It's 17:21. Outside the sky is grey. I think it might be raining, but then it might have stopped by now. My dad's sleeping on the sofa while the football's on TV. I'm sat here writing this, drinking my bottle of water and cracking my joints periodically. The weather always does this to me, at least when it's this humid. Nothing comes without a catch I suppose. I feel like sleeping, but I'm not tired and there are things I want to do. It is beautiful though. No rose comes without thorns.

People. The more time I spend with them, the more I realise the paradox that is this simple fact - we're all so different, but we're all the same. A lot of the things we do so often go unnoticed. The things we think. The things we feel. These things that we never say to anyone or ever act on. Or maybe sometimes we do, but nothing comes of it. The things we want to do but we're held back. We get tired. Tired of other people. Tired of ourselves. We get lost. And in our loss, we become a lost cause.

My cause is lost. That's why I need Jesus. Why I need Him to be my cause. Why everyone else becomes my cause. He changes everything.


Art. Hardbound.

It's been over a month since my last post. My apologies (though I'm unsure how many people could be bothered to notice, being summer and all... Yes? No?).

This morning it's cool and cloudy. I'm loving it. Starting to feel a lot like september does - cloudy, possibly rainy, and most importantly, cool. It's strange how in my mind I associate September with the notion of new beginnings and a new year more than I do for Spring. I know a lot of people share this, the school system being as it is. Point being September gets me excited for a new year. New possibilities. Time to do things well this year. The fresh air after the first rain. Jackets. Tea. Christmas.

The Handmaid's Tale - one weird book. That said, having almost finished it, I've gotten to enjoy it. Yes, this means I am actually going to sit for English A level this year. Also, I'm starting to be attracted to classical literature. This has never happened before, and something tells me that a few pages into most classical literature and I'll just give up and plonk it back down. But then again every time I walk into a bookshop (the way they re-designed agenda at Uni with the awesome classics section... Simon you know what I mean) I find myself desperate for smart card to come in so I can pick up volumes on Dante and Keates and those little green penguin classics that cost just 2 euros (well ok, I think I'd prefer the nicer looking covers, but still, they're there). I think that my love of literature has another philia superimposed on it - the love of books (bibliophilia :D). Just the way they look, they smell, they sit there on the shelves. Knowing that they contain some beautiful expression of the human experience, even if I myself don't appreciate it as much as another would. You don't need to be an artist to know when a work is a masterpiece. You don't have to be a musician to be moved by a piece. (I'm not sure if the latter really applies... technically. Hmm.). My reading list at the moment goes well into 2011. It's scary. And I'm building up more backlog as it is - decided I want to read most of Paulo Coelho and C.S. Lewis (except for the narnia stuff) when I can get down to it.

Something else that I've pondered is the different types of readers that there are. Well, types. Look at it in the way of the different qualities that readers portray. For example, Achie's blog had (has?) a quote (quote?) written on the top about how readers are stalkers by nature, being interested in the character's most personal details, be they fictional or not. Myself, I'm more the escapist. Reading propels you into a world where you have the privilage of knowing the thoughts and actions of characters on both sides, seeing the qualities of what makes us us portrayed, and working the wondrous tool that is our imagination. Reading lets me get away from it all, even if I'm still sitting in the midst of it all. What type are you?