Proof of Life

Throughout the duration of the 10 or so years of my school career, I have to admit, I have skipped off quite some lessons but not at all many in actual sense. When I was younger, I would skip school just to go and watch football and I am admitting this with a very naïve sort of shame as though I am a 10 year-old who’s just shattered my next door neighbours’ window.
There were times when I would innocently ask to go to the toilet just for the sake of briefly leaving the lesson. I would of course not go even near the toilets but simply wonder about the deserted school corridors without any intent or purpose. Occasionally, I would overhear the muffled monotony of vocally reproduced textbook passages by a teacher in one of the surrounding classrooms though rather than being textbook passages, they often seemed to be taken out of a very advanced slang-dictionary, obviously not coming from a teacher’s mouth.

Having grown up quite a bit since then, I find myself in a very similar position now.
A couple of weeks ago, I skipped a history lesson but not to watch football (I told you I’ve grown up) but something very different.
I needed to buy a present for my friend since his birthday was the very next day and thus I did not have any other time to get him something but during this history lesson.
Anyway in the end I did get him something. A book. ( Yes, I skipped school to go to a bookshop).
It was a nice WWI drama, ensuring that he would be emotionally devastated for at least a week.

Concerning the issue of skipping off school, I did get away with it and it all went smoothly, according to the best of my improvisational abilities. I heard afterwards that the history lesson was especially boring and irrelevant which only added to the momentary satisfaction I experienced at the time.
A person needs such experiences from time to time, and in the end one emerges stronger then before, having learned from history (something I would never have learned in all my history lessons added together).

In the end, I skipped school and my purpose is unimportant in this case because back when I was younger, I would have absolutely no excusable reason to wonder about the cold school corridors within which one could all-day-long reminisce of a medieval Norman castle with the only difference being the amount of sunlight present.

I skipped school to prove that I don’t merely exist as is the case in a normal classroom situation, but to prove to myself that I am alive and living.
I, therefore, have definitely grown up.

Drifting...

Exerting a cycle of contemplation on the large cubic automobile inside which my person resides.
Often my presence, my physical being, all the room my body fills and the entirety of the air I intake is accompanied by the strangers which are held tightly within the little confined compartment.
They leave and breathe for a moment and for the brevity of torturing minutes, they are succeeded by the next commuters. And so this cyclical process is strong and alive just as much as the strangers themselves are, when glittering yellowish monotony abounds the winding streets.
Two of them are seemingly female though facial features and manners and language would make a starving homeless dog vomit its guts through its nose at the mere thought of a Ritz-style dinner.
Clearly some years ahead of middle-age with voices reminding me of the decibels I dread of experiencing when confronted by the sinister nuclear-threat drill which could crack a wine glass from miles away.
Disgust which touches perfection. Four words with the continual
potential to sum up in a cherry nutshell everything which can be said about the lives of these two women. Meaning? All four one, one four all…
With undisguised glances, I am at least thankful for this patch of needy voyeurism in the mundane brutishly incessant monotony which carries away the remnants of the day.
Their conversation, the crudeness of tone and language reminiscent of a Viking tactic discussion prior to a landmark battle, falls on my already exhausted ears.
All of their children, apparently, either in prison, kicked out of a mental institution or simply belonging to hell’s darker chambers, are as such as one would most logically suppose at the first sight of these two driftwoods.
The bus stops abruptly and unknown to my consciousness, I have arrived at my longed destination.
I leave these two beauties alone at the hands of the driver, also unknown to whom, for the duration of an entire bus journey, was a muscle in God’s right hand.
The bus will end its route, but driftwoods would drift with more and more wheels to carry them for years and years to come…

A Million Reasons Compressed into 3.07 Minutes...

Confirming that Radiohead are the current best band in the world.