Thursday, 27 January 2011

Day 2: Hellice

I braved the hellish cold after leaving the studios last night without any expectations in mind except perhaps a little bit of fear and paranoia. My body despised the memories of before back when I spent four miserable days and nights out in the wintry streets of London walking with only my willpower groove on half-empty. Last night was reminiscent of such a disastrous event. I took Jaime's advise and slept somewhere where there are long, overdue working hours like airports and international tube stations, decided to make a visit to King's Cross/St. Pancras International and did just that. It's extremely disgusting attempting to sleep in the bathroom, sure is. You're there leaning your head on the wall trying to catch some sleep when suddenly a guy on the other side farts and bleeds brown and the noise, oh the noise, is just so uncomfortable to the naked ears no matter how much you try to avoid it. I didn't last ten minutes, I just had to kill time some other way.

Even the insides of the edifice was chilly, kept my cool and hunger grounded, avoided all sorts of suspicion. Even under my heavily guarded garments the weather penetrates, pierces right through to my soul and sucks the life out of me. I can still hear my heart stammering that I feared I would probably require medical assistance a few moments from that point on. I persevered as I usually do, went on to some other alternatives, decided to go to random bus routes. To summarize it all, it wasn't as bad as what was about to happen but it sure was painstakingly difficult especially the going out part, searching for another vehicle in the middle of the night to pass by and hear your plea bargain of mercy. I reached Seven Sisters then Tottenham until rain set in to make matters all the fucking more worse than it already is. I could tell from just the experience that I had shed a tear that night. Twice. In different setting and situation. I just felt the urge to inflict as much pain and suffering to someone randomly, but I never acted upon it. I don't think I ever will. My mind is of a different world than my body. The bus from Tottenham reached Liverpool Street to my amazement and so I decided to take another different path to salvation, which was hardly even.

From this point forward, my goal was to reach Gants Hill through the Central Line and back again over and over until the station closed, after that only God knows where He'll smite me for my boorish pomposity that I exhibited towards my own mother. It became a matter of being able to hide away from any hints of the outside weather. As the doors opened on each stop, so did my vertebrae, clinging on to whatever was left on the lukewarm ambience of the reptilian vehicle. The tension grew more and more the farther away I get. People kept coming in and in and making noise, dancing to obnoxious music. I could swear I heard Spice Girls, while the old people in front of me enjoyed every moment of it, laughing with them making those girls more excited and kooky than they already were. I knew I just had to escape somehow. I didn't want to go out in a wide, open-spaced tube station where the torturous winds grew rampant. I had to stop somewhere safe. Lucky for me I did, so from Gants Hill I took the tube station back again until Tottenham Court Road in order to take the Northern Line which will bring me back to King's Cross/St. Pancras International, where I felt much comfortable than any of these places I've been since by that time I've already occupied enough time and the curtains began closing and everyone began packing up. To me, the dreadfulness of the night had just began. In any circumstance I was depending a lot on my Travelcard that went on for seven days and it expires a day after this upcoming Sunday, making me more nervous than ever before. I can't imagine not having some sort of transportation when I have nowhere else to crash and nothing to do. There was no alternative other than loitering on one established place that was hardly existent in this country. King's Cross/St. Pancras International would do, or Euston, for that matter, but each time I spend I grew weary of people staring at me uncomfortably while the ubiquitous scent of wind is nearing me each time I attempt to evade it. I returned to my toilet stall where finally some peace and quiet was resolved, but I found it difficult to concentrate whenever I accidentally press the flush button behind me. It sends my bum whirling like it was being absterged by a vacuum. I immediately gave up. With not much alternatives left, it was time for me to do it the hard way. Eat.

I found a halal restaurant across the station. My intention was already pretty clear in my mind. I'll buy nothing else except chips. They don't call them chips for nothing. That's also because they're cheap, and I'm running low on cash, I have to make do. It was a surprising success, I feigned the hunger buried inside my belly. I hoped to linger more than I should, but I couldn't. Not if I had to order over and over and over again. One was already too much for someone like me, and I'm hungry as a wolf to boot. Thirst then became an issue afterwards, another seventy pence down the drain just like that. Seventy pence, goddammit! That's all it was! Seventy fucking pence. I couldn't be more pathetic than that, trying to haggle a seventy pence soft drink.

The next event that transpired would be one for the ages. From that point in the restaurant back inside the station I walked unaided and calm looking for the nearest loo even though I barely needed it. Might as well use it while I still had the chance before everything turned sour. Again, I was hindered at the payment scheme of these absurd matters. Thirty pence this time. I shrugged it off, fuck it, and left. Instead of going back as I should have gone, I walked forward deeper into the station. It was dark and I noticed people walking towards a small pathway while construction workers work their way towards the renovation of the structure. After a short stroll, a tiny tunnel on my left side shaped like a grin opened up to me with a sigh of great relief and a hope. I continued on. There, despite almost feeling so out of place and almost trespassing, ventured on until I saw a familiar wall on the side. On top of it, it said 'Platform 3/4' and a stroller can be seen seemingly stuck in it, only half of it visible. Harry Potter! I yelled in my mind. What the fuck is that doing in a nasty place like this? Someone's playing some Jedi mind tricks on me. I ignored it for awhile, began to be more curious as to what was beyond the tunnel rather than that surreal wall. At the end of the tunnel I found out was a waiting tube. I had no idea where it planned to go or why. I used my phone to located my coordinates and to find its route but it wasn't there. It's beginning to be creepy at that point, but inside the tube were actual people with very elegant clothes, I felt obliged to come in, so I did.

Turns out it travelled towards Letchworth Garden City. Worst decision in my life. At least I garnered enough rest with the two long hours the travel cost, a delay helped cap off more minutes into sleep. But it wasn't worth it. I was in the middle of nowhere. Once I got there, there were no more trains going back until morning. I had to wait outside in the middle of the cold until one decides to drop by and is willing enough to send me back home. It was a long, barbaric two hours. I had to challenge everything I ever knew about this country. The steps I took had hints of snow in the vicinity even. I just wished I wasn't there when it'll happen. I'm going to kill myself if it ever did. I feared for life more than ever. Who knows what sorts of people inhabit this unknown place to me. It may have been the best place of the world, but for all I knew, I am but an alien lost in translation. I could feel my chest lock up and twist. I lied down on the ground, sat back up, squat leaning on the wall, walked back and forth, listen to the eerie alarm clock buzz off at four in the morning without anyone in sight. It was like Silent Hill, only I'm in it. Fuck if I ever want to experience such an awful thing. There's lots of things I would try but ghost towns with awful weather conditions are not.

When clock struck five, the cavalry finally arrived. That moment where you see light emitted from a distance like an angel telling you to relax and calm down, everything is okay, such was what I felt at that time. I was ecstatic of the news. I'm finally going back home, and if someone would ask me to pay I would probably tell them go call my parents. It couldn't possibly be free. Turns out it was free. My penis erection grew as was my sleeping pattern.

I arrived at King's Cross at around six, one hour earlier than I expected. I took the underground tube towards Hammersmith. I once again took some time to steal sleep during the travel. Once there, I miraculously mustered enough courage to pay for the loo even though I didn't need it at all. I just wanted to wash my face that badly. I could hear from where I stood at the loo the same sound I heard at King's Cross/St. Pancras International loo when one random man spat shit like it was Elmer's glue. Disgusting things happen frequently to me as witnessed and heard in this testimony. Went out and grabbed some breakfast inside Tesco. Sausage and egg that tasted like the exact same shit I've been listening to and milk that made me crap bucket loads of faeces more than normal people. Everything led to shit, as was how the night turned out to be shit, as was how the whole problem was shit. It's not money that makes the world go round, it's actually shit that makes it go round. That's probably how they designed toilet bowls, make the water spin swiftly to get rid of all that cluster of disaster. I went to LISPA all lazy and extremely exhausted, stole sleep again on one of the rooms, missed the early devising much to the disappointment of my colleagues. They wouldn't understand. Who would? Mine was a special case. I am a special case. A basketcase. Full of shit.


Wednesday, 26 January 2011

Day 1: Rise and fall

Okay, so the continuation to Creep will have to wait. These past few days have been quite rocky and last night turns out to be the last straw. I gave up on life and everything associated with it in general. Now I normally don't get dragged down by someone else's burdens but if that someone else turns out to be someone who has been with you throughout your existence then you might as well forget it. The 'fuckingness' absurdity of the one to blame is near impossible to vindicate, so my only answer to that was just to run away. As fast as I can. Away from all the petty foolishness brought on either by someone you love or someone you love but you don't love no more, just so you could avoid that irresistible urge to retaliate and commit something else more heinous that you undoubtedly would regret. I'm 100% homeless, without a place to call my own, without anyone to care in the world, without a fiver in my wallet. Not even my wallet itself. Left it there with the jolly fuckers at home rejoicing for finally getting the boy with a thorn on his side away from their thornier thorns on their sides.  I don't know how long I would last in this ever continuous ghastly weather. I don't even have any idea where to sleep. I immediately thought of finding a very pathetic job just to hopefully make ends meet, although I left my National Insurance number in my wallet. No chance in hell I'm going to survive now having only carried some clothes and this laptop and phone. This can of worms I've opened is quite tedious. I'll need all the help I can without requiring any assistance, and there is no way in hell to do just that. Banging my dick on the wall wouldn't help either. My eyes droop at the hint of evening cold, tears undulate rolling down into my neck, not of sadness or pain but of aggression. This pitfall I have found myself into will not be the end of me. My mother, father, they will pay dearly. There just comes a point in time that even the taboo of not being able to honour thy father and mother needs a hard kick in the groin. I'll just wait and see, bleed as well white licorice.

Monday, 17 January 2011


She was anxious to leave the flat the moment she woke up. Her deep repugnance for her current disposition is no secret even to those that surround and care for her.

Armed with a laptop in bed, ChloĆ© checks up on all that is needed to be checked and maintained, fiddled with some of her materials and collection, and played some of her tunes for good measure. She picked up her guitar that hasn’t been touched in ages and calibrated it. She never pays attention to it more often than before, her interest now is mostly diverted into drums. One strum of it brought forth nostalgia from days gone by, a haunting leap from the throat that she had long forgotten, erased and failed to consider. And so she stayed on with it longer than she thought, composed herself for preparation in front of the glass window while the pale bright sky reflects back from her face.

She knew her moment to shine won’t arrive anytime soon, not even this day. There is no exception, she thought. There never is or was. The cycle of her day-to-day activity has always been very predictable for her. Nothing surprises her anymore. It’s always been pathetic and stale in comparison to that of her brother’s, she assumes.

A party for all the people, her colleagues and acquaintances, she knew in the workplace, such was an event that was to happen that fateful night. A moment to reconsider their relationships and hopefully blossom into something bigger, deeper and better. It wasn’t all that important to her, she has already concluded herself in her mind to be incompatible with them in so many ways even she cannot keep track of. As long as that boundary of fragile respect remains unscathed within the coterie, then she can forcefully live with it and them. Her intention for coming was only to deviate from that highly predictable nature of her direction in life. Sometimes she imagines an alternate reality where the balance is no longer there, that she dives into a freefall of despair and agony, and that her weak human character and lack of initiative was going to be her prolonged inevitable demise.

Her flamboyant and outlandish desire to impress can hardly be unseen in the manner of which she chooses the stitches to wear. Although inexpensive and bargains, she chooses only the smart variety which are almost deceivingly designer ones. One would have difficulty differentiating both on a distance. On the contrary, it doesn’t always go smoothly as planned. Despite having an attire that is seemingly glamorous, beneath all the fine threads and blazer is a struggling gait. She wasn’t unfortunately gifted with the perfect body that she hope for, although she tries, but her procrastination always begets the worse in her.

Her room is always in a complete chaotic mess afterwards. No matter how hard she tries to avoid that habit of just giving in to her petulant laziness, it’s always never in her jurisdiction to decide that course of action. Well, technically, she still does in a way, but also doesn’t. Her cognition impairment was intent of maintaining that condition of unease, her cries for constant change were always left fallen on deaf ears.

Men from the the other room can be seen preparing themselves as well for something. She assumes they have their own business to attend to, surprisingly wearing something refreshing beneath all that drab. She has always ignored them even though they live one step apart. It is figured that it was her way of exhibiting that regal dominance and class difference with people she most likely does not want to associate with. Regardless of that, she still remains that desire to be desired, that impulse to impress is still highly tempting.

Ironically enough, she was not much of anything herself either, only in a delusion that she created where she can at least pretend to do so.

Her brother left without even a goodbye. She wasn’t expecting any, but she regret the fact that it turned out in a way she unintended. Their relationship is nothing short of strictly civil. Like a fraternal bond between soldiers. There is that strong sense of respect, but the lightheartedness has its lights already flickered out. For what it’s worth, she could only wish for his peace and that he could find solace from people so he can forget about her while she wallows in her own selfishness and grief.

Not only is the sibling relationship somehow compromised, but also the parental ones are most often the guiltiest root of all self-loathing nature that one person can relate to. The seed should have a plant to always come from. This internal loathing within the family has been highly flammable from the get go, and one undoing is all it takes to combust the streak of diplomacy that is constantly under tension. It is not something people would want to be in the middle of, unless one desires the destruction of their humanity and shredding of the tangible concept of morality within a given frame. Shades of violence will occur, not because of misunderstanding, but of sheer hatred directed at each other. She would take it upon her the responsibilities of carrying the world in her shoulders including the madness associated with it. Her resolve is uncanny and unmatched by anyone she knew of. It proved to be very productive, but the ends do not justify the means. She anticipates the moment wherein her own strength cuddles up and shows the weakness it truly is. Their reproach is also hers to live for, a legacy of blind justice and scorn.

Now wrapped up and ready, she sets forth to the outside world that she longs for. The cool breeze of the wind congratulated her hair as she opened the door whispering compliments of joy and excitement for the hours to come. Her faltering thoughts would have none of it; the idea boggles her mind. To this woman, happiness can only be achieved once and never again; a one-of-a-kind elation, like orgasm only more. What comes next would only be the depression that she already possesses. This tragedy consumes her and traumatises her inner being relentlessly, like scissors chasing paper on an infinite, narrow alleyway. Every step she took down the steps were heavier and there happens to be pressure on to her back as a sign that her weak stature is always at risk for anything, as if she was meant to perish sooner than later. Her life was expendable, but it’s not an indication to her not to try pulling herself back up. There remains that desire that we’ve discussed earlier, and it fuels her every single moment, giving her a slight glimpse of hope that is near-impossible to achieve. But that hope is all that she lives for now and not a single thing in this world matters to her except that. She walked away from the flat without looking back. There was nothing in it to look back to. It wasn’t comfortable for the sight to behold. It represented her manifesting rage, her twisted ideologies of freedom and the absence of success associated with the edifice. The reek of chicken smell from the restaurant kitchen down below did nothing to alleviate that pain in her, instead adding a literal itch to her already suffering body contour.

She normally chooses to walk, but seeing as that her Oyster card has been topped up for the entire week, then she might as well make the most out of it. Adding to that, the chill isn’t as friendly as it seems to be, it penetrates even the deepest wool, and one would be left shaken and almost paralysed. That alone is not a good indication to roam the streets more often. She calls for a companion, the one that invited her over to tonight’s festivity. With her on the bus stop are the men that lived one door next to her which she paid no attention to and still up to this point. They were carrying some sort of bag which sparked no particular interest. It was just that after all the drab they put on earlier, she now wondered if they too are planning to enjoy the night away, or to live in misery under the slimy skirt of a mistress to a job in which one would obviously be furious of. Their own people’s choice of jobs and career are astoundingly poor for her taste, and it irks her to no end. After a brief and confusing conversation with her friend it has been decided that they were to meet at their place in four more hours. That gave her more room to waste but also less option to choose. She is undecided where to pass that time, anywhere would be good except back at her hellish place.

And so she began a new adventure once more. The bus and tube travel alone are particularly hectic, and despite the boredom they are commonly associated with, the time spent on these are extremely capable time killers. With her infinite travel card in hand, the options are infinite. Her loneliness demands no reprieve. She is reminded by the idea held in her own mind, those difficult things that people find hard to fathom. She embraces that shadow of a doubt, and with her it travels towards the unknowing space that lies ahead. She enters a well-known shopping centre within the heart of the town. Her walking alone was very demanding to the needs of all the others. They see it as a sign of vulnerability. She thinks they are truly misinformed but acknowledges the fact that a part of what they assume is true. Her secrets were lame and obvious, but sometimes it just might work. This wasn’t one of them. It took her a lot of time and patience to stroll around without purchasing much, her financial resources were very limited. Half of it she believes are reserved for the copious amounts of alcohol she would highly likely consume that night. Not that she has any alcohol issues or anything, if any it’s mainly because she doesn’t have any. There is no reason to consume spirits when you are alone, except maybe to reinforce that notion of how pathetic and low one person can get when it comes to depression.

After much walking and sprinting loitering in the corners as if about to consume the blouse that she is trying to fit in, her feet began to swell and feel the pressure setting in. The long walk was exhausting, but it proved valuable in killing time. She was in part hungry that she could almost feel her muscles fainting. It was hardly believable that she already spent hours within those ceilings. All that she could bother to waste money to was a classic novel by Anthony Burgess called A Dead Man in Deptford. She had no idea why she bought it, only that she partly liked one of his previous works, the now infamous A Clockwork Orange, which was made to film by a highly-respectable director, Stanley Kubrick. Her interest in the language of Nadsat remains up to this day.

She departed from the edifice and once again walked east without destination for now, mayhap hoping to find someplace to eat.

She ends up wandering at an entrance of the underground tube station. The temptation to travel much easier was much too powerful than walking along a blind path. Maybe then she could find somewhere to relax and just sit back to eat. For the most part, she did just that all by herself, obviously. Afterwards, she ventured forth towards the place, finally getting the action that she deserves after countless attempts to do so. All the travelling made her a little bit nauseous, too.

She arrived at the intended stop. Stopped by in an off-license shop to grab a couple of cans before heading into her friend’s place, it would be rude not to.

On her way to her friend’s, she was greeted by two persons leaning on to her like geckos thrown to a wall, slithering as if their intention was to make her realise how playfully coherent their bonding is, mocking her unintentionally in the process. Turns out they are two of the few people heading to the party. The three walked together towards the place. Finally for her, things are shaping up pretty well from that point forward. She is now in the loving caress of familiar people. As if they’ve never seen each other just a day before. But they actually did. Point still stands, at least comfort begins filling up her exhausted ego.

(to be continued)

Tuesday, 11 January 2011


My febrile condition has finally ceased in merely hours after the initial rest. Unfortunately, time was wasted on certain opportunities which failed to manifest due to this unforeseen circumstance which also was supposedly a moment of priority. Another full day has arrived and in this calling I would like to emphasize the value of formulation. In this way I will begin the next phase of assault against those marauders that fail to understand the simplicity of instructions. My objective for now is to lay low, and with keen observation, gather information about the goal and accomplish that said task.

Monday, 10 January 2011

English Socialism revival

My fear of the unknown finds more suspension in my weakness than it is in my strength. Last I recall the process of withdrawal from the trauma of depression was excruciatingly torturous and, like barbiturates, induces me to commit foul travesties of mediocrity and uselessness and temporary stupor of mind and body. Luck has never found its way towards me. If ever she had any plans of reconciliation then heaven forbid she failed miserably in her objective and to that I give to her a big middle finger in her sore excuse of a slut of a face. Never have I found something as hypocritical as faith in all things good. There exists no such idea. This false claim was revamped from old epic folk tales of a hero that stands between what it is that serves as good and evil. Hardly many people fail to think such a marvellous thought could prevail at first glance. Everyone anticipates a closed ending where the protagonist always claims his birthright victory over the gargantuan evil entity opposite of what this purported hero stands for. For what reasons does this fragile balance ever stands between the way of destiny? There is no one answer, of course. Not even a god can anticipate the outcome. The error of judgment will be the legacy of the foolish. One must stand for what he believes for, good it is or not. Unfortunate that I stand where all these paradoxes dare not flourish. I am my own genre now. Nothing can classify me other than what my soul classifies its self on its own. Suffice to say, the mirror of the universal truth now lies in the ability to forge what others have before us. In accordance to great artists I dare say this has far gone too long to linger and await being stolen. Allow me to be the bearer of evil. This will be my ultimate sacrifice to mankind. My own personal Jesus mission. What others have miserably failed in the past will be vindicated by my actions now, and what vindications that arise are solely based by my ability to succeed. My mouth will be the bearer of badwill as opposed to the goodwill of the masses. A goodwill that has already prolonged in its power. With nothing to oppose it, it now ceases to be productive and that I cannot dare accept. My spit will be the prime catalyst of crime and corruption. Plunder is my ultimate prize. World domination will be at hand. Politics will cease to exist, except in a form of what I choose to mould it into. This is my promise to everyone before the day I pass away. My soul will be your soul and your soul is mine forever. The memories will bear offspring of goblins which only lives and breathes for my sole purpose. Walk of life will vastly differ from the current disposition. Wilful opposition sprout and will be immediately exterminated. English Socialism will live on for eternity and be ubiquitous as that of your own genitalia. My gift of grace to the endless reciprocity of tasteless love and vanity that consumes the generations to generations.

Saturday, 8 January 2011

Placebo, say yes

Return to pseudo-productivity. What else is there in store for the boy with a thorn on his side? Not particularly sure if prepared, but he will take it head on, reckoning even at this early stage that this week would rather be bumpy and perilous, and not too sure why, but surely will be able to manage as usual.


We chase misprinted lies
We face the path of time
And yet I fight
And yet I fight
This battle all alone


Party like it's 2002!

Thursday, 6 January 2011

In the name of

Frustrating, why do I always find a reason to frustrate myself? This cacophony of echoes bursting like O2 Arena speakers in a mirage of self-torture. I missed another opportunity, and I don't want to miss another one, for the next objective is quite special to me, but I need something. I need to prepare for it and find another thing special beneath the complexities of my character. I need to burst into my Yoko Kurama, whatever it is, wherever it is, I need badly and I need it soon. Scratching my gonads are a thing of the past. More than once is enough, twice is bluff, thrice and I'll be here for awhile. 

Wednesday, 5 January 2011


For those of you who saw the maple tree and thought of it as their lover
For those of you who got run down by a dog and felt it laugh
For those of you who spoke to a shrink and got told to buzz off
For those of you who spilt milk on a plane and caused panic
For those building blocks I lost out of nowhere when I was four
For those clothes you once wore but all of a sudden is now old
For the moon high up above who chants faint whispers and glow
For all the meat I stuffed into my mouth before I became a vegetarian
For the fake guitar at home I  used to impress my friends coming over
For the books I failed to read and used solely for decorative purposes
To my mom and dad I love to hate and still hate all the more
To my sister whose innocence proved fatal to our demise
I should have known
I should have known
I repeat, I should have known
So I wouldn't be alone

Tuesday, 4 January 2011


Spend some time with the world and discover the beauty and madness derived from human imperfection.


So my resolution wasn't so resolute after all. Not that I expected much really. Or should I say, I did expect much only to procrastinate as usual. I decided to alter my plans and instead revert back to my previous way of not eating rice. Nasty thing, that is. I don't see any improvement with my snakehole at all. It's just as rotund as before, and equally nasty as any other spiteful thing. What are the chances of me changing into something productive? Seems like the odds are from zero to none at all. This year should be a different set knowing that this is the year of the rabbit. I'd take all the superstition I can if that's what it takes for me to be sensible. On top of that, the astrological age is also that of the Pisces. Everything points out to my favour, but nothing really ever changes, nothing ever matters, nothing is... I'm nothing. And that's the bottom line, wallowing in self-pity. Despite the sun's infinite form, it only takes a lifetime to witness, and then everything falls back to being expendable.

Saturday, 1 January 2011

Cold as ice

The bird's golden talons latched on to her back as she turned around in intense pain. She was hopelessly cornered by the bird of prey. The animal then began lifting her up into the air with a powerful force unimaginable of its weight and size. All she could do was watch herself be dragged into all of it in fear. It then began floating high up into the sky still latched on to the woman's clavicles painfully. Her skin would droop as if it was about to get torn apart from her body. Blood started dripping through her shoulders and into her breasts and back. She had no other option but to close her eyes and wait for it to end.

When the girl opened her eyes, she woke up in a dark cellar somewhere and immediately thought she was dreaming all along, but the scars penetrated by the claw of the fowl and the blood stain in her clothing proved otherwise. She had no recollection of what happened then. The place was filled with nothing but soiled linen and cobwebs made by impecunious spiders and it smelled of rotten eggs and unwashed feet. Light was scarce. The only source of light were from tiny holes in the ceiling which then came from the other floors above. She was alone and scared stiff. She would remain there for the next four days without food and company.

On the fifth day, a man came down to see her. He had a regal aura in him, and his white beard was as much as distracting as the sound of dripping water from a distance. He wore royal clothes made of fine silk and leather, and he looked at her in disgust and shame. He stood there for awhile without moving and she wanted to say something, if only she had the energy to do it. Disgracefully, she crawled towards him like a lizard coming out of a rock, slithering and dirty. She reached for his left boot while he remained astounded of her actions towards him. She almost touched the boot, but then he pulled it back and moved a step backwards. She lifted her head up and looked at him, with eyes begging for mercy and to spare her life.  He spat on her face and walked away. She wept once more without tears any longer, she had used it all up. He opened the door and light came in and disappeared, locked the door shut with a thunderous thump.

The next day the same man appeared while she was still asleep, weaker than usual. She woke up from the sound of the clunking of the keys in his hips. He brought along a tray with a tiny bowl filled with porridge. She could smell the nice aroma from the ground, and she would salivate shortly whatever is left of it. His countenance was unchanged, cold and unbearable. He put the tray down steadily without releasing his sights on her.

'Champion,' he said, finally opening his mouth, with his pride remaining intact and on hold. She crawled to the tray pathetically. 'You can call me that.'

She would pay no mind to him, preoccupied by the fact her mind demands her to grab the porridge immediately on that spot, the sense of hunger consumed her. She ate it like it was her last meal on earth, messy and disgusting, unhygienic and unlikely of a woman. But she was no longer concerned about that once the pain kicked in.

'"You're digging for gold, you're throwing away a fortune in feelings, but someday you'll pay." Does that sound familiar to you?' he asked.

She stopped eating there and then. She begins to understand. All of this, all that is happening, it is becoming much more clearer to her now. She looked at him wide-eyed and could not believe her eyes.

He slyly makes a broken smile. 'You do. Good.' He walks away, she remains appalled and dumbfounded. A feeling of guilt starts overwhelming her as she remembered the days from long ago. He disappeared in the background but she remained sitting on her legs, head down. She finally understands, and now she regretted every little thing. She closed her eyes.

She woke up at home in the middle of the night with the sound of a bird in the window and the otherworldly moon gazing at her, mesmerising. 


Wall-e in my workstation.


We lost one guy to alcohol tonight. He was probably swapping sweat with Frankenstein's wife. They deserve each other after sprinkling us with spit every time he opens his mouth, although I'm still a bit worried where he is and how he's doing. Probably happier than my current disposition, I suppose. Lucky bastard. Cheeky, but lucky.

Goal unme(a)t

Not even a day passed after 2011 and I already committed a grave error of not being able to keep my resolution. I promised myself to no longer eat meat and just strive on fruits and vegetables for a healthier lifestyle. After the party, I was hungry as a wolf, agitated as a whore. The table greeted me with wine and cider and meat at home. Fruits were present too, but who'd notice such a thing when my drool lusts for the flesh of bovine? Is it possible to skip the first day for the resolution and start maybe tomorrow? My willpower is weak sauce.

Happy New Year! (not again)

So I just got back from my NYE party. It was so short and unsatisfying. Midnight struck and I didn't even notice it until people inside were singing Auld Lang Syne in unison. Had our glass of champagne and that was it. We just had to go home, night's over, everyone's tired from the long travel beforehand.

This night was not anything special as opposed to all the others. Last year was way worse though, and I'm glad I have this now rather than last year's once again. A funny thing happened. One blonde girl hit on me, and I pussed out as fucking usual. Sorry, dad. I am such a disappointment, hah. I blanked out unknowingly, and everything was as easy to get as ABC, and I messed up big time. I should do more of this eyeing stuff next time, but next times are not always the same. Regret, anxiety, disgrace, disappointment.

I'm not going to sleep well tonight, am I? Fuckity fuck fuck.

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