let lemons be angry

Black moths. Why do they surround me? I see black moths/butterflies everyday. To be fair, there are the white and yellow butterflies around too, but it's always only the black ones that fly into my face. It's a sign. Sheila thinks it means i'll meet a gothic guy, one who has long swishable hair and who writes dark poems (to match his dark kohled eyes, no doubt). I bet he only comes out at night. So when i meet Gothic Guy, he'll appear in a cloud of black moths and the strains of a sad guitar will be quietly screaming in the background and rain will fall. It sounds very Edward Scissorhands somehow.

And talking of scissors, i've been very scissor-happy today. FIve heads today, myself included. The cleaning aunties know me now. They know that i only go to the squash court toilets for one purpose. Today they transferred me to the carpark area, sat in a row on the bench, and watched me cut hana's hair. Hairdressers really accumulate a lot of stories just by listening to their clients talk. There's something very personal about cutting somebody's hair. It's sort of imposing a personality on that person, or harnessing her personality so it swishes about. Snip, and honest words come spilling out of her. It's days like these that i wonder why i have to do mundane things like study history.

Last year around this time i made a list of the things i love about summer. They're the same things this year. Above all are surely the beautiful sunrises and sunsets. The sky is at its most passionate, and at night, you can see white stars. You can't look at the sky without remembering something or someone. Everyone has star-memories, or moon-memories, or sun-memories. That's what the fox meant when he told the little prince, "it has done me good, because of the colour of the wheat fields." It has done me good, because of the changing faces of the sky.