Sunday, 28 November 2010

Party on a Sunday

There's a weird thought about having parties in Sundays. It just doesn't feel right, innit. I still would, nothing's keeping me from having fun. But it usually is Fridays and Saturdays that capture everyone's go-to day. Understandably so since tomorrow is then Monday, first day of the week for most people and first day of work for the majority of everymen around the globe. I wasn't out on Friday or Saturday so this doubles up as reimbursement for my stress-induced week. Being bed-ridden without anyone bothering on worrying is the shit.

Said hi without saying goodbye

Red light beaming to and from the corridors of a mirage. I understood, I am not perspicuous. I aim to bid goodbye to my idiocy, and say hello to my sphericity. I belong in a menagerie of stray assholes. The world is too small for my desires, and my desires are grandeur in nature. Aim low, they say, so fuck them all. After achieving low, they say, aim higher, but not so high that you give Icarus a bad name. My wax no longer melts, the current weather disallows it. The pins, needles are susceptible to my pain, as I am susceptible to theirs. Blankets for cold, I require no refrigerator. The dark speaks to me in native tongue, and it understands me completely and unconditionally. Embracing it, I suffer more and suffer less. Neither of us complain nor explain. It was obviously flawed, a relationship so vile and sweet. Neither wanted each other nor cared, but it was evident we needed one another. The shadows began to slither on. Dawn is approaching fast. The light will put an end to this nocturnal love story. I open my legs like a woman, slowly feeling the heat as it traverses upwards into my chest. It was not my intention. The sadness, unbearable, comes crashing down. I persevere. The glass panels begin to crack and show signs of weakness. This is not my cup of tea. The beer is left on the window, four pints, without a single sip from me. Woke up to the endless buzzing of my head, quenched the spiteful feeling of thirst. To the sky waiting to defecate white dust, none of us would admire. Except for me. Except for me. Me and my personal army of darkness. The love I have acquired, unbearably, sanctified, bliss.

She said hi without saying goodbye, she left again.

Friday, 26 November 2010

Hammersmith

The stench spread misery amongst the passers by. The wind no longer held its vibrant chill beneath the deep tunnels underground, it dissipated along with all the others' dignity. There was no indication of oppression within the transport, neither was there any sort of opposition, just another of those irrelevant and torturous mid-autumn angst. A man bellowed as he sat down with a newspaper in hand. He had no idea along with hundreds more inside with them. It was just one of those days.

Wednesday, 24 November 2010

It is I but I am not it

It started with a cry that shattered a heart into million tiny pieces. Shards which reconcile quite easily despite the fact. Although the impact that drove the other malleable hearts into deep freeze woke up just before the big departure, it still left a sour influence in the tongue. The like of which that would most likely haunt forth and linger throughout their entire pilgrimage and banter. Times like these are a tough nut to crack. And I am in the middle of it and loving it.

Schadenfreude. Tell me I'm cuzao, if you insist. The pleasure derived from the experience taken from the earlier demise was the thing I was waiting for all along. The reassurance for something I seemed to have longed for and forgotten. The misfortunes of others aren't for me to create but to blame me for my apathy would be entirely absurd. I was but an audience. I was but a bystander. The weight of the burden is fun enough to watch when the bright figure from the highest platform begins its own self-detonation. Not by any means warranted but provoked, not by any means intended but is forced by necessity. It should have been easier to swallow after one has toppled over but funnily enough the numbers soon moved up in rankings, which was all sorts of ecstatic.

It is not without saying I have never combusted internally myself, but mine was of a different nature. My whim is of a different level all in all. The sly, defensive, conniving type. The greatest performer I have ever come across, which is something I envy the most in all levels. Me and my whim are of two different categories, the conflicting, bipolar and the calm, quiet poetic. These two entities barely like each other, much less comfortable being in the same rhythm in space and time. One has to remain at the baseline at all times or risk being a vegetable in all aspects of metaphorical caricature, which has always been the case for both energies. The manic and depressive, not necessarily good and bad, light and dark kind of relationship. One can be an advantage and disadvantage at the most inopportune moment. I have wrecked a million hearts, including my own, through wrongful judgements and brash deductions.

Rightfully so to disavow these deeds are not at all necessary and mandatory, but by will of the ego. It speaks and I listen. It whispers and I zombify. It performs an inception into myself and I stand alone in the corner, ever so prepared to say 'yes' to every single thing it allows me to. It is I but I am not it. It is it because... well, it's just simpler that way.

Monday, 22 November 2010

Drowsy

The need to sleep early on this night
Overwhelming miraculously transcending
Even if the lights are on I muster
How does one snore like thunder in snow
Urges futile resting eagerly
Tomorrow the barren will pave the way
What lies in store for us this week
Answer lies beneath the stars speaking
Let it be for, let it be me

Requiem

Discreetly, the night began to show its nasty colours. It was tragic that he knew even before going what the implications were. It was instinctive of him to know, his paranoia aided him in lots of ways unbeknownst to others. He grabbed a pint of beer and sat in a corner while an orgy of perversity swooned across the entire area. People behind masks, masks that were for him tainted and stripped of all respect. She complained a little about the expenses and the time. He waited patiently, stealthily, like a vulnerable rabbit in wildlife during the hunting season. He watched in disgust his reflection as he entered the loo, the annoying position of his hairstyle, the ageing choice of clothing, his unbearable crooked smile, puffy cheeks, and negative connotations of his presence overall. They both went out for puffers carrying the weight of the glass with them underneath the frozen twilight. A familiar face crept from behind a few minutes before finishing a round, not the friendly one, he added. He bid his greetings ad disappeared once again, then came back to annoy the bejesus out of the lot, then disappeared again.

This really pulled a nerve on him, the distraction, the preparations needed to perform such tasks, the sacrifices he made out of desperation for wanting to be accepted, the reason for needing.

The two went back inside to be met by more faces.They lingered and shared their hi's and hello's before everything turned off the minute after the couplets arrived. These were the fruition of his labour, the offspring of his demise. To him it was insulting to finally meet them after long, torturous waiting. This was the mistake he was waiting for. He couldn't bear the shame of failure and defeat. One of them, a she, a specific kind of she, not only a she but the she, came up to him and in a split second stared at him with regretful eyes. He was left speechless, only muttered some gibberish to accommodate his painful trauma. The she walked up to him and gave a soft, wet kiss to the cheeks hello, and he heard his clavicle crack at that moment. He couldn't think of anything else other than what the fuck is he doing here? But all that has been answered a month beforehand while he was unknowingly creeping up on her. His burst ego and his distracted thought processes disintegrated before him. His intolerance was no longer present, it was all purely chaotic and madness. He reached for his coat pocket and found his phone, rushed outside, and in pretence talked to an invisible conversationalist on the other line just to escape the lunacy before he suffers a major myocardial infarction.

He really believed he could take the person down with just a sway of words and his then-irresistible, now-irritable charm. That moment changed him. It served as another painful excuse for one of life's neverending moral fucking lessons. Like a fable from the farm where the pig learned its limitations and a bird freefalling from the sky, or something to that effect. It scarred him because it was real. It scarred him because it was another one of those 'wake up call' moments. That fucking slut. But she isn't a slut, she's amazing, maybe a bitch then? No, a slut's a slut. Turn around to a cacophonous buzzing of thoughts in his head. He was once again heartbroken. It was never supposed to be. It started with a game. Martin Lawrence said something like, 'shit just got real.' His shit just got real. Never play with emotions, he learned at that moment. Maybe that's a legitimate advice for him. He never take advices other than his own. Too stubborn for anything, too lazy to die. He hid from sight for as long as he possibly could, leaving alone his companion tending to herself but she can manage. Now what? He asked himself truthfully. Try as he might he smiles his way out of absurdity and into the abyss of obscurity. He clenched his fist and took a long, winding respiration. He entered the same place to muster enough courage to speak openly to the acquaintances. Sex isn't all about bodily fluids, he randomly spewed out of his ever so useful mind. The she finally acknowledged his presence, and with his knees about to break down and his mind once again scattered in all directions, introduced him to him. Funnily enough he had the impression he knew him even before meeting him, as if he echoed his name fluently when she mentioned it. Conniving, he thought. He wasn't rude or anything, he wasn't much of anything either. Maybe they deserved each other. All those who fuck with mediocrity bear offspring of the same kind. He was in for quite a treat, and only time will tell which is which, what is what, who is who, and ass to mouth.

It was a pill that's tough enough to swallow, but those who do bear witness to the comeuppance of themselves. Those who do not remain loitering around the hallways of uncertainty, only moving when a host decides to tickle the parasite. Slowly people who fuck with people that fucked people came and all the while it was him, I realized, who lost the most out of everything that's happened. His sweet innocence is forgiven. He will rot in misery for years to come. Michael Cera. Just by saying that it made him laugh out loud inside the bathroom of his home. It was a day later but not a moment too soon. He went home the previous night retaining what's left of his sanity slash humanity. All that remained in the same place were souls running out of gasoline. He had a full tank of his own. He never started driving it yet though. When his engine will begin revving he never knows but at least his influence on them were evident. The structure and outline of time slowly diminished before and after his departure from whence they came. This was the ulterior motive he was looking for. Long enough to understand the simple mechanics of pain, anguish, he begins to write in paper, and began with adjectives that described that night of infamy.

And to her he still wasn't a champion of sorts.

Sunday, 21 November 2010

Passive aggresive

The two wandering bodies walked side by side in the frigid outskirts of London in hopes of adding colour to their woeful existences. A dreadful impression overcame him as he listened to her speak, a sporadic smell of diarrhoeic mouth from the lady in disguise greeted him with unintentional regard just when he began to feel the undesired vibrant romance in the air. It automatically killed everything for him, but he avoided all the petty confrontations, he persevered, hoping to the stars his fate would change for something better. Unfortunately for him, every time he thought of something warm he thought of the equally cold figure from before. The same figure that has been lingering on to his thoughts for months on end now. This, he felt, was a day of reckoning, or immediate surrender. He came up with a preplanned itinerary for both his defence and counterattack in case something unlawful emerges from the dust, but he knew it wouldn't last for long. The first barrage of attack from the opposite party would suffocate him and destroy his ego, leaving him biting the ass that he wanted to bite.

They finally reached the place after countless words bore, endless feet trampled. They denied the first opportunity to enter. He wouldn't jump in, she wouldn't either, and so they continued on to somewhere only they would know. They figure cancer sticks are the next best thing to fight against the cold, she was lonely for a fact, he wouldn't guess, not in this chance.

They turned around and decided to get in. What good would ignoring do for him? As forgiving as he usually was, there was no turning back then. He whispered to the heiress in the booth and she pointed to a jester from behind, completing ignoring the fact that he and she were in front of her waiting to finish whatever it was that preoccupied her at that moment. She turned to us with salutations. He'd have none of that. He demanded apology, not courtesy. He was regal in his own world. No person served exemplary to the rule, even to this lowly mongrel that stood before him raising an eyebrow in his behalf. If he even had an ulterior motive that would have made things all the more worse than it already was. Her robust cheekiness absorbed his pride, and she blurted out from her filthy sewer she called mouth questions which normally should have already been known. He got it over with swiftly like a knife in bland British bakery. He pulled her companion inside and they decide to spend the night away, until....

Before the fading

There was a fickle sense of authority looming in during that night he took the evening underground tube. Something was amiss, a sinister being of gloom lurking beneath the shadows in the tunnels. The reptilian mechanism zoomed in for the kill as he stood patiently on the side of the tracks where a yellow line in his feet signals him not to cross boundaries or suffer major consequences in the long run. When it came to a halt, he greeted the hostile air with mildly confident trepidation, walked in hoping to sit down only to be pushed back and forth by unruly stench of showerless blokes. He snarled to himself while he grabs hold of the bar. There was no way he could bow down to obscurity in such tainted fashion. This night will not bring him down. Only thing worth dragging down is a Northern bitch of snow and slaughter, the blissful tearing of disappointment, the suspect of heartache, who went down crawling from the tundras to greet the unwilling with despair and depression. He wouldn't take no for an answer. Not if you stepped in his shoes, you'd wager.

It took him quite awhile to get to the intended destination. The place was a lively, but seemingly haunting, place for his in memory, for it was a place held with very low regard in terms of stupor and drunkenness. Sobriety is never an option where he's going.

He crawled out of the underground and climbed up to civilization only to be greeted with ignorance. On the contrary, his bewilderment heightened his senses even more so than he ever imagined. He spoke not a single word with his mouth but the soliloquy never rested. To others, it would have had severe complications to their sanity. To him, it was a lifesaver.

He sent messages beforehand to people he barely even liked or admired. That was before he jumped into the transport. After awhile, he began receiving unflattering replies from those same people, the kind of which people would pull their hairs off their head for. It pissed him off to receive not a single respect from the people he tried so much to beg geniality from. These were the same people that demanded so little from him even though he could provide them with so much. Some people are just a tad bit hard to please, and fuck them for all their worth (or worthlessness, for that matter).

So he met the girl from before. Not a single spark. Bad idea, he thought. They kiss hello and off they go, walking towards the night sky where dreams are usually made of.

Warm.. only to burn

A slight indication was evident that a cold, bumming night was imminent ahead. Music woke him up, ironically to the Rage Against The Machine song Wake Up. He was too disoriented to care about the song. He knew something would have to happen tonight, even if it meant there wasn't anything at all to begin with. His droopy eyes gazed at the apparatus beside him in bed, a laptop, pulled the noisy thing out and postured lazily like a sloth trapped in a contemporary cage of comfort. Checked all the things needed to be checked. Mobile blurts out a sudden agonizing noise. He hates it, unless it's something he cares for. It usually isn't.. so why bother?

The first step out of the bed is always the most gut-wrenching one. It's either you trip over from laziness or sleepiness or nothing ever happens. That's the only two choices available. There is never a good option, an amazing one mayhap. He still had a couple of hours in time to prepare, and he loathes that anxiety, he knew for certain that a certain figure is certainly coming for certain in certainty, and he expects the worst, because another certain figure besides the certain figure mentioned before is certainly with this certain figure for certain in certainty. Figureheads are complicated retards, and he proved that later that night.

A woman was on the phone, he sighs. Not again. Never again, he thought. Tattooed in his brain was the insult. It was still a little too fresh for his own good. It haunts him every single day. It plagues his work, his ethics, his relationships with people, even family, and most of all, it attacks the disordered consciousness that kept dormant inside of him that he for long hid for reasons so obvious he can't even say them properly. He ignored the message and went back to his ways.

Not too long after the device rang loudly as it ever could. He stood idly in the middle of his room, acting undaunted, hoping it will all go away with a blink of an eye. It didn't budge. He knew he had to answer it. It wouldn't look good public perception-wise, and he is a whore for other people's attention. He just had to do it, or die regretting the fact he didn't.

He held the phone in his main arm, the right one, spat out coarse words from his lips pretending to be asleep. He anticipated that the person on the right line would wonder how it is he didn't reply to her text. He was right. He most often is. And so they decided to meet somewhere. At least there was someone nice enough to not care being with him. Rejoice! The clouds shiver at that momentous occasion. Rarely does it ever occur. But he held back in his emotions, those personal things need not be taken in a different context. It never really goes according to plan. Learned it the hardest way.

He lied back in bed and swam in his infinite reverie. Random thoughts recoil back and forth with no purpose or intent. It was there only to serve as a mocking example of what he used to be and what he still is. A shadow of a shadow, repressive recluse tenfold.

Not long later he jumped up and decided it's time for shower, and soonafter regretted the fact he did.

Saturday, 20 November 2010

Race cars

Rose and carnation
What do I expect to achieve?
I offer my salvation
Only to turn and leave

Wednesday, 17 November 2010

Empire

Shyness, orange desire
Regal blue mix and fire
Aviation aim so higher
Whilst birds and trees inspire

Monday, 15 November 2010

She's probably with her other half by now

So I guess this is good riddance? Hasta la vista? Time sure does fly quicker than one can imagine, that includes the pain and heartache from before. No worries for me. I can't blame the heart that fell last. To be in comfort with the arms of another, how I wonder. How does it start? How does it even finish? Or does it even finish at all? How do you know it exists? How do you know for certain its authenticity? How do you even acknowledge its presence, its fervour, its melancholy?

It slowly creeps in and out of the system, that I know of. It's not like I've never been in this situation. Hopeless romantics are a sight to behold. All that rage, that pent up frustrations, those displacing defence mechanism. Where does it all flow through? Who instigates it? Even the shortest moments, a mere second, may last an entire lifetime, affects you entirely, body and soul, and it becomes you, defines you in every little precise calculation you may or may not do. If you stand up or if you sit down, would one be able to recognise it? If you open your mouth and speak what it is that lingers in your mind, would you realise it is not the you that speaks but the character. Whatever this character is can it still be not you?

Does the body rule the mind, or does the mind rule the body?

I woke up feeling half-baked today, physically and spiritually, and I'm a drug-free addict since birth. I knew something was unwell the moment people resonated unclear vibes around me at the workplace. 'Tis as if I carry some sort of virus that seethes and chews on those I come in contact with. My zodiac told me to do research and study. I understand the context perfectly but what I don't get is what to research about. I feel like I've been doing this since forever but without results. Mayhap the sense of urgency comes in the form of this wrinkly paper a lot of people seem to take for granted. I started to care. Just a tiny bit to give me a sense of reason. A reason to continue and resist this ginormous tug-o'-war, which is what I struggle to give meaning and value.

If not then someday I will go against what I hoped and aimed for, be the opposite and do things twice as fast and efficient as possible. Ruthless and notorious. Live in infamy. Be a target of ridicule but remain feared. That moment will soon come to a complete suddenness that even myself cannot be able to comprehend.

Sunday, 14 November 2010

Affable

I have never been the genial kind of person. Consider myself borderline antisocial and critic to all things that eat and breathe. Branded myself the term antilove, as opposed to hero and antihero. No wonder I hardly have any friends that truly last. The fact is, the people that do stick I feel are only those that deserve redemption on this up and coming Armageddon.

Make a mountain out of it

Had the tuna smell of salad stuck on me
Took the bus home when at the gardens stood still the time
Two dead mobile phones I met
Febrile in the cold night weather
Strolling along the silent streets of old
My barber says hello in a car
Alas, he remembered me!
At least somebody did
Brought a smile to my face

Theatrical script

I was planning to make a theatrical script for tomorrow's big event presentation at the studios but then I lackadaisically slept the entire day away, slashing off the sufficient time needed to process the whole thing. I disappeared from naked eye during two of their devising classes and I missed an awful lot of things due to that. I need to make amends somehow, don't want people to think I'm a pushover.

I have no idea how to make stage scripts. Not even particularly sure what the difference is between stage and screen scripts.

Not to mention I'm not feeling perky and at best in this current state. I still have a bit of an acrobatics hangover from last Friday but it surely was fun. Never regretted a single moment of it. Keep pushing myself hard, I guess. Last night was the last straw, I reckon, but that's another different story in itself.

Manny

Congratulations to Manny Pacquiao. Now go sic Floyd Mayweather, Jr. already!

Saturday, 13 November 2010

Julia


Despedida de Julia @ Hoxton

To no end

Some fucking bitches just don't stop annoying me to end. Can't wait when the day of reckoning will come!

Wednesday, 10 November 2010

Layup

I would say pull my hair
She would then grab me by my ears
I would shriek in agonizing pain
Then bleed from my nose
Turn to collapse
Drop dead on the floor
There goes my artistic freedom

Tuesday, 9 November 2010

Coupled with other things

May have done something to heighten this dreaded feeling I do now, as if a hypochondriac. Woke up to a forced, chilly morning fearing the backlash of being tardy every single first subject considering that Debra is the first one to greet us every Tuesdays. Ironically was still tardy but not within range of acceptable tardiness. Four minutes late, if I remember correctly. That sent headaches down to my thigh. That’s only the headache problem. To make matters worse while taking the tube the urge to crap was unbearable. It was disastrous. Joined the class feeling so limited in my bodily range of motion due to this unfortunate circumstance. Found it very difficult to wiggle my chest and pelvis because felt like something inside me is going to burst out and spread meconium spray all over the studio. That’s the craptastic other. Marianna didn’t like the food, go figure. ‘Twas the most despicable puto I’ve ever tasted in my entire Philippine existence. Everyone seemed to love my Piattos though. I knew they would so I saved it for last.

Oh Piattos.

Monday, 8 November 2010

Happy birthday dad

I punched thin air as the wind blowing sent chills up my spine. Worst cold weather I have had since forever. Finally I can sincerely say my flip flop skills are put to rest, it was awful! It chewed on my toes as if it was merienda. I stopped by Earl's Court hoping to buy something for Marianna tomorrow. She can be quite a stoopy character, prone to irritation and mild anxiety. Little did I know (and I just realised when I reached the doorsteps to home) it was my father's birth date. Fortunately I didn't eat which I almost did, and lingered not too long as well outside which I should have but didn't. The planned dinner wasn't as bad as I pictured it to be. The layout could have been improved even for a little, but who's complaining? White wine for me after meal.

Sunday, 7 November 2010

Without reason

Talking while walking
Learning more about you
The simple things to begin with
Blooming into something more

Nothing lasts forever

I stood back and watched myself suffer
Staring at me in first-person view
Slowly as I drop down rushing from the freefall
It was the vertigo that held me up high
More often than not it's always something
I hate falling even metaphorically
Everything it represents is being at your lowest point
Including now as I watched shadows in broad light
Too proud to flicker
As if it serves major importance to the world
But it doesn't really, or does it?
How should I know subjectivity
When all I am is toadstool with halitosis
Not a care in the world
Too abstract to matter

November Rain

I'm just waiting for it to rain so I can sing and post again this song. It would be epic (not really). The other night where I commuted from West Ham to home (most fucking dreadful) it rained but was too depressing to think of doing anything else. It took me four hours tops to get home that time.

Sunday morning

Conflicting thoughts immediately consume and compound me, punching like invisible tiny creatures walking in and out of my cognitive processing. It's difficult to trace the outline but it really doesn't matter because it barely makes any sense. I just want to lay low and allow myself to be gobbled up by my laziness as per usual. 

I don't feel like doing anything today. But, yeah, I just remembered my father mentioning something about a baptism thing to go to somewhere in Upton Park. Ugh, the distance is agony plus three. I might go there for food and a little bit of socializing. Not necessary, but could somehow work out for something better. Hopefully.

Aching to go somewhere in a couple of weeks. Somewhere that I've never been to. Vacation of sorts. Away from all these negative vibrations surrounding. Grab some happy soda and spend outdoors like mediocrity demands from all those who suffer. If only I knew.

And I really want to have an international driver's license now. Must take a yattata amounts of exam and practice though. Even my old pop failed the exam so mustn't take this lightly. Just want to avoid all those inevitable payments and charges.

Philippines FC

Tonight we went out for a short while and had a couple of drinks to commemorate Marcos' departure in two weeks. I had Guinness and rhum+coke as intended, not so bad considering tonight was Saturday. Met new people along the way. Yelda introduced me to her footballer boyfriend. I'm not much familiar with football, to be quite honest. There was a Brazilian girl and one which I failed to engage in communication, sucks. It was fun though. We all went to the dreaded studio together which was all sorts of awful. Rarely do we meet each other especially now where people go on their own separate ways. It seems only Yelda remains the apocalyptic survivor among us who still remains in the studio even up to this moment. She seems intent on leaving as well some time soon.

Anyway, this footballer boyfriend of hers that she always talked about had plans on making some kind of visit to my country and create a football club or college. I said, 'Why not? Seems like a good idea.' Not too many people in that country are familiar with football, but I do believe the potential is there and limitless. Unlike basketball, which is the country's leading sport, height isn't the only thing that matters. The game is more about agility and quick reflexes which I believe these people surely have. That could be a good indicator for success, I reckoned. Who knows? Maybe in the near future this tiny idea will bear fruition and only God knows this may be my proper calling. 

Someday I'm going to bump into that guy again. Earlier he was mistaken as Serj Tankian by some random ladies, which was in a way quite hilarious because he was like, 'What? Who? Where?' I wish I could be mistaken as a celebrity myself, hah! He even thought I was a fashion designer due to my funky haircut.

I'd take that as a compliment.

Saturday, 6 November 2010

Sore

Acrobatics. What a mixture of torture and pleasure. I feel so strong and powerful at the same time feeling so weak and distressed. I can sense the electrifying tingling in my fingers as I lifted my entire body down the mat using just my hands, that reckoning would have broken my neck in two places. I struggled back up over and over doing the same acts of masochism, and now I'm sore as a pickle. I swear I could feel my entire anatomy bulging in shape all except my arduous belly of death. Fuck my glug glug tummy.

Kokey is on telly. Fuck.

Wednesday, 3 November 2010

That urge again

It’s funny I’m getting that same urge over and over without putting too much effort in it. Finally I have succeeded in alienating myself from the people I work with and the people I value the most. Unfortunately not all of them are included as of yet. Do I really want to finish until the very last one? Probably so. Solitary comfort isn’t easy, but neither is companionship. All I need now is a safe haven to call my own and I would be ready to go, burst forth into the horizon like an eagle in the night, all blind and fragile. With regal wings that dare not spread unless the sudden outburst of need arises. That’s what basically happened to unsung heroes. Maybe I am an unsung hero. If not, will I ever be? Do I have the potential? Since we’re discussing urges might as well mention the inner urge in me wanting to partake the fame game. Never will I perish without a legacy to behold, to avenge myself against the same people that ridiculed my in-born potential. The champion within me arises like a fiery, popsicle waiting to get sucked by a monstrous, gigantic infant with fifty times bigger the size of my brain but fifty times dumber too. When all else fails then it has to be at least something worthwhile, that I may legally say ‘fuck you!’ to y’all. And that you and the others before you will never ever attain by any means what I have in my head and the heads before me had accomplished.

Tuesday, 2 November 2010

Ugly recoil

It is not something I expected wholeheartedly. It hurts like hell and it makes my thoughts go in all directions. You can say I am in a process of withdrawal. Love withdrawal, you might say, cheesy as it awfully sounds. I know time will heal it, but it still fucks me up big time. I can’t even think straight. It’s always bugging me, annoying me, pissing me off wherever I go, whenever it wants to attack. The only safe bet to avoid this is sleep but I can’t even sleep. My face is always on Facebook chat, hoping, waiting, knocking on wood something miraculous would happen. Sometimes something does happen, but more often than not there really is nothing there. Like a blank state of melancholy, chewing away at my insecurities and heartaches. I go home and eat and pretend nothing bad happened and sometimes I wank, hard as I might to avoid it, but still nothing eases this unlawfully accepted state. I tried for an alternative. Maybe I do need an alternative. But hard too as I might, it’s another long way to go, much harder in required effort and the ACTING! I dread the ACTING! Everything but the ACTING! For fuck’s sake, that’s the worst part of all.

Found a ball? Pound a bowl


Half-life @ Queen's Market, Upton Park, photo by Elina.

Monday, 1 November 2010

Abstract

She a playa. Shove it. Hope she hangs. So frustrated. What a bitch. Tantamount to manslaughter. Wasted time. Loser child. Burning eyes. Expensive haircut. A little bit solitary. Meant to be. Soul is squeezed. Red hot way. Fistfucked life. Smiling sad. Pepsi night. Photo white.

From Haiku to Limerick

There is this girl I hate
I don't want to wait
I was afraid
Just want to get laid
But she's a little late

She hurt my heart
And tore it apart
Tried to smile
It takes a while
At least it made me smart

RAWR!


My first-ever Halloween party!

She’s just playing with me

I just know it. I can feel it. I can sense it. I am not that naive and stupid. I can see through your succubus ways, woman. A fool such as I, there never was, I cried my tears so well. I know I’m going to regret this, sigh, but here we go again! Fuck!

Search and destroy