Welcome, Nouvelle Vague. You've induced happiness, which entails goodness.
When I woke up this morning, I was thinking again, about why I bought the two posters that I did at the poster sale in the fall. I bought Andy Warhol's After The Party, because it is here where I find peace. Clean, and satisfied. Unique, warm, and with purpose. I bought the Radiohead one, depicting a compilation of ideas and messages from the album Ok Computer, because I liked the graphics, and I think it'll forever remind me of the day I met Kevin when I was visiting Olivia on the first night I arrived here in September. He was playing some music with the door peeking open, turning me into an absolute magnet, being almost forced to take a look-see and a little hear over here, introducing myself, forgetting his name ten minutes afterward. He had this poster on his door, on the left side of his room, and he was playing Broken Social Scene. From here, I became aware that I wanted to pursue a friendship with him. Then and there, we had two things in common that we could start off with. A really sick taste in music, and a really sick taste in music.
Back in September was so perfect. Never mind the stress that the winter has brought, but the gym shorts and the summer tans remaining, alongside so many new things and social situations and ways of living all cuddled and contributed into this one huge sensation of serenity and rebirth. Roaming around the floor of the Mind, Body and Souls, wandering, smelling. Not expecting what paper number one will offer, and bring, but being alright with it, and living off that excitement and lack of knowledge, appropriately. Free barbecues in the field with a friend's friend in her purple hoodie. Text messages on berry phones and walking and sitting on cool grass. Slowly, slowly finding my peace and mental state of mind that makes me myself. Andrew B. Andrew.
I think my only downfall here, that is significant, is the inability to sometimes tear myself, from myself, to observe what is really going on here, you know? I think I share this issue with a lot of people, whether or not they know it or take note of it. We all get so involved in our undergraduate studies, and diction and apostrophe placement, and become so involved in single occupations. This can sometimes lead to things that are unhealthy. Imbalance. Being lost. Feeling only sometimes.
It's through reflecting on those memories that I have that make me love it, and life here. Life. Even though I felt a different way while in those first hand experiences than I do now, looking to the past, at them, feeling them, it was all good, always.
Colours, togas, coca colas, a cup of champagne in dixie formation. Volunteer tee shirts, white boating shorts, loafers, brown. Her black clothing with white in her sling bag. Maybe it was a shoulder piece. Roaming without charges.
My memories here do not involve those I left behind that much. What's home is home. I have more than one home though. Home is a sensation. I have two, separate sensations, that bring me this comfort and this reassurance, that shit is okay. Sweaters are big for a reason. Windows open for a reason. Nouvelle Vague is in existence for a reason.
Very content, and still excited,
And I do,
Love my life,