let lemons be angry

The air is drugged. It started on sunday with the sublime incomprehensible guilt-causing smile-inducer and led on to a string of other things. It brings back the dizzy dizzy days of last year. And the expansion of my syndicate, and tons more beautiful music to behold, and all things good. I should complete this paragraph with news that i'm sailing away on a banana boat to a sunset island, but we all know that life can't be that perfect.

Today joeun and i approached the njc gate only to see WILLIAM guarding it again! We thought he'd been replaced with Security Guard Version Beta, but no, he's back and as employed as ever. We have painful William memories. William doesn't seem to be able to recognise faces or remember things, so every time we walked in he would interrogate us with infuriating diligence, and we can never tell which of his eyes is looking at us. He cannot for the life of him remember that we're there for art lessons, or that there are four of us, or that our teacher is Miss Yeo. The first time we met him, he made us walk miles and miles round to the front gate. The second time he stopped us, i had to call miss yeo in front of him before he'd believe we were expected there. Later on we got little business-card passes to flash at him, and he'd scrutinize them and repeat our names to himself (as if he'd remember them). I can't explain the relief we felt when we saw a new and improved security guard at the gate one day. With more features, like Face Recognition, Enabled Memory Storage, and Friendly Guard Smile. But today good old william was back at his post with his back to us!!! Joeun and i gasped, and then i said, "Run!" and swiftly swished past him. Okay, he noticed (i didn't think he would) and put us through the old routine again, and argh william, why? Why william? Why you, william?

The rolling stones. Can you imagine any other band with an emblem of a tongue rolling out? Or any other band having a magazine in its name?

I wish i was a little younger, though i can't believe i'm wishing this.

"To remember everything is a form of madness." It is. So if nostalgia is a trick we play on ourselves, a selective romanticising of events that weren't really like that at all, what shall i do? I've spent all of my life feeling nostalgic over one thing or another. It's the way i turn my life into a poem. A single poem, pocket-sized, that isn't messy or double-sided. I suppose i've thrown away memories that somewhat tarnished the pretty, idyllic memories, thinking that what i decide to remember could too be considered true history. I've been writing down the nice things people have said, and not the things i'd rather forget. Decisively deleting the redundant memories so that i'll be left with warm things to hold on cold days. So i'd make a bad historian of my own life. But i'm stuck wondering if that's completely a bad thing.