I try to write stories inside my head,
But chapters left undone remain,
Searching for their end.
Inspiration is so often misled,
And brought to believe these fragile bones can form a home.
But, their hollow frame is no foundation.
Synthesizers orchestrate the night,
The heartbeat behind stars and distant headlights.
The rain ascends from quiet ground
And cycles through another town
Where someone sits at night alone
1. I'm home for Easter. This is mostly because I have 41 cents on my meal plan at school and wouldn't be able to eat if I didn't come home. Cool.
2. Finals start next week. FINALS. I am almost HALFWAY THROUGH my undergrad. WHAT.
3. I get to write a five page paper on guilt as it pertains to "Civilization and Its Discontents" by Freud and "Eichmann in Jerusalem" by Hannah Arendt. I'm actually really, really excited for it.
4. I just started getting back
So we're just over a month away from departing for the Bike Tour across the country to raise awareness about the war in Congo. I'm still working towards my fundraising goal to get equipment and a safety net for any repairs that come up during the trip. All excess money raised goes directly towards supporting groups for peace that are already set up on the ground in Congo and towards the rehabilitation of war affected regions and people.
So, here again
Best opportunity of my life arose about two months ago.
I don't know if anyone reading this is familiar with the organization Falling Whistles (if you want to find out about them, I suggest www.fallingwhistles.com/story), but a lot of people at my college are big with them. Because of the close connections, my friend Justine has the pleasure of coordinating and organizing a cross-country bike tour for the organization that will aim to advocate for peace in Congo and push for free
Our beats are limited in a countdown to dust,
Yet we remain pawns in a conflict of reality- all sinking just the same.
Where are we now?
Broken down into fine pieces of inauthentic light,
Dimmed by the battle for breath while we waste away waiting.
Embraced with open arms the illusion of fight
To sit around, not knowing if the moment is right.
Our passions are painted as poison and we’re blindsided from reason.
We’ve achieved nothing