Skip to main content

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 to see this poor fellow's face once again.

He walks on into an area filled with cobblestones. Slightly annoyed at first, he grew out of it immediately after the initial walks. His ways of adapting to certain conditions are quite astounding to say the least. By this time he sprints hastily towards the derelict structure on the near edge of the pathway. Constantly trying to avoid tardiness was his main morning antagonist. There was no other way than procrastinating and adjusting to the behaviour. It was his own personal pet peeve that could have been easily taken care of.

He stayed on that structure for the entire morning. His training is intensive but insubstantial. It takes hardcore dedication to achieve the necessities mandated by the module, although his motivation needs a little bit of boosting so to speak and the bounties are still questionable in nature. He regrets the fact that his ignorance got the better of him and his whim duly appointed.

He exited the high studios with more frustrations than ever before. He is tasked to deal with nincompoops from the inside. The less worst of their kind, fortunately, but nonetheless still horrendous notwithstanding. These are the pretentious types. The ones with the gift of gab with a mind of a blueberry seed. Those that are able to get away with things just because they have the ability to mask away their not-so-blatant idiocy but still idiots nonetheless. The faux intellectual. 'I'm smart because I thought of this, but to be honest I'm only just using rhetorical paradoxes to confuse the fuck out of you, clueless people.'

He was one of the clueless people. Only realising that fact after much review and thinking at home. He knows how deep the flaw of the system was, he was well aware of the fact that no matter how much he resisted it was to no avail. To them, he was the enemy, the obnoxious, misanthropic asshat who enjoys injecting misery upon others.

If only they knew he was more than that and what he was truly capable of. The mysteries lies in the form of broken shards of the future. Only then when reconnected does the ambiguity finally unravel itself.

Popular posts from this blog

Unprayer

Dark, darker, darkest, there is no difference. All hurts the same. Pain, everlasting, lingering. Pain, day and night. The hours are uncertain. Anything can happen now. Thinking about it hurts. Truth is unreliable. The romance is dead. My heart, it is lost. Unrecoverable, hateful, distrusting. Wishful, perhaps, but I have lost everything before and survived still. This one was special. So special. Embittered, the tip of my tongue tastes. The flavour of my life. Cuisine of kitchens unwanted. It burns, to the heart. I do not understand. I do not understand.

Me: Things that have happened to other people are happening in mine, the worst truly has come and not a moment too soon

My important wishes always happen to fall on deaf ears, and now something really, really bad (that has already happened before) is happening to me again. Beneath all the charade of misleading coulrotic bliss is a sad sap of a man merely wanting a bit of trust from everyone around him. Yesterday's news was Mioseon all over again, and it has drained me of all strength. The worst really has come, and heaven knows I'm miserable now.
So it goes without saying that the biggest tragedy I have ever undergone in my life is fighting for the life of my child whose face I will never see. The most perplexing event was having to beg over and over unknowingly oblivious to the fact that my words carry no weight at all. Mioseon had trapped me into a corner and made me complicit to a sin I tried very hard to disavow. Regardless, she had found a way, and judging from that experience, Miriam herself will submit me to the same torture all over again, guilty by association.
For some reason this wa…

Me: At ease, the worst of the worst has yet to come

The wind was cold today, a Sunday, a proper start to September. We are within these months again. The road to the end of a very short year. A year for me where very little was accomplished. At the very least, compared to the previous one, this was a surprise blessing. Not without its challenges. Not without its pains.
Miriam went to work an hour ago. We left each other at Starbucks after a mild break. I was trying to help her with the buses. She never seems to catch on with the intricacies of the public transportation. I let her know that the easiest (not necessarily the fastest) way to work is to take the 260 bus from across the street in our new place in East Acton and stop at the underground station in Shepherds Bush. From there, she can then take bus 94 going to Piccadilly Circus where she can easily walk to her workplace in Soho in about five minutes or so.
She begged me to join her. I was still groggy and asleep at two in the afternoon. That seems to be our common waking up pat…