April Wheeler: I wanted IN.

No words to say, no words to convey this feeling inside I have for you. Too much thoughts, too little sleep (not at all today, actually) to utter anything more than Her lyrics.

This world and this life strikes me with its intertextuality. The conversations between the elements in the constellations, heard so well now the exams are finally over and I can truly pretend I don't depend on people at the university any more. Not listen to them, not talk to them. As if I weren't subordinate to the relations that I am made to have. As if it were ok to claim my own superiority, the belief in my great power that is suppressed only due to some unfavorable coincidence. Like the Wheelers' one. But now I'm getting pissed off and it wasn't supposed to be this way.
So this world strikes me with its structure. With the fact that the identity of each constituent can be established only on the basis of its opposition to another one. A juxtaposition that hurts a lot. Or that only Chomsky's deep structure can relate to the real meaning. It's a mystery; more light.
Or that with the very moment I stop thinking about my university duties and start wandering with a carefreeness only a tramp could afford, I get to like this city; feel its rhythm, sadness and possibilities. Or I guess I feel it. Jesus, Warsaw is big. And constantly fluctuating; it's so not true that this town never gets up. Or wakes up, was it. Not true whatsoever.
And when I find myself on a Thursday evening somewhere near the city center, I know it's perfectly ok that I live and feel this way because – in spite of this structural opposition thing – sometimes the feedback doesn't define you in any way. Even if I'm opting out from following the response just to save the ideal self. I'd be ready for any drastic moves for this part of me rather than most realistic and rational evidence.
The thing is I do love life, and particularly I love to experience. The texture of things and the loss of them. And I can perceive it only when I'm alone. (Taking into consideration only the people I've known so far. <- Safety measures they call it.) I'd give up all my acquaintances if I could keep all strings attached to words by Winterson or Tracy Chapman's music in this way. Cause the real proof is to be submitted to no one but to the judge deep in myself.
It is only the lack of strength to defend myself from everyday shit – and the constant yearning since I had a crush on The Famous Her. I might be wrong. Maybe it's my never-to-be-realized Paris. (The Wheelers again.) Maybe I won't be able to go without it any more. (April Wheeler.) But I'll stick to these desires no matter how they make me unable to fit in. Bullied. And lonely.
And so on.

Funny that from the two movies I've seen lately, Kirschblüten – Hanami and Revolutionary Road it was the first that I liked more, but I keep on thinking about the latter. Maybe it's the case of remembering the item presented as the last one.

Plus I haven't slept for twenty four hours and not a word from what I've written is what was meant to be here.