{ and we'll play summer on repeat;

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

hello, old friend. 7:17 AM

...Unless aforementioned "it" happens to be

a) SEA Lecture 2

b) International History

c) AP/GP tutorial

d) Market Failure,

in which case you should probably go back and revise over. and over. and over. and over.

And once more just for measure.

I've got Lecture 5: Impact of WW2 and JO on SEAsian Nationalist Movements on Microsoft Word, in the background. Have resorted to using hot pink font, and smileyfaces whenever the Thakins received political concessions- in a desperate, last-ditch attempt to Engage Myself In Learning.

So not working.

On the bright side:
This time, next week...we'll be free.
Completely, irrevocably, utterly, undisputably FREE.
...Okay 'cept maybe for PW. Because after all we ARE Singaporean students and to us, freedom is having to do only one hour of schoolwork every day.
But that doesn't matter!!!
Because PW, ...and ongoing lessons, ...and Higher Chinese exams, ...and Promo consolidation, ...and...*slumps*...early preparation... for next year... aside--

Ohyouknowwhatnevermind.

Les Sirenes Fatale. says:
Am stressing over SEA Historeeeeee.
Stupid Asians. Rebelled so damn many times. How the hell'm I supposed to remember all this?
Lisa says:
HAHAHA
GIVE THE REBELLIONS NAMES
Les Sirenes Fatale. says:
They HAAAVE names
Lisa says:
...rename them!
Like, THE REBELLION OF THE RICE-FARMING PEASANTS
Les Sirenes Fatale. says:
The Rebellion Of Rice Farming Peasants #...102578...

OKAY IRREGARDLESS. I CAN DO THIS.

2 more hours studying and then it'll be time to pick up the phone and ring up Britain.

Les Sirenes Fatale. says:
We'll call our newspaper The Daily BOOMZ.
Ren Jean says:
HAHA
you write the fashion column, "How to wear rad bigini zipbra preens"

Hang in there, DWL, hang in there, Fourckers, hang in there, NJC, hang in there, Singapore!!

We don't go to school from 7 to 7 every day for NOTHING, dammit.

SHOW yourself something for it.

Saturday, September 26, 2009

hello, old friend. 7:52 AM

the fourckers bite back

Thursday, September 24, 2009

hello, old friend. 8:23 AM

Tonight I wandered into my parents' room like I used to do when I was five.

Big problems; heavy problems; heart problems. Sometimes I hate the way I tend to rationalize

what happened to my bright-eyed idealism?

Laid my head on Daddy's lap and flopped over in the duvets and stared vacantly at nothing in particular.

Then at the back of the massage chair.

Then at the dull grey picture they painted me- a modern Van Gogh, post Ear Incident. Remember the time he ran out of colours and used rainwater instead? yeah that's the one.

Stared into it for the longest time but I couldn't find stars and I couldn't find Vincent.

I didn't hug the big bear

and my eyes stayed dry.

I'm getting good at this Being Seventeen business.

You/It/They will always make me trace little question marks in the margins of library books but I find consolation in the fact that once these days are over

I will be happy enough to make myself forget. Even just for a while.

Once these days are over

there will be magic. and chaos. and glitter. and madness. and exhilaration. and stories.

Once these days are over

I'll laugh and show you I mean it.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

hello, old friend. 7:56 AM

the lights are much brighter there
you can forget all your troubles,
forget all your cares

and go
downtown,
where all the lights are bright,

downtown,
waiting for you tonight

downtown,

...you're gonna be all right now.

Monday, September 21, 2009

hello, old friend. 10:16 AM

Conversation between Joe, Ross, and I.
Experiment In Wholly German #1.

Ready, on 3.

The Anti-Hero says:

I said...

"Ja!"

'Rossssssss; says:

NEIN

The Anti-Hero says:

JA!

'Rossssssss; says:

NEIN

Les Sirenes Fatale. says:

...BITTE?!?!?!?!

The Anti-Hero says:

JA!

'Rossssssss; says:

ja, ja, ja ;)

The Anti-Hero says:

....der velungsitiche!?

Les Sirenes Fatale. says:

...Ja ho!!

The Anti-Hero says:

...nein.

Sunday, September 20, 2009

hello, old friend. 10:15 AM

The Soldier

If I should die, think only this of me:

That there's some corner of a foreign field

That is forever England. There shall be

In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;

A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,

Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,

A body of England's, breathing English air,

Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,

A pulse in the eternal mind, no less

Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;

Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;

And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,

In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

hello, old friend. 10:14 AM

YES OKAY LIT POETRY ANALYSIS ANNOTATION = DONE.
1.16am. Woohoo.

Siegfried Sassoon's "The Kiss" + Wilfred Owen's "Arms and the Boy" + Rupert Brooke's "The Soldier" slipped between the pages of my diary + Dad watching movie on Marines in Iraq + a certain somebody = omg war overdrive much.

My head's swimming with soldier stuff.

K now sleep.

Friday, September 18, 2009

hello, old friend. 7:11 AM

~~TGIF~~.

OGIF. --> Oh God It's Friday.

Everyone agrees that today feels NOTHING like a Friday. But on the bright side, it thundered this afternoon, which painted everything in a very pretty, very watercolour shade of grey, and it's been lovely and cold ever since; but my appetite has come back a little so I'm a little warmer.

I get my serotonins from dark chocolate.
...Because I'm dependent like that.
I've become an absolute caffeine addict, I swear. Tea and coffee (black, duh. "...Noxious!!" Lisa cries) in the morning, green tea/black coffee again after lunch, and iced coffee as black as I can make it, (read: three heaping tablespoons) in a massive tumbler the length of my forearm, at 10.30PM to tide me through the Long Dreary Hours.

Funnily enough, I can cope with almost anything, as long as it's raining.
Throw me five essay questions and I'll lock myself in my room with my legs bundled up in a blanket and Joe's jacket draped around me like an oversized stole and Incubus crooning through the speakers and a piping cup of tea and very happily study through the night.
It's the sun and the heat and the wetness that I can't stand.

...Oh God, this post is so inconsequential.

Anyway.
Daddy was driving me back home from my appointment at the running clinic today, and we passed by a church. For anonymity's sake, we'll call it FLATF (Five Loaves And Two Fish. ...Don't know what I'm talking about? Time to get reacquainted with the Jesus book.) Church. And outside, they've hung all these banners with pictures of people high jumping in the air and hi-fiving each other, and each big banner has slogans like "NO BOUNDARIES" and "FIND THE RIGHT PATH TODAY" etc. Which, excepting the fact that it kind of makes the place look like a University Open House, is perfectly fine.

But then there was this even bigger banner proclaiming the syllabus for that church's sermons. So I looked at it as we drove past, and it read:
"- YOU ARE THE WINNER
- LIVE LIFE HAPPY
- INFLUENCE OTHERS WITH YOUR LIFE
- COME AND BE BLESSED
- DISCOVER THE BEST FOR YOU
-...etc."

Which sounds great, on the surface.
But then I thought about it, and realized that there hadn't been much of Jesus in there at all. It sounded more Self Help Section than anything else, IMHO.

"COME AND LEARN HOW TO WIN, BE HAPPY, BE INFLUENTIAL, AND DISCOVER THE BEST FOR YOU! YOU YOU YOU!"

I don't often blog about Christianity/religion in general, because I see a lot of things in a lot of shades of grey and sometimes I get the feeling that my standards of morality and general philosophy- while wellmeaning- probably aren't in precise tandem with the Orthodox Church.
But for me to raise up an issue with this...mhm.

Because I know that's not what Christianity's about.

FLATF seems to be advertising Christianity as some kind of...idk, lifestyle product. Viagra for the soul. HydroxyTrim for the spirit. Something.
But it's not that way. It's not like you become a Christian, and then instantly have coins falling from the sky and good fat things magically appearing on the table and your way becoming entirely smooth. Some of the best Christian men and women I know have suffered way beyond what they seem to deserve. My godma's a missionary and she contracted tuberculosis from working in the missionfield, with children in Cambodia. She's one of the best, most faithful Christians I've had the privilege of knowing- and she's also sick, wasting away physically, and poor as a church mouse.
Does she care?
No.
The grace I see shining from inside her makes me believe that there MUST be a God- MUST be someone great and omnipotent and worthy enough to have this beautiful, wonderful woman put so much faith in him. Every difficult breath she draws is a victory in His name. Every sacrifice she makes, she claims land in the name of the Lord.

So I guess Christianity's not all about the Me/You/Selfish MineMineMine.
If there's one thing I've learnt from being brought up around the people I've known, it's that Christianity isn't some miracle product that makes life all rainbows and unicorns.
On the contrary.
There's a verse in Acts that goes "...I will show him how much he must suffer for my name." and that's what Christianity's about. Putting aside your own wants, and taking up the cross, and dying to yourself in order to live for Him.
It sounds scary, I know, but there's another verse I've always loved that goes,

"...For me to live is Christ; and to die is gain."

Which I guess sums it up.

...So yeah.
I am all for colourful banners and attractive slogans and everything; but one thing I have to say to FLATF Church is...stop marketing Christianity as something it's not.
Maybe you find Christian suffering an ugly truth, so you try to paint it over to draw in the crowds. And yeah, it might draw them in. Everyone wants to learn how to be happy, influential, blessed, and making big bucks.
But what God're you leading them in to worship? A jackpot machine?
You know it doesn't work that way.

So maybe the truth's a little gritty.
But it's real. And yeah it comes with its share of pain but what it is is tender and true and genuine at the heart of it all.

They don't need a self-help book with a book signing session at Borders from 9-11 every Sunday.
They need the one Book whose truth will always stay, and the author they have to meet is the great guy in the sky who breathed the living words that went into it.

Am no Bible-toting, Scripture-spouting Jesus person; but. My two cents' worth.

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

hello, old friend. 9:11 PM

I was going to print out the picture above and laminate it and give it to each member of the DWL; but in typical NJ fashion, Integration Tutorials got in the way.

So here it is.

I know it's already on Lisa's blog-- but think of it as...a clarion call in return. The lighting of the cyber beacons.

From you to me, and me back.

I love you guys.

...So. I'm tired.

I know everyone is.

Seventeen and speeding towards the road sign that reads "Burn Out", oh!

On the bright side--> Fourteen more days!

And on the not-so-bright side --> ...Fourteen more days.

The week's coming to a close, and I think my mind's going into lockdown mode because it's getting harder and harder to absorb anything. Thank God for antidrugs like running. I used to not really like running at home; but now almost every evening I get on, plug in, tune out, and run through dinner.

Now I think I know what Lisa means by just...drifting. And not caring Food can wait. At least till after we get through this.

Thank God for small mercies.

Like...good friendships, and loud humour, and morning texts, and music (though I swear- my sister's iPod, which I have recently usurped, is starting to corrupt on me. It won't play some songs, now, but when I first got it it was working PERFECTLY. Technology h8s me why why why this is the third iPod I've succeeded in screwing over!!) and morning texts and leatherbound pages.

Okay I know this hasn't been the happiest sounding of posts-- but it's my cyber journal and I can be morose if I want.

Am looking through old pictures right now and there're words on one of them that make me happy, for some reason.

"He liked art, very much,

And sometimes his voice sounded like a painting."

...I like that. A lot.

And now off to face the day.

Chin up, everyone!

Better times're a-comin'.

hello, old friend. 10:32 AM

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

hello, old friend. 9:36 AM

Whitby, on Oedipus:

"His parents had to get rid of him. So what was the best way?

Send him to some far off, distant land; and hope he meets Racism."

---

12: 17 AM and I am determined to end the day/start a new one? productively.

Am too tired to log in a coherent blogpost.

I will soon, I promise.

The Anti-Hero says: (11:35:41 PM)

Right from IGGY, ... and then I told them about Christmas, and got interrogated muchly about that, amongst lots of "awww's" and "that's so sweet!"

As well as the inevitable...

Person A: "Where IS Singapore?"

Person B: "It's in China, isn't it?"

Person C: "No, it's in Thailand!"

Joe: *sigh*

...Yes.

Singapore's in China, and Hokkien's a religion, and we all worship Jackie Chan.

Am tired.

Two weeks.

~~Too weak?~~

...Two weeks.

Saturday, September 12, 2009

hello, old friend. 7:34 AM

Today has been...productive-ish.

I say "ish" because I know I've probably done nothing compared to 99.9999% of the NJC population, who have probably made full use of their Saturday to finish up the Math revision package, finish all of Integration, Differential Equations, read through the entire GP package, and a third of next year's syllabus.

But I have, in little ways, been productive enough to let me go to sleep with a peaceful conscience tonight.

And hopefully dream sweet dreams.

I had a weird dream last night involving Joe, Ross, my Dad coming home, and a window and my house. :/ Problem is- I don't remember WHAT it was about, zackly. I think I woke up at 4.23AM from my dream and then in my sleep stupor went, "...oh. Must tell Joe about this dream. So must make note to remember." and then I typed in a note into my Blackberry so I'd remember.

But me being half asleep and not being able to jab the keys properly, and it being dark and generally Ungodly Hourish, when I opened the note later this afternoon, it read something like

"joe my house dad comes home! ross like rico- think hannah montana. dsidkdase

small and hyper. run away23oiu"

...Ohh yeah.

And that totally brings back everything for me.

On another note; I was on the bus today, when I heard someone talking very loudly behind me and I glanced over and it was this man in a red bandana and sandals and socks talking to himself.

At first I thought he was using one of those Blackberry handset thingies that always make people look like they're talking to themselves anyway; but then I realized that- no; he actually WAS talking to himself.

It was a little unnerving at first, and I tried not to stare, but then I got used to it after a little while. Mum said he was probably schizophrenic. And everyone else was staring at him with shifty glances that made me feel sorry for him.

I mean- it's not his fault.

And I don't think there's anything TOO weird about what he was doing, though. Right?

I mean- we all have conversations with ourselves. Some people just hold those conversations outside of their heads, s'all.

Another update from the homefront:

...My brother has started reading the Twilight series and at dinner he was all, "Oh yeah I love Edward and Bella! Cara dyou have Eclipse and New Moon and Breaking Dawn?" and I'm like :O NOO.

...He's been sucked into the Meyer cult!

Today, Innocence died a little.

But faux vampires and damned Robby Patty aside; ...today's been nice.

Went for my aromatherapy facial and hahaha I couldn't help laughing a little (but in a nice way) when I remembered Mum going to this other facial place this one time and the lady being unable to pronounce her words.

"So, today we do H Much facial, okay?"

"...H Much?"

"Yes, yes. H Much facial."

"...Sorry-- H Much? What's H Much--"

"*agitated* -- H Much!! You do H Much!!!"

...She meant the Age Match facial.

And at Subway...:

Sandwich Person: "Allo. You want sick in or foolong?"

Cara: o_O

Pidgin-Singaporean-To-English Translation: "Hello. You want six inch or footlong?"

Whiiiich is like the time I was twelve, and still in APS Swim Club, and I was swimming laps and on the verge of breaking into tears because my coach from China was pacing by the pool and screaming at me, "...CHEENTUKKIN! CHEENTUKKIN!!!"

and I didn't know what the HELL this "cheentukkin" was about and all the while I was trying to check my strokes/kick harder/swim faster/breathe less? in an effort to hit the nail and still he kept bawling "...CHEENTUKKIN! I WANT YOUR CHEENTUKKIN!!!"

It was only later that I found out that he'd been trying to tell me to tuck my chin in.

...Well; then why didn't you just say so?

Okay, enough digressing, Cara.

Y u tok so much about Engrish? You have Integration to finish up.

Night, y'all.

xxx

Friday, September 11, 2009

hello, old friend. 8:01 AM

"Don't you think it's better to be extremely happy for a short while, even if you lose it, than to be just okay for your whole life?"

- The Time Traveller's Wife

----

Went to town and watched The Time Traveller's Wife this evening with Wenloong.

In the middle of the movie, people started sobbing at the front of the cinema.
I didn't cry. (cue for Wenloong to go: "...What?! You didn't cry? What're you- some cold hard bitch?!")

I liked the movie, a lot, but it made me think strange and far-off thoughts that made me feel funny inside.

"I go to sleep alone, and wake up alone. I take walks, I work until I'm tired.
I watch the wind play with the trash that's been under the snow all winter.
Everything seems simple until you think about it.
Why is love intensified by absence? "

I enjoyed the show, though. I think I just love theatres and cinemas in general. There's just something about all that darkness, and soft seats, and lush faux velvet, and the smell of seven dollar popcorn.

Walked over to Wheelock with Wenloong after the show ended, and attempted to film our own talkshow. EPIC. FAIL. I don't want to talk about it. Spent the rest of the time browsing between shelves and misquoting movie references at each other and generally being stupid.

WL: "Oh, wow. 7:35 already? Time flies."
Both: *glance at each other*
Both, in uncanny unison: ...No...time travels!

Cara: *heavy sigh* I'm doing Gorbachev tonight.
WL (non-History kid): o_O What? You're doing who?
Cara: *distractedly* ...Gorbachev. Uh...white man.
WL: O_O

WL: What would you say to me........having a career...in singing??
Cara: Hm. I think. You should be a singer in a rap video.
WL: But rappers don't sing.
Cara: Zackly.

...Thanks for a nice evening, Woondeh Warhol.
We're not so different, you and I.

And now- Gorbachev calls.
And then time to talk with the timetraveller himself.

I want her to eat again, and I want him to be here again, and I want them to learn how to breathe again.

Curl up.
I'd like to curl up and sleep till November.

Sunday, September 6, 2009

hello, old friend. 3:41 AM

I'm sitting here with a hot frothy cup of mocha and listening to Andy William's Autumn Leaves.

If there's one song that reminds me and will always remind me of my grandpa- it's this one.
His voice: rich, golden, baritone. Whenever he sings this song, I close my eyes and feel myself bathed in the era-glow of tophats and jukeboxes on streetcorners and beautiful people on beautiful avenues.
As much as I love him and want him to stay, I know that one day he'll have to go, and when that time comes- this is the song I will listen to whenever I miss him. Which will be a lot.

Today I went to town for the first time in over a month.
I haven't been out to Orchard since coming back from IGGY, and I was getting half-anxious that maybe I'd just lost the desire to shop.
Today was clarification: it's still there.
I went out to get powder and Mummy's birthday present.
Ended up getting foundation, a biker jacket, and two tops I'll probably never wear.
Hey- it's not my fault there wasn't anything for Mum there.

Church was fun, too.
I hadn't seen everyone in- what, a month? More?
Lounged around in Heartfriends after service and discussed what names we all look like.
Apparently I look like a Sasha/Antoinette/Giselle. Deb's a Silver. Manda's an Audrey Marie. Conan is...Conan.
Moses is Hong Kiet hahah.

Aaron: What about me what about me?
Manda: You look like a.....Ronald.
Aaron: *mortification*

...Am now typing out notes on Gorby. Glasnost, perestroika, ho.
Oh, and.
I am so gonna fail Lit. My Engrish ees getting badder.

Cara: (in class) ... Ah well. It's not going to make any much difference.
Cara: *realizes*
Cara: Oh no! My English is degrading!
Cara: *realizes*
Cara: *wail*

...I'm sorry, Whitby.
Speaking of Whitby. The DWL gave him his WhitBritLit pack the other day. I hauled everyone out of their seats and we all marched up to the front of the class, upon which Lisa and Amrit handed him the Pack, and I pulled out the Union Jack card with a flourish.
Cue for Whitby to turn a beautiful shade of fuschia-pink, which he always does when he's agitated/excited/maaad/embarrassed/very happy/but I think he might just have been embarrassed.

"...You all think I'm just so daamn British, don't you?"

He opened the Pack and pulled out item after item (traditional English mustard, Crabtree&Evelyn jam and honey, teabags, etc...) and turned progressively pinker with each one.
Then he pulled out the bar of Cadbury's and pondered it for a moment, before turning to us and going, half-hopefully, "...Was this made in England, then?"
Me: "...Um. No. Made in Malaysia."
Whitby: *headdesk*
Me: "...But on the bright side! It's Halal!"

Viva la DWL.
Team Garter FTW.

Oh, and speaking of Brits.

Game Day.
Go, TRUFC!
...Alchester, you can go and die kthx. Though the TRUFC guys'll probably give you a hand with that.

...Okay.
Stop digressing, Cara. Time to focus on the Other White Man instead of the one over there in the UK.

Mmk, Gorbachev.
Here I come.

Thursday, September 3, 2009

hello, old friend. 2:28 AM

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

hello, old friend. 9:54 AM

Summer Flashback, fastforward to: Saturday Night Fever.

d-d-d-disco;

Spent a frantic half an hour getting ready in Tocil with the girls.
Realized, a little too late, that I could NOT pull off the harem pants that I had originally brought for the disco- what with me hardly coming close to 6 foot. Even in 6 inch Steve Maddens.
So I rummaged around in my typhoon of a room and found a green...sari..skirt thing. Only with me being less than 6 foot, I decided to loop the straps around my neck and twist it into a dress, instead. (yay for Chinese origami skillz)
Only- me being less than 6 foot- aforementioned makeshift dress was also about five inches too long; so I scouted around for safety pins and nipped up the hem and clasped everything together with a belt.
Oh yeah. Who says I would've failed Home Ecs' clothes module?

So we all walked into the disco area- strobe lights, dark floors, graffitied walls, neon blue bar. Skipped away into the ladies' to help secure Becca's Baby Phat toga dress with fashion tape. (because I can fit Sephora into my makeup pouch)
Came back out, and saw Joe. "well, I like the way you look tonight." and I chucked him on the chin and teased, "...course you do. You're a jock."
We just invite the stereotypes, don't we?

During disco: pulsing lights, warm, moving bodies, arms flung up into the air. The JMs dancing in our own little circle, with Tyler and Dmitry being all "YO MAMMA" and us doing Aled's geek-mathematician-meets-robot dance. Toni and Sam holding each other quietly, tenderly, amidst the noise. Lily raising her arms above her head, and shyly, sultrily; getting into the groove. Ruhi, Krish, Ellie and I dancing in the middle of a pressed-in circle and stamping and laughing and everyone keeping in time with our hands. It Girls for as long as the song lasted.
Joe coming to dance with me and bustin' out his jock moves. Pop your collah, prep boi! Worrrd.
Everyone jumping up and down in the air, fists pumped, during Metro Station's Shake It and Lady Gaga's Just Dance. Let the rhythm take you.

"just dance! gonna be okay--"

...and I think again how much of an anthem this is for our general.
Forget Panic!-- this is desperation at the disco.

...Cotton Eyed Joe came on!
Everyone was square-dancing and being all folksy; and I remember spinning around with Tyler, and then just standing in the middle of the dancefloor and laughing hysterically because:
"if it hadn't been for Cottoneyed Joeee
I'd've been married a long time ago
Where did you come from, where did you go?
Where did you come from- Cottoneyed Joeeeee"
Found Joe and squaredanced around and around like two idiots. (hot idiots, but still.) Air lasso-ing! Yeehaw, cowboy.

"omg. I need a drink."
Diet Coke (me) and OJ (him) at the bar. Cuz we're hardcore like that. Him trying to mock chat me up at the bar.
...Sweaty and suave. Oh, this one's a keeper.

...NUMBER ONE. Tinky Star!! Neo-parody style.

500 Miles, by the Proclaimers. Joe doing some weirdass soldier dancemoves (I blame the RM influence) during the marchy first bit; and then launching into his own rendition of the song...

"...Ohhh...I WOULD WALK FIVE HUNDRED MILES
and I WOULD WALK SIXTHOUSANDFIVEHUNDRED MOREEE"

You have not witnessed Performance until you've seen Joe positively ROAR his revamped lyrics.
Such a drama king.

Me yanking off my skyhigh gladiators, tossing them into the corner, and plunging back into the crowd to dance barefoot and unencumbered.
Crumping with Ellie. Real gangstaaahh.

Confessionals in the Ladiez with Saphy.
Her crying into my dress and me stroking her back with one hand, and balancing diet coke in the other.
"...Remember. I want you to never forget: ...you are one of the most special, most unique people I've ever known. You need to remember that."

Livin' La Vida Loca!
The best impromptu dancefloor moment, ever.
I don't know how it happened; but Joe and I started crumping- me mock lunging and launching play punches, and him dodging and ducking in this mock fight moving diagonally across the dancefloor, and people turning to look and grin at the spectacle.
Things're blurring now but I remember wild, jangling, Spanish-type music-- and then we weren't dancing; we were burning- leaping, bounding, sashaying, not form not person not rhyme not reason just savage kinestheticism
and whirling across the entire dancefloor like it was ours.

Not thinking, not seeing, just Being...and all the while we were caught up in some joyous, primal ecstasy of limbs and pulsating rhythms and growling lights and wild drums that nobody could penetrate.

It was beautiful.
I'd never felt that way before.

drums and disco lights and late night magick spell infinitism.