the four right chords can make me cry

So good to meet up with friends like Fadz, we don't have to do anything special, it's the company that really counts.

On the train back, I met yu zhong and was quite surprised at how much he was the same. As we fingered through the past to look for common ground, I wonder how everyone from my secondary school days are doing. I wonder what they imagine I would be now. He seemed to think that I would be doing Law.

While I was walking the dog, this other dog ran out from nowhere towards us. I instinctively bent down and threw my arms around my dog, who was much smaller than this slobbering beast approaching us and who has been attacked by another dog before, requiring stitches and everything. I picked him up and walked away, thinking.

There admittedly aren't very many things that I truly love. But when I do love, I'd like to think that I do it wholeheartedly. Am I really all that naive?

The past is a funny thing. Or rather, we remember it funny. I've always mistrusted my memory, not simply because I'm quite absent-minded though you may find that funny. But because of how subjective it is, how very differently two people can remember the same conversation, because of how arbitrary and selective the details we recall are, how there used to be a pole right in the middle but it isn't there anymore, because of how a new piece of information or attitude can cause us to look back at the same memory and it's become completely different. And yet what do we have if not our memories?

Thats the question being asked in Bladerunner. What if you are a replicant? What if your memories are not your own? What does that make you?

Death cab say it this way:
It stung like a violent wind
That our memories depend on a faulty camera in our minds

I bought Plans today at HMV, very pleased. However, am puzzled as to why Transatlanticism is twice the price at $30 =(

posted by beckyboo @ 11:15 PM