Wednesday, 29 April 2015


High time to break bad when a day turns your whole life around. That's all it takes. One bad day, one big joke, and history repeats itself. I tell myself every single day it's time to go, move your butt, and I never heed my own voice, out of fear for what's out there. It's a meaningful experience out there, full of the uncertainties of life, but it's a heavy burden to bear once again. Especially now.

But now it really is the time to go, I cling on to something like a frightened mouse. I am admittedly frightened, for my life, even though there's nowhere else going for me but up. I just wish I didn't have to go through this all on my own, but it wouldn't be like this had I been alone anyway, so... que sera.

Sunday, 19 April 2015

Me You Sun: excerpt

It was always hard to determine whether or not my father was mad at me at one particular moment. He'd always come up to me with a wide grin on his face one moment and lean his forehead on mine and say, “You are the greatest gift life has ever given me.” And it completes my day, only to see it fade away a few minutes later when he rages about me being unappreciative without having done anything to rue him. It's been really difficult with his mood swings. Sometimes I just thought of leaving him and going somewhere else on my own, build my own stories and all that jazz. I just couldn't. Not without swallowing a sense of guilt I could do without. So I linger on, waiting for the day life will do its own magic, while I'm stuck here waiting for god knows what and lord knows when.

Five days ago was my twenty-eighth birthday. I almost couldn't guess the right number had I not peeked into my Facebook profile. I celebrated the occasion by lying in bed all day whilst people greeted me on Facebook. I swear the number of greetings I receive each year dwindles exponentially, and I try not to make any absurd meaning out of this behaviour, but I'm hoping it's not because people don't care about me any more. I usually don't worry about these kinds of stuff, but I am not one without feelings. I'm a person too, you know. I just think it's wearing itself out in fashion, as a result of longevity, I reckon. Facebook is such old news by now. You hear the same thing about it: every single one not hiding under a rock has it. Your friends, your friends' friends, your friend's enemies, your enemies, your enemies' friends, your enemies' enemies. Even Jesus Christ, the Lord, your God, has one, if you look hard enough, and his page is flooded with photographs of cats in various poses that are often times hilarious, sometimes controversial, with captions in them, words and letters jumbled together in bad grammar in order to attract the ire of those with the authority to do so, with persons such as Stephen Fry, for instance.

Now I'm just glad to be basking in my own solitude, sitting in a corner inside a Starbucks beneath Tower Bridge by the lonesome, listening to music, writing, procrastinating, basically letting go of everything that felt like home. This actually feels empowering somehow. Kathrin invited me to visit the Sky Garden nearby. She's an old friend and I wanted to see her since she'll be leaving London in about a week or so to go back home to her mother in Bavaria, probably move in with his Spanish boyfriend somewhere in Germany. So she's unavailable for me to love, and I am perfectly fine with that. Yes, for sure. So she left after an hour and now I'm here. But it's fine. I needed this more than I realise. Being out in the open and learning to appreciate my aloneness more rather than be preoccupied by loneliness is the only way I can see how I can move on from everything. I still feel a tinge of sadness from time to time. Moving on from a broken past is a process, and I used to laugh at this. I have seen this happen to other people, and now it's happening to me. It's a huge sacrifice in my part. And whenever the maudlin creeps in, I'm done for. But that's what sacrifices are for, otherwise it wouldn't be a sacrifice.

So I'm staying here for awhile. People came and people went. The store became spacier as time went on, with no worry on sight. I became attuned with my surroundings; the smell of macchiato being prepped on the counter or the sound of utensils clanking in the kitchen. The conversation with strangers in the corner turned my ear sideways as they spoke of infidelities and murderous intentions towards their insignificant others. The burning lust in their voice as they open up about their fantasies, tales of their wants that could never be, and regrets that slowly creep in. All those emotions boil inside me as well, as I live their words with my own thoughts. Everything became so condensed... and all I did was just allow it all to invade me. At this very moment... all these transformative ideas, these wanky, shallow thoughts made me realise how much I've become a self-aware, pretentious twat with no inkling whatsoever about the secrets of life. Just another two-bit bystander schlocking over a a cauldron wanting to stir whatever shit the witch is concocting up inside. I get buried in my own Bunburyism. I need something going, and this shouldn't be it. Tonight's not going to be the night. I go home, commiserate, sleep, disappear.

Wednesday, 15 April 2015

The trail of contrail

This is to commemorate my initial ruination; a day of eternal mourning. 15042015

Time won't waste...

... and we just learn. 15042015


Ritual @ Hammersmith Park 15042015


Spring @ Hammersmith Park 15042015

Saturday, 4 April 2015

Autopathy: the wrong kind of depression

Shots of whispers, paper money on the background. My father walks away and never looks back. Like I care. We worship monkeys on a sidewalk. They cry in epiphany. Bounce... bounce... bounce... tell him that.

What's my world to do when all else fails? Your world might be different, but who's fighting who? So I take the stairs, spiralling peacefully out of control, when the physician gave me the deal. There is a benign tumour inside me waiting for the right moment to strike. Cancerous? Maybe. Will it be fatal? Fucking hope that would be the case, then I go Walter White on everyone's ass. You only live once, that's what I would have said. You only love once, too, but that's out of the question.

No one really understands how the rock loses to paper in rock-paper-scissors. No one understands how elephants lose to mice, either. No matter how doe-eyed Mickey will be, one simple misstep and he dies to a mammoth. A mammoth with a gift of gab like my mum, sneaky everlasting, walking canopies and sleeping in hedges like a lizard with good tides. That could have been me. 

So that's the thing: None of these things matter. It's time for me to pass. It's time for me to show the world how I am nothing more but conceptual. My brain fizzles, and at times it cracks, and most times it cries in agonising pain. I miss just one feeling. I miss it so much. I'll miss it until the point of my death and no one will know, and I'll still miss it the day after tomorrow. If I could walk the sun I would. Me and you, hand in hand, side by side, foolishly captivated by the false moment of relief. So I can be in peace. So I can be in love all over again. With tears, it shows, and with time, it grows. Nothing will ever hold me down. 

As one cliché goes: A dim light shines far at the end of a tunnel, an exit towards an unknown uncertainty, to which mine is beyond the backwards route. My light... it gets tinier the more I walk, already dimlit by the stars outside the tunnel. It is the end. My end.

How scarce can loneliness be in my life when I can't even do depression right? 

Search and destroy