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And yet the last look of them--he stepping from the kerb and she following him round the edge of the big building brims me with wonder--floods me anew. Mysterious figures! Mother and son. Who are you? Why do you walk down the street? Where to-night will you sleep, and then, to-morrow? Oh, how it whirls and surges--floats me afresh! I start after them. People drive this way and that. The white light splutters and pours. Plate-glass windows. Carnations; chrysanthemums. Ivy in dark gardens. Milk carts at the door. Wherever I go, mysterious figures, I see you, turning the corner, mothers and sons; you, you, you. I hasten, I follow. This, I fancy, must be the sea. Grey is the landscape; dim as ashes; the water murmurs and moves. If I fall on my knees, if I go through the ritual, the ancient antics, it's you, unknown figures, you I adore; if I open my arms, it's you I embrace, you I draw to me—adorable world!
Virginia Woolf – An Unwritten Novel
* * * *
It is raining? Turn my heat toward sky and stared to the clouds, all gray as lonely as time of a days in the mad city of Mashed.
It is new, yes, year is new, days are new and nothing changes in the entire world. Nothing, we are as bad human beings as before, as lonely as before and the city become bigger and bigger than the entire thing I know in my mind.
It is New Year and al thing I see is news of death in Asian Disaster, covering all the papers and TVs and the Internet also, full of damn sadness life.
Merry New Year, Merry for all of you.
Soodaroo
2005-01-02
11:45 PM
