(no subject)
Apr. 13th, 2006 07:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
camwynYou know...
There's just something faintly strange about listening to the Alphaville song "Forever Young", and cleaning up the apartment, and coming up with your bundle of handouts from the biological/chemical terrorism response class that you took working at the Red Cross. I guess I'm supposed to see it as some kind of realization-of-loss-of-innocence moment or something, if the standard Hollywood soundtracking conventions are anything to go by, but.... not feeling it. Just the fact of 'oh look, there's the booklet, I was fascinated by that class'.
World's a strange place, sometimes. The things you can see as interesting, even when they horrify you, probably say something about you- damned if I know what it is, but probably. I mean, the book was balanced on top of half my RPG collection, which is stacked up against my books on knitting and world history and Asian cooking, and is right underneath books like The Hand of God (photos from Hubble) and Whose North? (on the NWT and Yukon Territories). There's a lot of places in the psyche that occasional get itches that want to be scratched, and the ones in the darkness speak just as firmly, though we might not want to admit.... them....
*glares at iTunes*
It just went to one of my Sting songs.
Lay my head on the surgeon's table
Take me fingerprints if you are able
Pick my brains, pick my pockets
Steal my eyeballs and come back for the sockets
Run every kind of test from A to Z
And you'll still know nothing 'bout me
Run my name through your computer
Mention me in passing to your college tutor
Check my records, check my facts
Check if I paid my income tax
Pore over everything in my C.V.
But you'll still know nothing 'bout me
You'll still know nothing 'bout me
You don't need to read no books on my history
I'm a simple man, it's no big mystery
In the cold weather, a hand needs a glove
At times like this, a lonely man like me needs love
Search my house with a fine tooth comb
Turn over everything 'cause I won't be at home
Set up your microscope and tell me what you see
You'll still know nothing 'bout me...
Okay, I know when the universe is telling me I've done enough navelgazing. I gotta clean the apartment.
There's just something faintly strange about listening to the Alphaville song "Forever Young", and cleaning up the apartment, and coming up with your bundle of handouts from the biological/chemical terrorism response class that you took working at the Red Cross. I guess I'm supposed to see it as some kind of realization-of-loss-of-innocence moment or something, if the standard Hollywood soundtracking conventions are anything to go by, but.... not feeling it. Just the fact of 'oh look, there's the booklet, I was fascinated by that class'.
World's a strange place, sometimes. The things you can see as interesting, even when they horrify you, probably say something about you- damned if I know what it is, but probably. I mean, the book was balanced on top of half my RPG collection, which is stacked up against my books on knitting and world history and Asian cooking, and is right underneath books like The Hand of God (photos from Hubble) and Whose North? (on the NWT and Yukon Territories). There's a lot of places in the psyche that occasional get itches that want to be scratched, and the ones in the darkness speak just as firmly, though we might not want to admit.... them....
*glares at iTunes*
It just went to one of my Sting songs.
Lay my head on the surgeon's table
Take me fingerprints if you are able
Pick my brains, pick my pockets
Steal my eyeballs and come back for the sockets
Run every kind of test from A to Z
And you'll still know nothing 'bout me
Run my name through your computer
Mention me in passing to your college tutor
Check my records, check my facts
Check if I paid my income tax
Pore over everything in my C.V.
But you'll still know nothing 'bout me
You'll still know nothing 'bout me
You don't need to read no books on my history
I'm a simple man, it's no big mystery
In the cold weather, a hand needs a glove
At times like this, a lonely man like me needs love
Search my house with a fine tooth comb
Turn over everything 'cause I won't be at home
Set up your microscope and tell me what you see
You'll still know nothing 'bout me...
Okay, I know when the universe is telling me I've done enough navelgazing. I gotta clean the apartment.
