the world
Watch it turn

Yeah we must run for the hills, as paraphrased from Max Brooks' Zombie Survival Guide. Brandon Flowers knew what he was singing about.

I don't think I ever seen so many headlights
But there's something pulling me
The circus and the crew
Well they're just passing through
Making sure the merry still goes round
But it's a long, long, long way down

It's a long, long way down. God speed you boy. This river is wild.

Someone told me that that's the problem with people these days. They pay too much attention to the lyrics. Well I must apologise. It's almost eight at night and it's still bright. I'm from warmer climes where dusk falls at seven. Does something to me.

So, yeah. I pay much attention to the lyrics. But if you ignored it, This River is Wild is still a wicked song.

Sunday, May 27, 2012

On leaving Clive Booth

I tend to form attachments with certain places. I get unbearably sad when I leave places I've come to be fond of, especially if I've been there for quite some time.

Eight months isn't very long, but I've become attached to my room. It's a nice little room. It's warm, it's cosy, it's bright. I have people living opposite whom I've taken to spying on, and the view's quite pretty. I love it that the sun has changed direction since I moved in here in October, and during sunset, the light hits my window and I get streaks of vermilion streaming in.

There are so many memories here. I've had two flatmates, both of whom I got along with. I've written (or at least attempted to write) stories. I've been extremely happy and extremely sad (the latter of late). I've been elated and depressed. I will miss this chair, which I was sitting on when I said that conversation's the first thing to go. This chair that can hold the weight of two. The tiny bed that can fit two sleepers. The electrical sockets that don't really make sense. The bathroom light that keeps on blowing. The upstairs people who have bumpy sex. The windows that can't open fully. The view from the kitchen. I know that I'll probably come back to Oxford in the future, but this room I can never come back to.

I must be able to deal with leaving. They say that age hardens you, but I find myself getting more sentimental instead.

Most of all, I guess I am sad about leaving because it will mean that a part of my life is over. Student life is over, and it is time to get back to reality. Someone said that it's as if my room's another dimension. It is. To me, it will always be a magical place -- a little room were memories and art were made.

Flat I4B

Monday, May 7, 2012

On Before Sunrise

I can't bring myself to re-watch Before Sunrise. I don't want to ruin the memory of what had been an extremely good film to me. It had happened with 500 Days of Summer -- I loved it when I first watched it. It was smart, quirky and heartfelt. When I tried to watch it again, I thought that it was trying too hard. I couldn't get past the first fifteen minutes. Unfriend me if you worship the film. French Kiss was also a similar experience. I watched it a million times after a bad breakup. It was very good therapy. Years later, it has become a placebo I no longer need.

Now, trying to write about a chance encounter, I know that Before Sunrise would be the perfect build up to the emotions required. But I can't watch it again. I can't even remember the details of the film, but I just know that when I turned the TV off, I just went, 'Whoa. What a script.' I don't want to ruin that moment encapsulated in my mind. I'm afraid that I might find the film pretentious.

I'll re-watch Before Sunrise when I'm ready. I might just find it as magical as back then. And yes, I do realize that my last post was a pretty damn long time ago.