I saw a book claiming to be the comprehensive study of Dylan's work. Mildly interested, I took it down from the shelf, and opened it on what I thought was a fairly innocuous page. But then my eyes saw the first lines - Sixteen years / Sixteen banners united over the field - and I immediately felt a sense of deja vu. I put it back, and decided that I would some day have to own this book, if only to keep alive this memory.

How crazy that a song should have such a tight connection to me! There doesn't seem to be any sense in trying to dissect it. I could very well go through the whole thing line by line, but does that convey a fraction of whatever it is I felt that dinner two years ago? That is why I could never start a review site; I suspect many of the truly important reviews (to me) would have to end up like this, with flittering images and inconsequential statements. A man can dream, can't he?

Remember, there are still times when things don't seem all that different. This man practically awakened your mind, and you can't even defend him? Dear child, those days sitting and reflecting, marvelling the words he has written, do they mean anything at all now? "I am the son and the heir of a shyness..." Oh, to heck with it all - opinions, voices, discussions, debates, for me, in this matter, there is but my memory of reading a book three years ago in a bed in a house I used to live in, and that is eternal. Sitting in front of a computer in a place where time doesn't seem to mean anything, no, that is far less real.

Oh, ok, maybe he is just a hack after all, how should I know? Maybe there is an objective scale to it all, and maybe I can see it all when I go to sleep. In that kingdom, I can preside over these thoughts, and forget that it is all continuous.

She talks again about matters close to her heart, but all I can think of is "My dear, you know I love you, but when you talk like this, I sometimes wonder who you really are". It is infinitely unfair for me to think something like that, because I know that the talk is no worse off than what I've said in the past. But..this is happening now, that was all back then, and..God!

There is of course a certain understated elegance to it all, but quite frankly, it is sometimes unreal. Jealousy? It can never be ruled out with me! Yet more than that, it is this unrealness that hovers around everything. If one is in the mood, there is nothing like it - like drinking the ambrosia of the Gods. But at times like this? My dear, I do apologize, but I simply must look away.

Being embroiled in a wondrous software project has made me forget about this little blog of mine, and I wonder why I haven't used it as an outlet more often. There's no chance of me writing anything remotely reflective in these hectic times, but it sure seems like a fine opportunity for fiery ranting, no? I don't think I have it in me to put any of these down in words, but we shall see.

I might however have it in me to make some sweeping statements about the project in general, which I might do in the upcoming week. If there is no update by the end of the week, then it will mean that the project has once again consumed my time, which is probably a better summary of it than any description I can make.

Update: I should've suspected this would be empty by the end of the week - in fact, I can hardly remember even creating this post. Then again, I can hardly remember writing some of the things I apparently did yesterday.

The project has given me the excuse to use a Wiki, which is something I've been meaning to do for a long time. It seems like Wikipedia should be the greatest, most ambitious project in our recent history, but at some point it can only provide a mild taste of what something is really about. There are certain matters where it is much easier to gather people in an attempt to make some sort of comprehensive article, but others (for instance, medical ones) do not go far beyond information already available on other websites. One can look to Wikibooks for more details, sure, but even here, many authors give up way too soon (excluding one of the part-time readers of this blog!).

No (new) music, no creativity, but things don't seem as bad as I would have expected. Of course, it is a somewhat duller life without these things, no doubt, because now my mind is fixed on rather unromantic matters, on the pragmatic rather than the poetic. There is place for such periods, of course! Sometimes, when looking over past writing, I feel as though I come across quite mad, and I probably was. Now is the time for a mental spring-cleaning of sorts!

What of music though? These extended periods where I have no passion for it are interesting, because they also seem to correlate yet again with periods where I feel I ought to save it for a time where things are less hectic/less presenting to possibilities of failure in some sense. I just know that the last batch of albums I got are going to go unlistened till some point in late November, since the opportunity to listen to them at the start of semester has come and gone. Instead, those few occasions where I see it fit to listen to something, I reach for the older, more distinguished members of my catalogue. But aside from this, it is only the quiet hum of the computer that fills my room, and it isn't half bad. You get used to it, even if it doesn't generate any feelings of euphoria.

Oh my, was it only a few weeks ago that I felt like I really cracked Quadrophenia? What is far more worrying is that very quickly it will be a year since the gentle swoosh of the sea filled my headphones - there is no way so much time has passed. There has been virtually nothing to follow it, really. Quite a slow year for my music, I'd say, and it will be interesting to make up a silly list at the end of it.

Blogs are meant to capture important moments, no? I may as well note that today I was most unsuccessful in what I set out to achieve - getting a license to roam the streets at night, unattended, in a car! But it's not all gloom, even though it may seem that way to me in moments of weakness, where I am a step away from sobbing (only joking). I can't imagine how long it has been since I have looked apprehensively at the time when I would have to take this test. Probably a good three to four years I'd say, where I would think about just how impossible it would be for me to sit down next to a complete stranger and undertake a series of manoeuvres. Of course everyone tells you it isn't as bad as all that, and it isn't, as one may well expect. However, for those like me dispositioned with a propensity towards imagining the worst, there were moments of unmitigated terror yesterday, as I was in disbelief that the day had finally come.

Superstition usually makes a traditional appearance at times like this, and yesterday I thought I saw several signs, some of them indicating a definite success, others a disappointing failure. Now I look at the latter category and say "But of course! The signs were all there!", forgetting that there were moments that I thought my success was pre-ordained. It's a world away from formal examinations at school, isn't it? At times I thought I would be "taught a lesson" so as to speak, and by failing would be shown that the extent my ability is fairly trivial. A few seconds later, I would console myself by saying that if I could sit through some of the monstrosities that I've faced over the years, then this should prove to be a breeze.

I'd heard stories of being unable to start the car due to nerves, with hands trembling and everything. I used to think that this was definitely the fate that would await me, but it wasn't all that bad. I was a little disappointed that my nerves hadn't fully disappeared by the time I had taken my seat - usually, the best results for me have come when fear evaporated at the last second, giving rise to some perverse confidence, arrogance, or even indifference ("Bah, what difference does it make? Let's just do it!")! Those twenty minutes or so inside the car, as everyone will no doubt tell you, go by in a flash, without one hardly noticing.

My failing was apparently being overly cautious, which is a little more comforting than being pulled up for making dangerous decisions. "Pedantic nonsense!" is what I told myself initially, but there is merit to it after all. The far bigger worry is that the next time, I have to start afresh, and as such need to ensure that I don't make mistakes in any of the other places. Again, in some sense it's probably a good thing, after all it's no use for me to not have total confidence when I have to go out independently, now is it? This unburdening should partially subdue the natural feeling of disappointment, and I hope it can motivate a more polished performance next time.

Update: Come October the 14th, things have finally been resolved! Hooray!

Sometimes, situations seem to claw out and yearn for some sort of statement to be made about them. It's almost as though they come to me and say "Yes, please do reminisce and recall fondly all the good times that have brought you here..I'd like that very much". I've never quite known why, but I usually have an opposing thought that looks down on "giving in" to such things - as though it's so very obvious that it would make me write something sentimental, and so by doing so I'm admitting to some sort of weakness. Ridiculous, of course, but 'tis the marvel that is my mind.

But in fact there is sometimes a greater, more serious reason that suspends any mention of certain events, which is the fear of trivialization. No, I think fear isn't quite right, it's almost a premonition of trivialization. I suspect I have given up all hope on attempting to put to words certain things. I remember very well a private post I made a long while ago - infinite possibilities...

Maybe the day ahead really is conceived with one's first thoughts. It is easy enough to make such statements, but they're somewhat pointless. Even if true, what of it? The knowledge doesn't help when one is forced to eschew one's normal sleeping routine due to extraneous circumstances. Invariably, I find myself in the foulest of moods, and I know for one that words such as this would sicken me. Get to the point! is what my inner-voice would scream, amongst other things.

In fact, perhaps it is more tied to the time of day itself, not the act of waking up. It is easy enough to be floating among the clouds during a lazy afternoon, but when the morning sky is black, it is sometimes hard to garner up the will to be at ease!