Many Funerals.

The Tears Shed Into Pillows Deep Into The Night

As a child we were told horror stories, really nasty terrible stories of what'd happen if we did bad things. The dam would break and all the sorrows of the real world would wash over us.

But it was not our fault. That the dam finally broke from the crush of all the tears shed into pillows deep into the night. The dam-makers, they did not predict the sheer volume of grief in the real world. 10 feet thick, they built, 10 feet of solid wall against the despair the real world conjured up on a nightly basis. But it cracked, it shattered.

What is this, you ask. Who are we. We are who we are, the people of the tears shed into pillows deep into the night. Collecting every tear shed by weeping bawling mourning people crying themselves to sleep. By long, long tubes underneath the pillows of the people of the real world.

A lot of tubes, really. And a lot more tears then you'd expect, from people you don't expect. All pooling into our world. My world. And as a child gazing into all those tears, I think "What a sad, sad world."

And as I am now, awash in tears, each tear a story unto itself. The anguish of a newly orphaned boy. The bereavement of a widow. The heartbreak of a sweet lass just turned 16. The lament of a grieving father. The despair. The agony.

And still, still, they come trickling down.





I read this paragraph once of this reservoir of tears. It was very good (my story hardly does it justice). Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close the title of the book. Anyways I've been re-reading Robert Jordan lately, just borrowed the 11th one. Been such that I've not had time to blog at all, what with studying (which interestingly does not take up that much of my time) going out, reading, watching my TV series (Bones, House) and general merry-making. Not that I've had the urge to blog. I think there's something about an audience. I'm not an audience person. How can a blog be an accurate chronicle of ones life if it is subject to scrutiny from one's peers? Inadvertently you'd leave something out, scathing remarks of your friends, your DDS (deepest darkest secrets) et cetera. Or maybe it's just a place for funny anecdotes and quirky information about the person trying to convince you he's unique.

Does it matter, really? Neil Gaiman. He is the master, man. A master storyteller the likes of which the world has not seen in the past 5000 years. After the joys of the Graveyard Book and American Gods, I stumbled upon a collection of short stories in the form of Fragile Things on one of my routine visits to WM library. Whimsical, bizzare, fantastical stories, sometimes even all at once. I haven't read Stardust, which I also haven't watched because I thought the female lead wasn't pretty :/

Got some of the results back. Not pretty. Consolation in the form of an A for GP, entirely unexpected. That's too mild a word. Shock might be better. But yes, miracles do happen and we move on. Moving on to failed chemistry, almost definitely failed physics, haven't-gotten-back-yet-but-could-have-been-better-maths. That about wraps up the common test. Big despondent sigh. HAIIIIIIIIIYA. Wonder what it'll take to motivate me.

Oh yeah, I recall watching a few movies lately. Drag Me To Hell definitely takes top spot. Intense. That's the show in a nutshell. Intensely funny (goat capering around haha) and intensely intense. I've never been so stressed in the theatres before. I'm putting my manhood on the line and stating that I was squirming through half the movie. Red Cliff at long last, albeit only on the little tiny screen on the plane. Watchmen, also on the plane. I intend to watch Duplicity, apparently it has good dialogue which is totally my thang. Public Enemies I confirm plus chop must watch, as soon as it comes out. Simply put, it's Johnny Depp. Then there's Christian Bale. My word. In terms of acting chops it's like putting chicken chop pork chop and lamb chop together.

Oh right, not 30 minutes past, I did my part for charity in the form of $10 in cookies. I do hope I'm not going to be scammed/ripped-off TOO badly. Never struck myself as being charitable.

I'm going to dota now.

"In bed that night I invented a special drain that would be underneath every pillow in New York and would connect to the reservoir. Whenever people cried themselves to sleep, the tears would all go into the same place, and in the morning the weatherman could report if the water level of the Reservoir of Tears had gone up or down, and you could know if New York was in heavy boots. And when something really terrible happened - like a nuclear bomb, or at least a biological weapons attack - an extremely loud siren would go off, telling everyone to get to Central Park to put sandbags around the reservoir."

-Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close, Jonathan Safran Foer