I sit, at work, leafing, as it were, through page after page of material on the internet, researching which corporate conglomerate owns which INC or LTD, to make sure a certain largest auditing house in the world is honest in it's business practices. The only distraction keeping me from coma is the buzz of people about me as they research and debate, they look like theyre having fun, but they're not making money. They're just hanging out using the company bandwidth to compete in this years kelideoquiz. An annual 26 hour marathon quiz/scavangerhunt/contest put on by the local indipendant radio station, Im just caught in their midst, using the space for what it was intended. Work, as boring as it is, can acctually be an indirect catylist for thought. Not that inane drudgery helps me think, but I can listen to music, and that's lube enough to force somthing to leak out of my brain.
I listen, to Death Cab for Cutie's newest album, Transatlanticism. An obtuse enough title to make one suppose it's spacey bs, a little spacey it may be, the whole album is very wet with reverb, but straightforward enough to keep ones ear hooked. Beats drive the album, guitars and pianos flow in and out to back up/lead and keep the album both unified in sound and varied in content. The music prods me, makes me want to learn to love, and to express love, noble enough propositions, if they weren't occasionaly tainted by lust (although mabye thats just being honest). In the myre of youthful exuberance, I recognize a subtelty that I feel I've always known, but am now just realizing in words. Words are, in fact, the issue at hand.
Words, so many of them, they're practical, but in the end, wholly inadiquate. As much as I enjoy trying to express myself, in person and on this webpage, I could never actually fully express any thought which entered my brain. Even now as I struggle for the words to explain struggling for words, bah!. My words, are an expression of my understanding, of a concept, which I don't even fully grasp. An interpretation of an interpretation, and meaning is sacrificed for the sake of trying.
This impression, of the vaugeness of all speach, hits me hard, and where I'm most veunerable. It comes down to wanting to express that basic of all human emotions. If I told someone I loved them, how could that be meaningful at all.
Work wraps up, it's past 11pm, I head out (leaving the kelideoquizers to their madness), call up a friend to pass the time, we talk, I'm not sure why.
//keep talking, it'l all make sense eventually
