http://www.plt1.com/68/a-story-about-angst-part-4/ Five hour breaks destroy your soul Wed, 08 Feb 2012 18:30:00 +0000 http://wordpress.org/?v=2.6 http://www.plt1.com/68/a-story-about-angst-part-4/#comment-272 Life outside Physics Lecture Theater 1 » A story about angst: Part 5 Sun, 08 Jan 2006 05:07:53 +0000 http://plt1.com/68/a-story-about-angst-part-4/#comment-272 [...] Links to: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 [...] [...] Links to: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 [...]

]]> http://www.plt1.com/68/a-story-about-angst-part-4/#comment-271 Life outside Physics Lecture Theater 1 » A story about angst: Part 6 Sun, 08 Jan 2006 05:07:12 +0000 http://plt1.com/68/a-story-about-angst-part-4/#comment-271 [...] Well, I’ve had mountains. Mountains I remember, mountains I can nostalgically revisit at my leisure. This one, in fact, being the gateway to my predicament. The bridge over bridges where I once sat and passed the time away, watching vehicles glide by ignorant of the world outside their shells. The concrete on the banisters etched with the scars of years and years and years gone by, the perfect place to stake a claim to the future’s past. My eye glided over the letters and numbers, which represent the claims of such a variety of individuals. Claims such as “4 a gud time, call Geri @ 025-63…” or “barrys gay” or my personal favourite; “go home dad, you’re drunk”. But those weren’t what I needed to see, I slid across to my corner of one slab, looking for something I’d scrawled in deep, dark resignation. Next to a badly drawn picture of copulating men was a block of lyrics from a song I’d never heard before. And next to that, I found my message; my own claim on the future’s past, if I could cry – I would have, reading my thoughts of that day; “I’m here for you…” Links to: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 [...] [...] Well, I’ve had mountains. Mountains I remember, mountains I can nostalgically revisit at my leisure. This one, in fact, being the gateway to my predicament. The bridge over bridges where I once sat and passed the time away, watching vehicles glide by ignorant of the world outside their shells. The concrete on the banisters etched with the scars of years and years and years gone by, the perfect place to stake a claim to the future’s past. My eye glided over the letters and numbers, which represent the claims of such a variety of individuals. Claims such as “4 a gud time, call Geri @ 025-63…” or “barrys gay” or my personal favourite; “go home dad, you’re drunk”. But those weren’t what I needed to see, I slid across to my corner of one slab, looking for something I’d scrawled in deep, dark resignation. Next to a badly drawn picture of copulating men was a block of lyrics from a song I’d never heard before. And next to that, I found my message; my own claim on the future’s past, if I could cry – I would have, reading my thoughts of that day; “I’m here for you…” Links to: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 [...]

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