i was hungry, and i made myself a snack. the snack turned out to be spaghetti with two kinds of cheese with heaps of garlic and and basil.
i comforted myself after i polished off everything, with this quote.
“Everything you see I owe to spaghetti.“
-Sophia Loren
food for thought, anyone?
here i am, watching Le Voyage Du Ballon Rouge, wondering about all that happened, pondering about all our differences. i think i am a fool.
Filed under: confessions
when a tooth of a comb falls out, its lifespan is only is as long as the next three teeth falling out. how do you feel, human, when you are worth less than a comb?
you don’t even know when you will expire. poof.
Filed under: confessions
she said she couldn’t write anything beautiful beyond four lines if she tried.
zhern leing, zhern leing. you’ll always have my heart. you are the most beautiful of all. i could fall into your warm embrace to comfort you, and you can seek comfort in our comfortable silence. friendships and what-not, since i was seventeen. i ask you to be happy.
like a needle scratching raw skin to bleed tears of red, i will be your needle. and i will scratch you until you feel alive.
inexplicably drawn to this web of deceit hedonism obsession. sometimes i can’t tell the difference because the line begins to blur and everything just descends into fucking red red red red black black black black black and i can’t fucking see shit but i just keep walking into the fucking heat and i feel all the despondence oozing out of my every pore and then sadism washes into every fucking pore and i can’t stop no i can’t fucking stop because every fly’s eye has you on their mind, him on her mind, me on his mind, you on my mind, do you get me. i would lie to have you, but really, what the fuck do i mean by lie. lie lie lie i would lie for this i would lie for that. when you think about what the word lie really means, maybe i’m not such a nice person after all. every conscience is like a white cloth. over all the fucking untruths and unsavory sublime things we do, at the end of our fucking insignificant lives, we all die with a black cloth. so really, what IS the point of it all. don’t you feel like takahashi in a murakami book. with tentacles dragging us down deeper and deeper into the sea of black ink.
i think i’m okay now.
Filed under: confessions
i’ll stop being psychotic now, thank you.
peel off our skin,
we’re gonna burn what we were to the ground.
fuck in the fire
and we’ll spread all the ashes around.
I wanna kill away the rest of what’s left
and I do,
yes I do.
she turns me on
she makes it real
i’ll have to apologize, for the way i feel.
nothing can stop me now,
there’s nothing to fear.
and everything that ever was-
is inside of here. -Trent Reznor
beating lights beating my eyes my skin my body pumping loud music into every pore pumping my blood pumping me into oblivion i’m in a box i can’t get out i want to be miss sunshine i want to screech in joy i want wear yellow and orange and dance but this is winter and every dark inside of every bloody person surfaces.
wait.
stop.
listen.
can you hear me. you read this bloody entry on your computer screen from miles away can you feel my eyes droning into this text you’re reading right now. can you feel the trance beating through my fingers as i type to the rhythm of the beat.
no, you bastards. can you smell the smoke in my mouth. can you smell my peach body butter. can you can you can you. bitch.
ok. time out from my psycho-moment.
have a good day, fuckshit!
Filed under: confessions
you make me hate this town. this hot humid town filled with fuckers like yourself, i want to run away and take photos the whole day and go dancing in a club unseen unknown where i don’t think of you where i don’t worry about you where your face doesn’t pop into my mind’s eye you son of a bitch. i don’t want to come back to this scary town where the weather makes my skin bleed water and i don’t want to come home anymore because i don’t know what is home anymore. take me back to sleepy perth. sleepy boring perth.
shoot up all the drugs into your arm. into those arms i used to love. because they’re useless if they’re not around me.
and cut out your organs. they’re useless if they’re not in me.
your heart is useless if it doesn’t beat for me.
.useless.piece.of.shit.
.piece.of.shit.
.of.shit.
.shit.
.
fear.
how would you feel if someone reached their fingers deep inside your deepest enclaves without your consent would you scream would you protest would you silently accept would you cry would you do what everyone considers the unthinkable and ellipses ask for more just like oliver did just like i did in my dreams and ask for more invasion of the softest wettest more intimate enclaves that make the most curious sensations most curious rushes of pleasure and most curious pleasurably painful contractions fullstop
how would you like it if i kissed and kissed you but touched you not and then bit your neck and shoulders hard hard hard till bruises slowly blossommed and then welts with blood brimming from the teeth edges and how would you like it if i licked off all the blood and loved you in spirit fullstop
how would you like it fullstop
how would you fullstop
like it fullstop
