It's been awhile now hasn't it.

When I complained about the prosaic nature of this routine I succumb to, life decided to throw me a curveball in my relationship.

But guess what.

I'm going to make it through. So in your face!

Post from mobile portal m.livejournal.com

oh hey hey! i have an eating disorder too! it's called, aimillub. it's the opposite of ________.

my fingertips held the answers, but they were too busy picking up self pity and dropping them into my fleshy mould. i feel like i'm in a giant snowglobe, but instead of dainty snowflakes, mine is filled with dust and soot. it's getting into my eyes, and my skin is having these allergic reactions that i don't fancy too much. where are you now, and why are we so far away. my hands reach out to the sky, but i'm not praising God, I'm only calling out for a saviour. The word of the day is pretentious. Everytime you hear it, you have to scream and go crazy. PeeWee Herman is old.

No parents no home no trust. the glass is neither half empty nor full, sorry. there is merely an absence of substance and an abundance of nothingness. the bank account is not empty but what can I do. where is the X on my map that marks where the treasure is? where are the dotted red lines that show me the way. i have a compass but it is broken. there is no price tag on happiness. $879 is the cost of my narcisstic indulgence.

i have lost my inspiration. they have departed to supermassive black holes. I am waiting for it to come back.

Mr Magorium said," We breathe. We pulse. We regenerate. Our hearts beat. Our minds create. Our souls ingest. 37 seconds, well used, is a lifetime."
But Tyler Durden said,"You're not your job. You're not how much money you have in the bank. You're not the car you drive. You're not the contents of your wallet. You're not your fucking khakis. You're the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world ."

So what shall I do in this space. I am free-falling into oblivion just waiting for my body to hit the ground. The minute hand runs 12 times faster than the hour hand, but the grains of sand continue falling from the hourglass. but you see, they covered the timepiece with a black cloth, so I don't know how much time I have left. living in motion, yes that's what she said.

the music comes in tiny strings of gold, seeping into my ears, copulating in the folds of my brain. the keyboard is lacking of my fingerprints. my words are recycled jargon. there isn't enough inspiration to go around in this crowded space. sometimes, you want to breathe in the air that she's not polluting. this fleshy mould is the burden of dreams. they burn in small wisps, floating in the air and then disappearing, like their existence wasn't part of God's decision for Destiny.

I am trudging down the path with feet not made of leather. The end of the path is looming close by. But time is not something that be concieved by estimation or all the mathematic equations in the world. The answer to all of Life's questions can be found in a snowglobe found on the left hand corner of a top shelf. The shelf is not mine. Neither is the snowglobe.

Each day is an olympian competition. There are no winners, only losers. I don't want to end my race in tears. Not anymore. 




Playlist for tonight:
Tricky - Pumpkin
Mandalay - Deep Love
Portishead - Nylon Smile
Martina Topley Bird - Shangri La
Lovage - Love Boat
Bjork - Violently Happy
Sneaker Pimps - Wasted Early Sunday Morning

what happened to 2006?

being young.

so i was visiting an old friend. ok by friend i mean my laptop and by old i mean haven't been using in eons and by visiting i mean cyber stalking. So i was happily cultivating blonde brain cells when there's some movement around my ceiling lamp. I generally dismiss it thinking it might be a moth. Ok, kiran says she is deathly afraid of moths, and yes up close, those things look pretty damn demonic, but in my own twisted logic, i believe that because they are grey, they look old, and so they look like flying bits of old newspaper. So not scary for moi. But NOOOO. It just couldn't be damn moth. NOOO. It couldn't be a fucking fly. It JUST HAD TO BE A MOTHERFUCKING FLYING COCKROACH.
Perhaps the scene that happened afterwards would seem pretty comical. Perhaps.
I jumped up on my sofa, did not scream (surprisingly) and started chanting "ohmygodohmygodohmygod", ran to my room and started rubbing down my leg hairs.
But i couldn't leave it at just that you see. It probably came from the kitchen toilet. The gulley(?) hole was probably open. And anyway the bugspray was in the kitchen.
I tiptoed back and forth from my room to direction of the kitchen in a petrified form of dance, because i was just too afraid the satanic insect would suddenly fly at me.
I took the pole to hang clothes and used it to shut the gulley hole. Then grabbing a stool i stood on it and tried to shut my laptop and drag my handphone from the living room using the pole.
Now thinking about it, i realise that it was kinda stupid coz the bloody thing has a flight advantage and it's not some damn lizard or rat.
But Fear hardly listens to Logic because Logic always makes him feel insignificant.
Motherfucking cockroach with motherfucking lack of bugspray. Stupid trepidation. Stupid stupid dinosaur apocalypse that didn't wipe these fuckers.
Now i'm stuck in my room with my doors locked (don't ask) lj-ing this through my phone. Thank God for Wifi, i guess.

when you wake up all you see are shadows. There isn't enough ebony to go around. Beneath my eyeballs are ashes of my burnt out dreams. There is no destiny for us to cherish when you only believe in fortune's wheel. The hardest step is when your brain tells you to sit and your heart lies ruptured on the floor. The night sky is the only witness to those foolish voyeurisms. There are a lot of words and tunes needed for that secretion in your pants. When my brain stops functioning in android mode, my hands start speaking in tongues. I am trying to break this circle. I have never been one for shapes. I can appreciate colour and i can appreciate texture and lines. But not shapes, because they are forms with preconceived notions. There are meanings beneath this crypt. My dreams betray me. They commit infidelities of insufficient moral value. The snake lets eve have a bite of the forbidden fruit. These absurd visuals cast against a paranomic backdrop, have too much possibility in them to taken seriously. The serpent has manifested itself into the wild statacco of my heartbeat. I choose to take my daily hit of ignorance so that i may have hallucinations of bliss. Take the best orgasm you ever had and multiply it a million times. You're still no where near it. The needle is sharp and my flesh is ready. When crimson appears i know i will come. I will come. Times runs on a linear line, but they failed to explain that this line ravages precious moments. They are left insignificant and banished to desolate corners, beckoning for spare change with empty cups in their hands. I need some spare change. I need some more time.





i can't believe it's almost 630am.
im chasing after the moonlight. i don't want tomorrow to come. i don't want to go to work. i only want my handphone, my passport, my ATM card and little striped pouch. then we'll run away, run far far away. but we both know sooner or later the realists will come and they will slit our throats, and we'll die with our arms wrapped around each other. salty waters with mecury. tears. sweat and blood. your purple fountains on mine.
what say you?

I am trudging through this thick grey sludge with the fragile world on my back.
I can hear the Depression and Violence in Africa,
I can hear the Sorrow for Loss in Iraq.
My skin from where the South Pole is touching has gone numb,
and it has changed to different shades of purple and blue.
My vertebrae is broken,
my spirit shattered.
I have only my determination to prevent my world from tuning into dust.

There is so much that I want to do for my Life.
I feel like I owe her a big debt,
and yet I'm not sure of the amount,
and I'm uncertain on how I should repay her.
I do not know where the starting line is.
I've lost my map and I am too arrogant to ask for directions.
Life says that I owe it to her to figure it out on my own.
She wants me to be selfish.
She doesn't want me to drag anyone else into this.

There are deep puddles of Self-Pity all around me
and I try to avoid stepping into them.
Every now and then I lose my footing,
and I fall into these abysmally self loathing predicaments.
Sometimes it takes every ounce of my strength to swim my way out.
Sometimes fleeting moments of desperation force me to call out for help.
It's even more depressing, to think that I kind have actually gotten accustomed to these situations.

All the while, with this great big blue planet on my back.

There are moments where I just want to let go of this weight.
I do not have the Herculean strength to continue on with this task.
It has been a surreal journey so far.
But I am no Dali,
I cannot paint my future on a canvas,
even if melting clocks and troops of ants can save me.
It is not my strength that will fail me though.
It is my heart that will give way.
My bones next,
then my muscles,
then skin,
then.
then nothing.

i'll be a blob of organs next to a mountain of blue powder slowly disappearing into the wind.