New World Symphony
My hair smells like camping. This reminds me of home and early spring weekends camping in the pine barrens. Hating it and growing to love it. Loving it and growing to miss it.
I walked home tonight alone. I wasn't afraid. I heard Piebald playing and I stopped and stared up at the Union. I felt left out for no reason. Walking by the football stadium my shadow looked very thin. My reflection in the mirror did not equate. I don't know why. I came home and on a Friday night listened to the classical music that everyone knows but no one knows the name of and decided to write an atypical and crappy post for some reason. It was after writing something more touching for the La Salle blog. I feel like a hypocrite.
Songs without words can make me cry. Every time I hear the Coming Home movement from New World Symphony I feel like my heart is too big for my chest. It has been this way since I first heard it in sixth grade. It was played in concentration camps. I often find myself shamefully desensitized to this point in history from studying it too much before I was old enough to understand. I don't feel that way when I hear this song. They used it on an insurance radio commercial once and I got mad because I felt they were exploiting it.
People make me feel like I'm doing something wrong sometimes. I make me feel like I'm doing something wrong sometimes. But I don't want to listen. This could prove disasterous in the long run. Or the short run. Nothing good can stay as I have a habit of being enthusiastic inappropriately or not recognizing when I have it all. I'm doing that now.
I wrote half a post at the end of the summer. It is highly depressing and will upset people should I finish it. I find myself compelled to finish it. For me. Formeformeformeferme. Ferme la bouche. That's French for 'shut up'. My high school french teacher was crazy and she said that a lot. I think I'll listen now.
I walked home tonight alone. I wasn't afraid. I heard Piebald playing and I stopped and stared up at the Union. I felt left out for no reason. Walking by the football stadium my shadow looked very thin. My reflection in the mirror did not equate. I don't know why. I came home and on a Friday night listened to the classical music that everyone knows but no one knows the name of and decided to write an atypical and crappy post for some reason. It was after writing something more touching for the La Salle blog. I feel like a hypocrite.
Songs without words can make me cry. Every time I hear the Coming Home movement from New World Symphony I feel like my heart is too big for my chest. It has been this way since I first heard it in sixth grade. It was played in concentration camps. I often find myself shamefully desensitized to this point in history from studying it too much before I was old enough to understand. I don't feel that way when I hear this song. They used it on an insurance radio commercial once and I got mad because I felt they were exploiting it.
People make me feel like I'm doing something wrong sometimes. I make me feel like I'm doing something wrong sometimes. But I don't want to listen. This could prove disasterous in the long run. Or the short run. Nothing good can stay as I have a habit of being enthusiastic inappropriately or not recognizing when I have it all. I'm doing that now.
I wrote half a post at the end of the summer. It is highly depressing and will upset people should I finish it. I find myself compelled to finish it. For me. Formeformeformeferme. Ferme la bouche. That's French for 'shut up'. My high school french teacher was crazy and she said that a lot. I think I'll listen now.
posted by Pam @ 2:03 AM
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