poshepocket

I would like to take some time out and spend it on creating some more art. Stuff that's come from my imagination. Even though it is the holidays, the final stretch of the IB course requires just that extra push so I doubt these holidays will be too exciting. In The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Kundera introduces the idea of "Kitsch" which he describes as "the absolute denial of shit." I have been thinking of the end of part six all last night: "What remains of the dying population of Cambodia?    One large photograph of an American actress holding an Asian child in her arms.    What remains of Tomas?    An inscription reading HE WAN

10 days until NaNoWriMo starts again... 3.5 days until the return to school... 8 hours until the weekend... 1.5 hours until I am in a similar location as last year... Time. Commonly, they say that when you die, your whole life flashes before your eyes. And then it stops. Ends. Like clock towers. Stopping at the exact moment earthquakes occur. Clocks are the physical recordings of time. And when it stops. It feels eerie. But they only hold significance when you have expectations for them. ... 2 hours since direct sunlight touched me... 11 hours since waking... 3 days since a book was read... 18 days since the holidays started...