Further expulsions.

Music has further been ruled out as a sign-post between dream and reality.

My job involves sitting a desk and doing my homework. It is a great way to get things done. I'm locked in for about 3 to 3.5 hours twice a week. However, I spend most of time sifting through remedial tasks relating to my life (basic skimming of books, e-mail checking, hitting the same sites over and over and over), so I get kind of spaced out quickly. The giant window-wall doesn't help.

So today I go for a walk around the building. Through my headphones all I can hear is Jonny Greenwood's (mind-fucking guitarist for Radiohead) soundtrack to There Will Be Blood, specifically the track "Prospectors Quartet".

I'm walking up stairs that take 2 sections to cover one flight. I'm going up only about 4 of these, but the third one hits me. With this music, I suddenly feel like these stairs haven't ended. In my head I look over the rail and see it going down forever and upforever and briefly envision myself sprinting, burning my legs like matches, and never getting any higher.

Then here I am, back between the 2nd and 3rd floor. I believe still in reality. Yet it doesn't seem all bad the idea of a never-ending turning staircase. I'd like to give it a try.

*

In my journal I have scribblings from 2am.

I was a jockey, or at least I and a nameless, shapeless partner were taking bets against our own horse. There is a high probability that we were hustlers.

This whole scene is just proposterous. Who would ever take bets against the people who control the means to the end? It would be similar to making a bet with me about the outcome of a paper I'm writing. Only you're telling me I'll get an A, I say an F and I have yet to begin writing.

Who wins?