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Érase una vez

Traintime midnight delusions at their finest...

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Érase una vez un tren que estaba viajando. Viajaba por los bosques, las montañas, y aún empezó cerca del mar. Las personas adentro de un coche de catorce estaban alegra y poca emborrachada y cansada, y las otras variadas en sus intentos. Les miraban con interés y desinterés. Luego, en las horas muy pequeñas de la mañana, el tren llegó en una ciudad muy cerca de otro mar. Las borrachas ya no estaban borrachada, y una adventura nueva comenzó.

I can't sleep for shit. It just turned past one in the morning, and even though we've traveled tonight passing by extreme curves and through mountains, and we've finally broken through to the straight shot to Barcelona!, and we've finally reached a top speed of 156km/h instead of 40!, I'm suddenly, once again, abandoned of the desire to rest my eyes. The train rocks back and forth with a feeble but jolting violence and those who are still awake just got back from their most recent bar raid. Me, I was content to calm myself with a teeny tiny bottle of wine drowned out by a lot of Pepsicola. Them? Nah, never.

I don't think I'll be able to get over this when I get back to the US, how it's unnatural for the youngins like me to not have alcohol. I don't drink often, or much when I dare to, but it's going to be such a culture shock for it to not be there whenever the mood strikes me. And me being the type of person I am, if I have the illegal barrier there another time, then I'll once again have the desire.
But more than that, I've completely forgotten my promise to start working on my buildport project and I COMPLETELY forget what it was I needed to work on. So I can just content myself doing this. I finished reading Eldest, and though the ending was slightly predictable given the several crazy revelations before it that made me begin to expect just about everything, I'm excited to consume Brisingr next. :] It'll be good.

I've realized I fear traveling on trains far more than I fear flying. It's difficult not to imagine this train like the tiny ones we played with in my neighbor Richard's basement so long ago, and how easily my unsteady fingers, or urging the train to go too fast, could derail it. I also fear that something might crash into us, or that we might even crash into something on the track. There's no fall, no chance to save yourself, nor moment where you can even brace yourself for what you know is inevitable... there just is. It's impossible to see out of these windows, they reflect back and are naturally dimmed, so seeing outside of them is hard to begin with; undoable in this nighttime situation. Standing up and travelling through the narrow halls that the cabins are in gets my heart going, especially when we were going around the curves. I literally couldn't stop myself from being pressed up against the wall due to the force of it.

people are talking about their hopes and dreams for the future... how more than love, they would choose money. Someone else is saying they don't know what they want out of life and won't try to guess at it. For me, I feel as though my path is unset though there's spiderwebs upon spiderwebs upon spiderwebs of opportunity, and I'm unaware of just what all of them are. It's a difficult realization. It's like being in utter darkness and holding a mere, waning-- or should I say, waxing?-- candle and being impervious to even what immediately surrounds you. It's a sad thing, and I wish I could force myself to be more informed, to be more aware of my surroundings, and to most of all be better organized, but then I eralize that if I work toward that too hard I'll lose whatever experiences surround me right now by dreaming of something, somewhere else.

Érase una vez. It's a powerful thing. "Once upon a time," there was this train. We on the inside were frozen in this enlightened state of time, in the low lights that we asked for, food and blankets and fragments of our lives scattered all around us. Every now and then, the flicker of distant light is visible before being lost to us another time, returning us to our own, isolated world.

Érase una vez... Amber durmió.

Posted by Locksharp 10:35 Archived in Spain

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