The bullets may singe your skin, and the mortars may fall...

Todavia te recuerdo.

Je ne oublierai jamais de toi.

Ex memoris meus, neque tu potes aberrare.

--

Y quien eres? Por supuesto, hay alguien. Si pienses que, por cierto, esa persona -- tu es, me puedes preguntar. Estoy seguro que te equivoques.

Shaka. When the walls fell.

Part of the reason I'm such a terrible student is that I have a massive problem with FOCUS. The 'little issues' of day-to-day life and classes seem massively irrelevant to me; as an economics major, I'm constantly confronted with the 'big issues' of the world: poverty, death, exploitation, suffering. It makes it difficult to concentrate on my own petty little existence, shut off from the 'real world' in this strage place called America. But the problems of poverty cannot be solved by one man's ponderings, of course, and so sorting through the issues in my head before getting down to 'business' and homework isn't possible. Instead, I find myself trapped in an intellectual paradox that usually involves me shutting down my thoughts before they become too maddening to handle. And so I do nothing, for which I feel terribly guilty. This is cyclical, and depressing.

Taking out stitches using fingernail cutters is an interesting experience. It's particularly uncomfortable when the stitches go through one's thumbnail. You need to pull pretty hard to get it through, and there's a lot of nerves under there.

How it whispered "Oh, adhere to me
For we are bound by symmetry.
And whatever differences our lives have been,
We together make a limb."
This is the story of your red right ankle.

The Decemberists