Ingwon

Anonymous asked: Cashews or macadamias?

Macademias. It’s interesting that you ask this question.

Tourists. You do not. Stand. In the middle of the Infinite. Chatting idly as a group. 5 minutes before everyone has classes. Oblivious to the human traffic jam you are causing. Sincerely, a concerned traffic cop.

Chirping

Somewhere inside this ribcage, a bird is singing. I can’t let it out for now, so I’ll just smile and listen to its growing melody by myself.

Just some musings I had today after people-watching. Those who don’t acknowledge the possibility that they themselves are not objective, cannot be objective. How simple life must be for the blissful yet naive! Such a far cry from the burden of being an overthinker. Yet, I would have it no other way. I am happy and grateful that I am the way I am. I think I have also found a kindred spirit. The world continues to turn.

apsoidjfpsodijfpasiojdfpiosdfajps

How does one fight it

by shooing it away with a flick of the hand?

perhaps it comes back in an hour or two

settles on the top of the impulsive heart

rubs its devious legs and feels a quickening pulse

But you know how impossible it is so you

pound your chest and 

gnash your teeth and shake your head so hard that

it flies away with a whimper

and you dust off your hands in relief and

bursting with victory, you

think about how lovely that night was and

how nice it would be to do it again sometime

you turn around and

suddenly it’s back now

it spreads its wings across your veins

lacing the blood to your brain

and you try to fight it off, you really do

you stomp your feet

and flap your arms

and holler so loud you wake a sleeping rabbit

but it’s no use

it has you by the throat and gently coos

and shushes you

tells you

what wonderful things dreams can be

and slowly you begin to nod

you begin to agree, how agreeable it is

and you begin to recall

how pleasant it was,

the weight of her hand

in the crook of your arm.

Epitaph for the Unknown Soldier

To save your world you asked this man to die
Would this man, could he see you now, ask why?

- W.H. Auden, October 1953

Sobering talk with someone today about the rising tensions on the peninsula. Praying that we all stay safe.

Thoughts on the River

The river gorges on thoughts that I hurl from the bridge. My thoughts are vague like steamed haddock; they’re probably not as tasty as the ones the river used to eat, back in the late 1700’s, when the American Revolution was on everyone’s mind. The buildings cast their reflections upon the river. If my thoughts are its sustenance, then the reflections are the chair it sits on to dine, the table rest its weary length. How too must the river’s furniture have changed with the times. Long before sitting on the reflection of the monolithic John Hancock Tower, the river probably sat on the more humble reflection of John Hancock’s Georgian residence. I wonder if the river recognizes John Hancock’s legacy? I wonder if, late at night in the brief hours after even MIT students have gone to bed and before the sun has risen, the river whispers to the Atlantic Ocean, “I knew Johnny Hancock back when he was still fishing on the banks with his dad! Would you look at him now? Bigshot building named after him.” I imagine though, that, like all intractable monuments of nature, the river plays no favorites, remembers no one. It simply eats my thoughts, stretches its yawning frame across ever-changing building reflections, and fatly warms under the sun.

Syncopation

Just realized today that I really really really like syncopation. Can’t stop tapping on walls with my hand as I walk.

The Fox and the Cat - Aesop’s Fable

A Fox was boasting to a Cat of its clever devices for escaping its enemies. “I have a whole bag of tricks,” he said, “which contains a hundred ways of escaping my enemies.”
“I have only one,” said the Cat; “but I can generally manage with that.”
Just at that moment they heard the cry of a pack of hounds coming towards them, and the Cat immediately scampered up a tree and hid herself in the boughs.
“This is my plan,” said the Cat. “What are you going to do?”
The Fox thought first of one way, then of another, and while he was debating the hounds came nearer and nearer, and at last the Fox in his confusion was caught up by the hounds and soon killed by the huntsmen. Miss Puss, who had been looking on, said, “Better one safe way than a hundred on which you cannot reckon.”