Word: hazings
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Dates: during 2000-2009
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...time strolling around the secretive gardens of Westminster, pressing my camera against the iron of Buckingham Palace, throwing my lanky frame around an exorbitant mega-disco, spinning dumbly at the continuous vroom of oblivious Ferraris. A few years ago, staring despondently across Kensington Gardens through a late spring haze, I found myself looking into the far reaches of the old, overgrown empire—fertile Punjab farms, the plains of Kenya, the plantations of Virginia. The finished postcard canvas was cold and foreboding: Ferraris and investment banks and high manners alongside Wordsworth’s thronged alleys; abject poverty beside...
When I began writing, my life was in a bizarre state. The first real death in my life had occurred just weeks prior, and I still lived in a haze that resided between the real world and memories of the night my grandfather died. I hadn’t been able to really leave my room for a couple weeks, struck every time by remembrance. When I did leave my room, I thought of the night I ran after a cab to take me to the hospital. Memories were everywhere...
...nights at the Grille and flirtation floated amid hours spent in my room, waiting for something to break the haze. A friend of mine broke it, and he knows who he is. Convinced that it would distract me from my collapse, he brought me to a sports meeting. Surrounded by boys, I felt more comfortable in my loneliness, and somehow I had picked up a story before I left the building...
...qualify for the monkhood, but now seems to have found his mission amid Vowz's barstools and cocktail shakers. There's plenty in the venue to remind him of a monastery, from a miniature butsudan shrine in the corner to Nepalese mandalas on the ceiling, the ever-present haze of incense and a powerful Bose woofer system playing the synthesizer-backed chants of Tibetan Lama Gyurme. Drinks cost up to $7 each and last orders are at 4:30 a.m. It may be a sinfully late hour, but it's also just in time for morning prayers...
...tracks like “Passing By” ironically sum up the disposable melodic sensibility of the record—“I’m only passing by,” Sophie Barker croons soulfully. When It Falls floats by in an easy-to-listen-to haze, leaving barely any impression...