Logicless Logic

It's Saturday night, and I'm all alone in my room in hall. The rain is pouring down relentlessly, with a fury not seen since I forged a report book signature some eight years ago. At this rate, we don't need umbrellas. We need an ark. A quiet rumble rolls in the distance. Is it thunder? A second listen proves conclusive. It is the stomach, growling in hunger, rather nearer. Food is at hand, but needs preparation. Besides, the layer of fat around my waist dictates that I do not consume anything at unearthly hours. As such, my eyes scan the area around the desk. The fingers move to an oblong cardboard container, and removes a single white roll from within. A spark, a flicker, a flame, a long, deep breath, and a thin wisp of smoke, rising into the falling raindrops. I remember, some time ago, when I said our life was merely like a cigarette, starting to die from the moment we ignite. Each breath we take, we die a little more, a little bit of us rising up into the air, like the cigarette smoke. That should stave off my hunger for a bit. An email comes in. I have company. New homework, new notes to read. Bad company. 

And while it all seems rather bleak and miserable at the moment, it isn't. The heavy rain eases off a little. While there is still no sunshine (obviously, it's at night), the whoosh slows down to a calming pitter-patter. The smell of the rain does not catch my nose, because all I smell is burnt tobacco leaves. It seems like a perfect time to lie down, turn of the lights, and let my mind wander. For that is where the most ingenious ideas surface from the subconscious, exciting your senses. It is not something one can possess, for they, elusive as smoke, disappear when you try to hold it in your hands. And these ideas are wonderful, they are magical, as bleak as the real world might be. It is the best drug of all, are these ideas, from the state of the semiconscious. A little noise jolts me out of this verbal(visual?) diarrhoea, suggesting I end this entry and stop pretending to be philosophical. Because when I read this again tomorrow, I might be wanting to stab my own eyes out with a fork. 

justin.