Pop Rocks

I have decided that I am a bubble of thought. That, or a rhombus of terror.

Calling People I've Never Met

I hate doing it. And I think I'm going to have to do it tomorrow. Places to which I have applied for internships, why have you left me thus?

Grammar? and Silence

Apparently my grammar is imprecise and confusing, so say two of my professors on discrete occasions. Who woulda thunk. I would like to make the statement that my grammar is creative, which does not necessarily mean it is confusing. But if you're life-search is for clarity, my grammar probably is not the place to find it.

That being said, I return now to a theme which has never wholly left my mind. Silence, you wrap your head around my wrist - or perhaps your wrist wraps around my head, I know not. You are my form and my shadow, it seems, so close and intimate. You follow my body, you copy my body, you are my body. Nothing can penetrate through the cocoon in which you envelope me. Is the world outside silent, or is it me?