Filed under: disjointed
ever had the feeling where a day goes on perfectly great and mundane as usual but a million thoughts are coursing through your head at the speed of light and you see flashing thoughts and ideas and you feel paranoid like someone’s looking at you through a pinhole camera hidden somewhere in the corners of the ceiling and your eyes are bursting with uncried tears but you can’t cry and you’re afraid to cry because you don’t have a reason to cry and all you can see is a random childhood memory you haven’t thought about in a million years and you don’t know what the fuck is going on fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck this.
Filed under: disjointed
identity.
we spend our entire life chasing satisfaction.
who ARE you? WHAT are you?
significance.
my train of thought is somewhat disjointed, and has been for the past few months. i keep pushing them aside and they manifest themselves in my subconscious. i keep telling myself not to think, and that everything will be fine, yet this nagging worry keeps trying to break the glass bubble i made.
i keep chasing nothingness. what IS nothingness? could it be something or nothing. could it be a state of mind. could it be something that is nothing. could it be nothing at all.
if so, what the fuck IS nothing.
if you have ever borrowed a book of mine(which i have read), you will notice the presence of too many dog-ears on the book, unless i really motherfucking love that book enough not to mark it.
anyway, here’s a quote from a James Frey book i just finished reading.
I believe that pain and suffering are different things. Pain is the feeling. Suffering is the effect that pain inflicts. If one can endure pain, one can live without suffering. If one can learn to withstand pain, one can withstand anything. If one can learn to control pain, one can learn to control oneself. I have lived a life without control. I have spent twenty-three years destroying myself and everything and everyone around me and I don’t want to live that way anymore. I take the pain so I will never suffer. I take the pain to experience control. I sit and I burn and I take it.
if it hits you like it hits me, hard, then you truly understand me, in some way, or another.
i was messing around the net and i saw a group on facebook in remembrance of my lit teacher in JC.
something struck me hard and i couldn’t help but shed a tear.
gone so young, miss G. i’ll always remember you, coming to school with your walking stick and you coming to class to teach us, rain or shine, cancer or not. you made class lively with all the poems and your wise words. i’ll always remember you accepted homework that was due two months ago and i remember your kind words about the poem i wrote on the back of my (failed)exam paper.
God bless you, miss G. we’ll miss you. you were the bravest, strongest fighter there ever was.
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!
all our lives we spend it chasing something being somebody trying to be the exact copy of someone else we live in a simulacrum so real we don’t know it’s a simulacrum. just like choosing red or blue pills we choose to live in that simulacrum or open our eyes and see the truth but to be honest who would take the hard way touch your heart touch your face touch your breasts grope them touch your groin caress it touch your scars reality is a hard choice so go back to that rat race and chase that job chase that partner chase those kids around the tree screw your partner three times a week in your mediocre sad life and die and have a funeral with beautiful eulogies and a bank account to be distributed by the cold unmoving lawyer. the simulacra we live is an envelope of simulacrum and we don’t know and even if we do we choose to ignore the fact. we chose the *fill-in-the-color* pill and we’re all here. now who will save you and me from each other. if i cannot have you, i will kill you.
over and over.
let your head go, qi. like you honestly care.
yes i do.
no you don’t.
okay maybe she doesn’t. but so what?
yeah so what?
Filed under: disjointed
i fear many things but i fear losing you the most. how do i tell you i miss you without seeing your verbal backlash at me.
sigh. a girl can only sigh.
p.s. twitter is so ADDICTIVE. follow me!
at last the house looks like a house, a home-cooked meal looks and tastes like a home-cooked meal, and a bedroom really looks like a bedroom.
clean red bedsheets, clothes strewn all over, makeup on the mantelshelf; anyone?
such a big bed, empty without you.
goodnight.
he⋅don⋅ism
/ˈhidnˌɪzəm/ [heed-n-iz-uhm] –noun
1. the doctrine that pleasure or happiness is the highest good.
2. devotion to pleasure as a way of life: The later Roman emperors were notorious for their hedonism.
i am a worn-out ballet shoe lost without its other half. thrown aside for a new pair, i am naught without my companion shoe gallivanting around without me. i want to be a simple plain dirty tired ballet flat not a polished stiletto with false airs and shiny PVC. i will never be a polished stiletto to be walked in around town for showing off. i am afraid to be a stiletto for fear one day my heel will fall off or hurt an unfortunate toe. i just want to be a simple worn-out ballet flat lying around with my pink ribbons tattered and torn, thrown aside after a short untreasured shelf life. somebody burn me and set the carbon cycle in motion. sometimes life and feelings are nothing but carbon nonsense.
sigh.
a year ago i was beautiful on
-
love
i was so high i couldn’t see how painful it would be to fall from this pedestal no no not at all. now that i’ve been pushed from the pedestal all i have are broken limbs and bones. it does not matter how broken everything is but the heart and spirit no longer exist. rub the
-
seed of satan into my skin
after vigorous copulation with the devil, yes the dull ache can you feel it
-
throbbing throbbing throbbing
away down south like a purple bruise deep inside. clad in all our sins i am me, and will always be, till the day i die, just like beautiful emily says it. if i had stuck to my guns i wouldn’t have ended up
-
shooting myself
in the foot and thighs and heart and soul and us.
the perfect halo of love escapes me. and today someone asked me
-
if i was a faithful person
. i didn’t quite know how to answer that question. i have no faith in me yet i am faithful. faith is not transferable; once gone forever gone poof woof toof! i am gone with the wind
-
irrevocably yours
yet not quite yours was i ever yours i don’t know.
-
what IS faith
i want to know
-
how does faith feel in my hands
is it silky is it soft is it hard is it steely is it intangible is it how i feel right now.
i am a forgettable piano piece
-
played
by a forgettable pianist in the background of a crowded hotel bar that nobody but the loneliest notice whilst the rest chatter about forgettable things and forget my presence and very being
-
i am invisible
and when i end nobody notices but my
-
player
with his tired fingers pining for somebody who scorns him for his low wages and unstable occupation.
i draw in sharp bursts of air into these lungs but yet each breath feels like the last; unforgiving, cold, stale, just like i was trapped in my own cannister of stale air in a cheap, yellow plastic bottle.
i don’t know if i made a mistake, neither do i care. all i care about is the next hedonistic pursuit. i want to be like dorian gray where every mistake i make shows not on me, my face, or my heart, but a painting locked up in an attic. i am slowly making my conscience disposable like a paper napkin. i no longer feel pity for every drunk destroyed destitute aborigine who asks me for a coin or a fag.
the only innocent thing left in the world is really an unborn child. how cruel is it to make one, give birth to one, and watch the blank slate of innocence slowly grow black……………..
i want to move to a cave with a random handsome stranger with good genes and make and raise four beautiful babies someday. (:
the whole night was a blur, kissing, hugging, laughing, drinking, camwhoring, moving senselessly………………..
click for pictures.
(more…)
Filed under: disjointed
every year i ask myself this question. x years on this planet, and what have i done?
and every year i disappoint myself, but this year takes the cake.
it hurt more than i thought it would. be still beating heart, be still. time will heal you. sleepless at seven with the mind running amok in fields of black wheat and being chased by three ghosts in lipstick and rouge. listening to the lesbian drama anthem on repeat and on repeat and the lyrics flash in my head…………………………………..
sigh. so disjointed.
