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Showing posts from February, 2011


The vanilla sky signified a whole new direction for longing. The despair of humanity against the severe oppression of natural science was at an imminently pending doom. The only hope of salvation lies in the form of mechanical science. But a mere mention of such suggestion only irks the majority, they who lead the masses to survival, saying it only represents a slight tinge of hope and success, even an abashed surrender, in simile, like clashing bonfire to wildfire. There are no winners, only death and suffering, more oppression and inequality including amongst themselves.
The planet has melted into chaos, a globe which was once round now became crescent from depletion. It is no longer a safe haven like once before. The word 'animal' ceased to exist, there only is an 'organism' which hardly takes up all living matters in general in scope. Only the ribald mind of a schizophrenic can this everlasting pain be minimised, an involuntary escapism to the horror attributed to t…

Fable of the ant that once was

I saw an ant leading a swarm of bees into oblivion. He would reign upon them as would their queen do the same damn thing. It began what seemed like an endless road to dystopia down to a narrow path of birthright. Thus the ant proved worthy of title despite of its diminutive size. Because the lackeys knew the lust for power is tantamount to infinite potential that even the most bigoted seem to nod heads upon.
But an ant proved futile for long-term aspirations as they realised, its fragile longevity struggles to remain afloat. Power proved too ambitious for such a lowly creature. Invertebrates find reason to survive and maintain the cycle of life and death. They are neither nihilists nor existentialists, they live not for themselves but for the greater good of more convincing predators like gigantic fowls or sharp-toothed reptiles. They live to make ends meet for others, the flora and fauna, and the different types of matter and energy, and decomposition of life in general. Insects defin…


Cobblestones by Cil Rand ©

Verwirrung, Ode to Friday

No expectations or regret in my shoulders. Every chaos is routine, every routine is inevitable, every complaint petty in nature. It was a blast from the realisation of the fact that the overbearing magnitude of pomposities are kept well-maintained and warm in the loving caress of fuckheads that know nothing of dedication.
My weight was heavy as I traversed on the rocky edges of the street on to a narrow pathway on the side of a bridge. The unsightly appearance of arrogance already filled the vibrant air, the stench of the dangers ahead aroused, the ignorance of the clueless abound. This world was not built for positive enthusiasm.
The weight made it more difficult to balance, my perseverance lacking inspiration searching for ways of excuse itself. I whispered to myself to calm down the sensitive nerves. All those trapped within began circulating around the circumference. There was no way out now. The spherical globe revolved around something deep and profound, in a way kind of magical …

Cup of hate

While the lands and wind ungoverned by rooftops and warmth stay colder than sharp ice, the struggle held on by the young boy ventured on while continually suppressing his inner desires to break free from the clutches of barbed relationships. Every morning he normally wakes up as any consistent student would do to brush his teeth and take a shower in preparation for class.
His life is as meaningless as a rock on solid ground. His earnestness is penetrative but weak and dull. His idea of a utopia is absurdly disjointed. His mark in the world has already been charred black in history, never to be talked about and remembered. A convoluted memory of mystical propaganda.
The security nods at his appearance as he passes the front gate. 'Him again,' his paranoia whispers. He greets him in normal fashion anyway and goes on to the other window and greets the other guard, a typical, grumpy British bloke whom he loathes in some unexplained manner. The guard just nods as if annoyed of having…

Ignore my weakness

Don't ignore me.
Too late for that now. Everyone has made up their minds. It's funny how people handle that sort of rejection and funny too how I react to this. It's not like it's the first time that has ever happened. It's just that I could never figure out for the life of me how such a thing could lead from one point to the next just like that. It baffles me quite deeply. This lifelong experiment has been quite a colossal disappointment for me because experiments are not meant to be done in realtime.
But I did, and I paid the ultimate price. One could say I deserve what I got, but still I can't pinpoint the exact mistake that led to the demise. I now realise how powerful my eyes work in such magical ways that even these alone can sway others' perception just by a spurt of the moment. It's much easier to achieve if the aim of the goal is to fail rather than a positive feedback, much because depending on circumstances it could either be that physical aspe…


I know nothing of Adele prior to Saturday, and today is just an hour until Tuesday. All I know is that she pops up in my iTunes every opportunity I open it and quite frankly, it is annoying as all hell. All the advertising an artist can get always gets to me as somewhat deceiving and shallow therefore there was no way in hell I would ever listen to her just because of that simple analogy, that hype always begets disappointment, especially not from the dying music industry where only a few flourish while flooded with mediocrity, mainsteam and indie alike. Mediocre, yes, just like normal, everyday life. 
It was out of a whim that I decided to have Adele's 21 on my playlist which are somewhat getting frustratingly redundant now. I was not expecting much though, not even an idea of what genre she belongs to. It was easy to remove her if the album ever strikes a nerve. I've been disappointed an awful lot in the past that my personal taste in music evolved into a more demanding, boss…

Slander and discord

The mule held no authority on this given day, everything seemed unbelievably flawless until then.
By the time the curtains opened up for the audience everything seemed translucently clear: my failure was inevitable, my suffering inglorious. What I have foreseen at that particular moment crushed my inner core as if lifeless and all the while frail. My resolve was uncanny but could no longer withstand the ill treatment of indifference from the talentless freaks that accompanied my every step. It is not as if I depend on them on things, but it is really not making things all the more better. I first walked into the studios with wild intentions to succeed and procreate neat ideas for the development of my soul soup. Call me weak and a coward I can deal with that, but frankly my resolve lies somewhere different now. Better divert my senses into somewhere rational in advance than deal with the scrutiny in the future. I besmirch my own potential with my monochromatic imagination. An embarrass…

Art is what you make of it

Not a single spill of sweat was shed that day, only empty words spat out from their uninspired devising.
'We'll get across,' said the four-eyed curly from behind. 'Let's just do our best and we shall push through as usual.'

And as usual, she was despicably worthless in my eyes. Her challenging eyes looked at everyone with strong intent to push her convictions notwithstanding theirs aside. She was selfish as fuck and dumb as a mule. She always spoke highly of feedbacks, do this and do that, that works and this does not, but unbeknownst even to her is that she herself is imprisoned in her own robust mockery she calls flesh. To me it is but chicken stuffed with too much jelly and the blob now struggles to burst forth from her gastric balloon. She speaks with a voice resembling to that of a frightful duck, opposite of shrill and confident, and moves like a penguin deprived of the will to bend the hip and pelvic regions. She loves relaxing while standing up resting h…


Do you still remember the moments of our first meeting? Honestly I no longer retain that memory. It wasn't so long ago when I saw you saw me handing out rude stares at everyone but there you were, not minding a single bit, when I encountered several mismanagements in decision making and picking up fights with female co-workers amongst the workplace because of a stupid argument.
Do you recall our first conversations? Because I don't. But I remember how much you made me feel every single time we did. Me and some other guys mentored you and you ended up teaching me everything more than I needed to know. You adapted well and I was complacent as usual clinging on to that sedentary lifestyle that once was. I could recall asking myself often weighing the option of possibly having you as someone whom I can love, and startlingly I said no to it, thinking about how you were that snotty, little brat with a high-pitched voice and sweet-as-sin, crooked countenance.


The bittersweet calm came to me like a flash of lightning on a vulnerable metal rod serving as a conductor of pain and suffering to that lingering idea which I longed for since the moment it snapped its fingers at me a few years back, the intention of isolation at the first moment of desire to break away from the lifeless companionship of the flesh and blood. All was lost except the insanity that kept me company for the days to come feeding on my irreconcilable cup of asshole. The same asshole that stood by me when I was but a phantom of my own unwilling ambitions, the same misconception of evil that long before introduced me to this so-called ideal life. A voyeuristic point of view which sparks no particular interest among many, but one that struggles on and on.
Nothing but something, something not everything, everything for nothing.
Reminiscent of the old days the man known to a few as a jester or a jerk now kneels in shame asking for another chance even in vain and discord. Not every…

Square cycle

Stood apart from all the rest Can't even find a moment to All I stand for, all I am But a reverie of self-satisfying egomania
Tried to make amends But there really is no reassurance Nobody can and is interested
No matter how much the effort it always ends the same Life and fame, everything's a game


The first morning of the rest of my life brought for an outbreath tenfolds better than any orgasm can procure. The mist outside the window was a steady, shallow breeze awoken only by my own faults of not knowing how to turn the heater on and not being able to provide my chamber with a much-deserved bedding. My objective for today is to finalise my cleaning and arrangements and to hopefully bring an end to all my bedside needs. The two women I am with are both so pleasing, accommodating and elegantly beautiful that it is slightly difficult to concentrate without having to be distracted by their constant moving to and fro. This is turning out to be one of the very best things happening in my life as of this moment and might as well cherish the fact that this would not have been made possible if not for the suppressed guilt and blatant shamelessness I exhibited a little over a few weeks back. I treasure the faults as much as I value my gifts, this is what I have learned to achieve in thi…


Liberation, finally, is at hand.
There was a time in my life where I thought about giving up and wanting  to cause harm to others constantly, but now all that has torn asunder. My moment of peace has bear fruition and effect and starting today all that will remain constant and dynamic, an everlasting bliss filled with hope and vindication. I can finally concentrate more on my personal development without the cause of alarm of having to bear stressful and inhumane lifestyles of the poor and lazy. Indeed the year of the rabbit, my year of the rabbit (born 1987), is turning out to be consistently good. In any case, I need not be complacent or slip into obscure, irrational procrastination. I must remain steadfast in my desire to succeed. My vigilance to pursue this plan of action is going stronger. I have never felt so jubilant since the moment they all left me to rot in my old country. Reclaim what is meant to be mine, such is my next feat. Failure is not an option. It never stood a chanc…


Tomorrow, I'm finally moving out.
A day I've waited ever since I stepped into the soil of England. That was my first apparent goal. It has been quite a rough patch. I haven't even packed enough things yet for tomorrow's event and hardly anyone even bothers to care. Everyone's so pathetically indifferent to my pain. Yet I feel fine and couldn't care a penny less. Destination: High Street near Bow. Walking distance from Three Mills Studio where my workplace currently is. I had to procure stitches and burns to achieve this, and I'm paying dearly for my ingratitude. All is fair in hate and destruction, as I would say.


Tiny voices undulate the wall making path to deaf ears on the opposite edge. Head ringing at the buzz of the drum roll aching to ignore the fallaciousness. They began to laugh high notes and shrieking, all the more reason to smash the wooden stick to the colourful, plastic bubble while concentration diverts to the brown bed already, the day was done yet nobody lulls to sleep. Tiptoes can be heard from a short distance, could it be? Improbable. Probability equals to none. It ends when the light shuts up its rotten palate. Faint whispers of Tubthumping in the background, beginning to wallow in disparaging animosity shaking the foundation of nature and discourse. It shallowly disappears for a second. It fades to darkness, fades to black, fades to surreal, evolving and spinning, hardening its carapace. Horns are blown and thorns from roses become tongue in winter solstice. Black is to red and blue is to yellow. Narcotic, neurotic, episodic. The deformed masks found electrolytes in midday,…


Sprained my ankle tendons once again from running. This has become quite a routine during my jogging sessions. When that occurred I decided the best course of action was to instead just walk. After running for two kilometres I wouldn't think of switching to walking. The fulfilment was just not the same as it was when running. The reason people do running is to be exhausted and for their respiration to adapt to the sudden change. When one switches from running to walking there is no effort involved except the pain incurred to the soles of the feet flattening to the earth. Perhaps the same could be said of sexual intercourse, but my mind wanders once more to greater lengths undefined. Vivid imagination run rampant closing the doors to reality and introducing receptacles of perversity and frustrations rolling into one giant ball of wants that fail to materialise into something more artificial. I'm finishing my dinner and wine and now my eyes start to flicker and fingers yawn at t…

CSN Stores

I have been given opportunity to partake in this momentous occasion to deliver to you people the chance to showcase some of the finest home commodities, from bedroom furniture to home and kitchen appliances amongst others, that can only be found within one of the many amazing online stores brought to us by CSN. You have the privilege to choose from a wide variety of top-notch products, conforming either to the artful soul or to that of the contemporary everyday man, not to mention the hassle-free transactions and free delivery for most products. It is the most practical way of shopping for all the aficionados out there wanting a change of scenery or are just curious enough to try new things within their home. It simply has the widest range of products in any given categories. I can personally attest that shopping here has never been more easier, the customer service is highly remarkable, and the site in itself is quick and very easy to navigate. The prices are reasonably great and per…

Still ill

I may have skipped the third day of my insufferable mishap but I am proud to brag that I have conquered it like it was my poodle. Safe in the loving belly of my bed I sleep comfortably once more at night knowing now that I have half-succeeded in attaining that which I have fought for in the first place. It is not without bad karma that I am bed-ridden, lethargic, and vomits every now and then. It was only yesterday when I threw up inside the underground tube much to my dismay, an unfortunate circumstance plagued only by my inability to measure my own weaknesses. Much to my hilarity was the reaction of an old woman running away in disgust seeing me puke blue vomit in my hand. Blue was the colour having drank Powerade earlier that day in Three Mills. In turn, Studio A was unlikely safe from the grasp of my regurgitation terror, had a similar one at the outside rolling bathroom and another in a rubbish bin just at the entrance with unwilling shoes waiting to be contaminated with my blue …