Queen of tarpaulin She caught my glimpse Every single night On the same freeway She was a stranger As was I to her She was always in mind Like a bird with a tree to call home It's unfair knowing She doesn't know me But I know her Think of her This agony This disease She needs to know me So she knows what it feels like But will she think of me? Let's find out about that
There is no hope of bringing back the things I lost The things I cherished and things I loathed It was all part of someone else's machinations I think it pitiful and sad to be that way There comes a time when you'd want to break free from yourself Knowing yourself isn't even your own There is no such thing as freedom Uncertainty is the only certain thing in life I hope my being uncertain stays that way Who knows this uncertain will one day be certain Finally
When a few people begin ignoring me I feel a sort of entitlement to say I'd really rather not care, but the truth of the matter is that deep down inside I truly am affected, both by criticisms and personal nitpicks directed towards me in hostile fashion. A typical reaction I exhibit as defence mechanism is to counter-ignore that said person, and so far it has been the root of all my problems with regards to the relationship, or whatever is left of it, not just to that said person but including everyone that surrounds me. It just decays itself in that situational anxiety and becomes a part of it, rotting in on itself and nobody would care to notice. Not even me. Or maybe I do notice it, to be frank, but the thing is what can I do about it? Nothing. Might as well swallow that wasted pride down the bucket and suck on bollocks. The ride home is one helluva shitstorm. Carry on my awkward son.
I don't think there is any justification to the repercussions surrounding the tragedy of my ongoing petty, routine-roulette-charmed kind of life. The only alibi worth mentioning is that I am partly to blame for all this. And to what extent this false humility matters? None.
So, I, like, bought tea the other day because I'm, like, British now and all that. I tried it this morning and for the love of Jupiter's cuckoo I almost shat bricks. It's really nice, I think I will be applying this one to my everyday lifestyle but diarrhea isn't really part of what I had in store in mind. Oh, the agony. And there is this Spanish dude right next door to me. Never spoke to him yet. Yes, I am a little bit intimidated and scared and wary and concerned and annoyed and angry but nonetheless it's cool. As long as he saves me from funkey (funny monkey) businesses, it's good.
Backtracking my very first blog in this godforsaken place, I can't help but be in a sort of trance to realize that it was about Bayonetta when it was only until today where I finally get to finish this sexually innuendoed game. It was a very long journey and countless frustrations merely brought up by equally frustrating Final Fantasy XIII. These games did not suffer by being awful, it just so happened that hype and long development does not equate best game in the world. Well anyway, that last part before Bayonetta ended was intense. Surely the second iteration will not pull a Resistance 2 on us now, will they? Sure hope not.
This is actually just a premonition still but I get the feeling my days in class are over. For good. Finally. I get to breathe in steadily and fine. Summer workshop kept in touch with me earlier today and it feels mighty good to have a dose of familiar soup with them soul poetics. 'Tis a day of celebration! But methinks mesad still. Memories are a wicked.
When I woke up it seems like my world was caving in. Until my heart found a way into harmony. And it sucks because I realize how it can't remain in this state more than what I felt today. So it shattered into a million pieces again. Never to recover, never to stand. Another failed connection.
Hey, wall of text. How are you today? Feeling good? Yes, I am. Thank you for asking. Yes, it is my second day today doing my shitty writing. Finally, a structure! Thank God! I stole the next room's table and put it on my own. It's really lovely, you should see it some time. All I need now is my gaming chair and everything would be lovely, yes. I bought a dictionary today, but it wasn't a real dictionary per se. You see, it has a secret. Secret that only I know (for now). Know where I bought it? No? From a gadget shop down at Westfield! So that means there's something funny about it. Well, there is in fact quite different about it. You see, it's not really a dictionary. It has no pages or anything like that. It's an undercover safebox! No one will know about it except me! Of course! What? I'm acting weird? No you! Yes you! Oh shut up.
Doing minor adjustments in the household can be pretty tiresome and boring. Not anymore. See, I changed. I don't want to be the person I was before. I'm kind of cool now. I'm still lazy, but sufficient enough to get myself organized when the need arises. I have to take care of myself if I were to venture to the earthly horizons on my own. The need to set aside procrastination is slowly growing up inside me. I am a reborn everyman. Just like an ordinary, self-loathing adult. Wait, what?
This Greek movie Dogtooth is one to watch out for. It is macabrely brilliant in a sense that it portrays a situation fit for a disturbed, thinking soul. I was impressed, quite frankly. The deliverance of each moment was interesting. Most bits and pieces of a particular scene insinuate the ups and downs of political correctness. I was mostly confused from the beginning up to the middle half of the film with it being so ambiguous until the latter. Even so I found myself asking more questions until the end. You can say that what added juice to the premise was the unorthodox screenplay made. Perplexing philosophy, just the way masochistic critics like it.
It is difficult to nitpick on something as foreign as this kabuki play I had just witnessed not long ago tonight. The mixture of refreshing cultural diversity and unorthodoxness is welcoming and, for lack of a better term, fun. I am a witness, along with my faithful companions, to the rich, wondrous history of Japanese art of dance-slash-drama, specifically coined Yoshitsune Senbon Zakura. Despite having difficulty with the distance of the stage and my blurry eyesight, as we were sitting atop near the highest in the opera house watching heads wander along and faces indistinguishable, one cannot deny the intensity of the performing prowess, unknowingly drawn to awe as the beat of the drum rumbles ever so loudly. So as a foreigner bearing sight to the amazing spectacle to modern adaptations of cultural epic, let heroes be judged and subject to inquisition whether or not this Ebizo Ichikawa XI guy's fame was well worth the ride: Likes: Body fluidity: I personally really liked seeing Ebi…
Later on we'll be heading to Sadler's Wells in Angel to watch a Japanese play. Never heard of this play before but this one is seemingly very popular. I Wiki'd parts of it weeks ago and to my astonishment the main actor in the play comes from a long line of talent that bears the same name. A little freaky, if you ask me.
Whilst the world slowly turns to slumber, the death of my human character shudders giving thought to the limited, fallible potential of a characteristic: the persona. Now that pain and anxiety is rampant and exceedingly in highest gear, it's time to move on to the grander, much more elevating commotion in motion.