Skip to main content


Showing posts from 2015

An update

Still cannot catch a break; exhausting. I found myself doing good and honest work with a company for a week now. My rookie day was long and I found myself thrown at the thick of things. Fast forward to today, I find myself joyful at the thought of maintaining this tedious job, if only for the flexibility it brings.
However, my life is a cruel mistress, staved off by attacks coming from all directions. This too shall not last.
It is nigh impossible to obtain documents I have not seemingly earned, for something unnecessarily kept. It seems things never do commit to a fair play.



Bae or no bae

There is nothing more that can ruin a man's night than a missed kiss. A kiss so close you lean for it and then her head just moves away like an infant who wanted nothing to do with food. It plagued my night and day and the following night and day again. I am clearly not meant for this task.
For what it is worth, it is high time for me to ruin my life further and detach and dissociate myself from the rest of the outside world for the third time, further destroying my faith and sanity on my own self and the entire humanity.
Regardless of what has been said, I do not condone this and I have yet to feel a dysfunction creep right through me.

Swinging by with an alibi

Roxana found herself outside my doorsteps unexpectedly. I did not even have the time to react. It was the shittiest time she could shown herself there, and now I reap what I have sown. Of course, I wish it was under better circumstances that we found ourselves swimming over. When I opened the door, she had a fag in her gabber and I just stood there lifeless and gutted, feigning for a hug. Was I the one that influenced her the error of my ways?
She had always appeared tired whenever she graced herself in presence. Her face was slightly red, swollen by fatigue, the pores on her cheeks form tiny craters side by side. Her golden hair, ruined by the wind and rain's wicked howl, was missing a slight tint. She had centaur thighs after walking all day, and she had not a single penny for god knows why or how. But there I stood across her body that reeked of toxic air, seducing this woman with my lacklustre charm.
It was a shitshow, that one, clearly, but we were making the most out of the…

The Vagabond, pt. II

Much has been done but very little in fact Such is the state of the man whose heart remains intact When it should have leapt the risk of being broken When the night was whiskful and both of us downtrodden
I was a foolish man to think that it was fine In fact it hurt a lot It was such a selfish act
Please give me one more chance

Kurwa, or learning how to unlearn my learned leanings

I think it was the colour of her melon-shaped face that turned me completely off. She was so photogenic though. When she -- a stranger to me back then -- had asked me whether or not she could stay at my place for a few days or so, who was I to say no? She had captivated me fully with a photograph, and all I could do was to submit my faith fully. Just this one time, I remember whispering to myself. And then never again.
But I was obviously lying to myself. There was another thing already lined up even before this transaction with a stranger was finalised.
There she was, standing in a corner, waiting for me. The first thing that I had noticed was her hair. It was unkempt, sort of untidy, very unlike the one in her photograph. Did she deceive me? was my initial reaction. When I had glanced at her face for the first time, she seemed totally different than was expected and yet somehow still uncannily familiar.
She looked exactly like the woman that I had shared intimate time with exclusiv…

Wherever there is shape, there is a memory, and, wherever there is memory, there is also both love and hate.

Little did she know that the moment she walked into the door she had submitted herself at the mercy of his manipulative ways. What remained of her freedom was outed as a mere illusion and her future rests in his inability to organise his own. She was as helpless as tofu is alternative to pork. She could not have foreseen the error of her ways so soon.
Well, she learned now and learned she did.
Whenever he used her body as if it was a tool of possession used only to be discarded again and again, she would always turn a blind eye. She had convinced herself that her soul was loosely detached from the physical aspect of her being, and that whatever cruelty and violence he inflicted upon her sexuality would only be but a scratch to the core of her humanity. He was not a thoroughly deplorable person, and she at times found herself at the other end of a blissful climax as well as falling into the disappointment of not being able to fully satisfy their own. The mechanics of the body is a cru…

Complacency, pt. II

Stop me if you think that you've heard this one before

It is always so fucking exhausting when the body anticipates waking up before the alarm is able to. Feels as if your entire physical will crumble on you at any time during the day without a moment's hesitation. Clearly I have had no rest. But that's hardly the truth. I do in reality had enough of rest. The problem is when the time of rest doesn't even abide by any schedule and you wake up late at night not knowing what to do afterwards.

My schedule was to head to Brighton. After all these fuckingly retarded years. Iceland instigated all of this, and I am yet in the same bind; cash was scarce and nobody was there to lift me back up to save me from myself. It is a sad state of affairs indeed; now I comtemplate whether the plan to visit Sabrina in Wien was a good idea. There is nothing here for me in London but an unlimited supply of restarts, after all.

I had arrived in Euston with enough time to roam about and gathe…

Complacency, pt. I

What a day! What a lovely day!

Some days you develop a nagging intuition that a particular day was destined to be epic, storied, and one to treasure to heart only to end up being just the total opposite. Saturday was one of these days.
A couple of days prior to this monumental disappointment, I had inquired of Iceland's condition through Facebook after he disappeared without a trace on our last night out to Shoreditch.

He responded with, "I was running for half an hour totalky [sic] drunk." He was trying to catch the last train to Watford.

To tell the truth, he was quite the troublesome sod that night. All the women in our group were bothered by his unkindly behaviour; Eva, Monica, Bruna, Erica, Susana, and another Brazilian whose name escapes me (probably rhymes with Ferefa or Fafala or Falala, whatever other common Portuguese-sounding name derivative it was), were somewhat livid. Me and Eva happen to be wiggling our twerkers (struggle as I might) when Iceland would for…


She had some sort of wicked mystery to her; the kind that suffocates a man with temptation and desire. One that I wanted no part of, and yet here I stand ranting about her effects on my character, as if a mouse allured by the music of a pied piper. Fitting that the aforementioned woman here is from Vienna, where music plays a vital role in its culture. Where symphonies and orchestras, balls and whatnot, intertwine to form a cavalcade of passion, decadence, and other posh leanings. Suffice to say I am intrigued by the prospect of a short visit in her motherland, if also only to see Sabrina in all her glory. It had been such a long time since we last shared the same air and space, and eager to create new crooked smiles and tragic mishaps.
However, this woman in question is not Sabrina. She is of a different flavour and context; she is fire when Sabrina is ice; she is work when Sabrina is play; she is ambition when Sabrina is happiness. One whose future denotes a compound of worthwhile …

The Vagabond, pt. I

Once there came a man of youth who fought for life as if he fought for love; He had no spouse nor child nor pet; only a pen which he grips on to like a moth to a flame.
His weapon completes him; it complements his strength as a vagabond. No other tool is more useful than when he seeks the right word, for the right time, and for the right moment. Everything else in the world they stutter but words Words carry a man steadfastly in time Words give value to a man's present in someone else's present in time.

Dream a little dream of me

There are lots of things to like about a good night out when you happen to wake up the following afternoon dishevelled and nauseous, ready for another go, and aching to jump back into the fray of that missed opportunity. I played with some woman's heart. In the end, she played mine. She always wins. No matter who this "she" happens to be at any given moment. If you ask me whether or not I do regret these, well, to be honest, sometimes, yes.
I never get things right the first time. Repetition is something that is etched into my core that whenever I fail to get the chance to do something all over again, I lose all momentum. That was what happened to Mioseon, and everything else good that happened before or after that. My profession, if you even call it that, has the same conundrum, and now it's buried amongst the long-forgottens. Before Friday night, Angelo asked me to tell Eva to come join his party. She immediately responded, and it was a foolish thing for me to tak…

Infinite Jest

The smell of food attracts the prey. I fell for it, it seems. There was no miracle in my life but the sound of her voice. Hoarse, but oddly comforting. Ugly. Rather enchanting, however, was the habit of having to listen to it every day. The first wind of her morning breath permeating in bed. As foul a smell as turd can be. But I had no cause to complain. Morning sex. She responds, never resists. It was anticlimactic, and how can one reach climax in something like that?
Underwhelming, sure. Nauseating, yes. Definitely aversive.
But... doesn't it always, always, always seem to go that you never know what you have until it's gone?


Was I ever wrong? About things. Things that influenced me, big or small. Boy, was I ever wrong about things. But I could never tell where it was that I was wrong. About things. Only that I was wrong, and now that I admit that I was wrong I still will be wrong. Over and over. Again and again. And pretend I never was. Even if I am. Because I just know now that I am and will always be wrong. Even if.

The Great Battle of Sadness

Thus began a new chapter in my book of life. Armed with jazz, I move on towards new endeavours. Officially I am now alone. As if I was ever in the company of someone else's. It's hard to assume the best when the worst keep imposing itself upon me.
Independence, what do I make of it? I could run off now to who-knows-who and god-knows-where. At least I have some semblance of sanity knowing I can express my thoughts now, if this is what would pass as.
I try to be decent. I try to blend in, to actually flow along the tide now. Tomorrow I have a guest at home, and it's been years since the last. Feels like forever. It is forever. The past year or two, a blur. A blur of literal nothingness, no jest, of my own doing. Rebellion of a heart that will forever feel slighted. No voice of reason. No one to calm my wits to tell me all is right. Every single thing is a sham, and now I swim with the shammery and yada-yada. Let's taste the shit that shit will endure.
Father, discarded…


I want to walk but not run; Running tires me easily And I still have a long way to go; If for a chance I fall I'll just lie down and rest and keep going when the sun has rested as much as I have

Still ill

And suddenly I'm wanted It feels nice to be loved Now I feel that strange burden again Holding me back Acting as if love is a crime And I don't deserve it It just would not satisfy No matter what I do I appreciate it I really do But I have been kept in the dark for some time now That any light shining through my eyes Feels ten times as painful So this fear inside me is growing Out of something very beautiful I cannot foresee a happy ending to this I just want to run away But then where do I go from here?
Scratch that
I have an infinite number of places to go The problem is where to stay

An urge for an itch

Something dawned on me yesterday. Despite my inner desires to break free but the shackles of my whatever-this-nagging-feeling-is, I was never really even that. Subconsciously, it was something else, and I still could not comprehend why deep down what I wanted was never really what I needed. So when Erica invited me to come with them and a new (some at least) group of people, all of a sudden, there was no longer any urge from me to go, but still I did, not out of necessity of whatever-this-nagging-feeling-is, but because I want to be in the company of acquaintances I have, in a span of weeks, grown fond of.

A Priori

A Priori (310715)
But is heaviness truly deplorable and lightness splendid? The heaviest of burdens crushes us, we sink beneath it, it pins us to the ground. But in the love poetry of every age, the woman longs to be weighed down by the man’s body. The heaviest of burdens is therefore simultaneously the image of life’s most intense fulfilment. The heavier the burden, the closer our lives come to the earth, the more real and truthful they become. Conversely, the absolute absence of a burden causes man to be lighter than air, to soar into heights, take leave of the earth and his earthly being, and become only half real, his movements as free as they are insignificant. What then shall we choose? Weight or lightness?

Dancing Mad

Feel I am dancing mad for sure The birds would sing in unison Where words are gone and feathers undulate The lone rooster then losts in tune And if by chance the hens dominate He gives himself into the disguise There always is one that draws him in Even if none of them fall under the spell So then we act the fool and wait A weeklong agony, a fistful of despair O longing bring the birds back their flair! Give the man a one for heaven's sake It's not every day joy slips into view When as slippery as slime it bleeds mocked Heads will roll and we try again Three hours worth of fantasy in a world where make-believe is an empty endeavour. How can my murder rejoice to this then? Week after week after week Then goodbye, nothing more How droll! Prithee bring me back my hopes and fears!  My tragedies and desires! Nights spent awake in excitement Over joy, over hope, over love, over you.

Eager for tomorrow -- and after that nothing... over and over again

How long is a week to someone dogged by some unresolved vitality? Not too long perhaps but the feeling is nevertheless torturous. To chase the wind and have it easily swept away in an instance, there is no life ever so lonelier.
It becomes sort of a motif in this routine to wake up only wanting to go back to bed and hoping not to break free from a more tantalising fantastical reality wherein my smiles are fully-formed and in actuality more recognised than here in this very plane we are in, where there is more of isolation and ignorance than pleasance. It is simply not right - to chide man for the everyday coincidences of life; this beauty is far more encompassing than ever thought realised. It is then to that reality that a man, even if he or she is one step ahead of every one else, will always remain in this plane of reality unahead; the illusion of their observed advantaged is neither misplpaced nor mistaken, it is simply a matter of perspective.

This heatwave is making me wave a white flag of surrender, and it may be that you should too

Would it not have been that a good rest is hard to come by and simply by living felt like walking through a deluge It would be that I am nothing more but a plankton in it and that my one wish, unbeknownst by many, is to fly just as any pig wishes to do so themselves. To swim is arduous; to fly would be immaculate. But truth hits harder than when I hit a random face with a brick: I am but a fry. One day it will be I will cease to be, so will the waves that come crashing down dragging everything and everyone that came before along with it. It is nigh impossible for me to give an ounce of care to anything else especially now that I wrought this in stone. Only my primal instincts keep me from completely crumbling down and caving in, with which I am clearly not proud of. What is a fry to be when out of its element? Where is its school and where do lost fries find a new one? How do they acclimate in newer waters? If other fries have done a way, why couldn't I? Truly the worst part of i…

A Gentle Molestation

Had I the words to say the things I want to say, I want to ask the world for forgiveness. For the air endures me and keeps me alive. For the light that shines upon those that deserve only the dark.
But I digress. I find this self-pity humiliating. I have been embarrassed by you and you and you. Perhaps you too, even from the very first. A man can say a man can only suffer for so much for far too long. If I should be smited today from the very sky that domes me, then I gladly accept without fear of retaliation.
But who will have the audacity and power to smite me out of spite? God? A mental construct borne from the fear of the unknowable sight. To besmirch the physical man from his emotional state and trade its concept of fear with the image of this omnipotent being is to betray the very foundation of man's consciousness verily.

One queer sunny evening

yesterday perpetual boredom led me to do something i have been aching to do in quite awhile move so what happened was i whimsically turned away from this laptop and went straight to proper gear the flops were bad though i could say it took me five hours to do a whole walk from shepherds bush to the outskirts of twickenham approximately from around five in the afternoon under the waning hours of the solar heat until eleven in the evening which was around the time father would have returned from work i did it out of spite from my current predicament that which is comparable to a sloth perhaps worse and i needed to spit at any concept of comfort now that i am of the realisation that i could be getting old as other older people have made me aware i enjoyed the walk thoroughly i enjoy every pain endured and thought of it as more of something that i deserve than something which prohibits me from doing things because i have to be frank i have been doing nothing but nothing over the past yea…

Fly, you fools!

Let me just preface by opining that I expected something better. Disappointment is the wrong word; I was content, although the want for more lingers in the bayou. Were I to achieve something worth flaunting about now then I might as well build myself something worth writing about today. Something close to my heart; something that captures the essence of human spirit; the reason for living; the satisfaction of purpose. All that jazz.
All will come in time, I hope, and all will be told. To be fair, the acquaintanceship developed moments ago was satisfactory. There was one bio-mechanical entity who made me flutter like a canary, but that's perhaps because my tendency to be avian is clear for all to see. Stop showboating; there is no competition to be had. Shameless, and I should cower to the corner and bleed and cry. 
I'm getting old, I found. More than I have ever realised. It frightens me so. All those ominous accidents with strangers turned out to be partially true, and I rem…

Munia Volant

When I began to address her about the situation regarding the solicitation of her daughter's flesh, I suddenly realise that the matter at hand required swift action in my part to procure a method with which I could expressly deny any involvement or participation I may have myself partaken in the past. This was not such an easy task, however, as it began to rain fiery droplets of acid into our home before I could even get my tongue to roll an explanation or two to her.
She was of unsound mind that night, consumed by a belief or hysteria that her daughter's soul was been abducted by an insolent demon, and she told me directly, with a straight look on her face, that in her youth she did a sin so great she could no longer look at any other person straight in the eye and not admit this misgiving. She said, rather brusquely, that she had engaged in sexual liaisons with a familiar by the name of Yarwich, who terrorised her during her early teenage years with temptations of carnal na…

Didn't they say, for lack of better terminology, that I, a dreamless whistletop, was meant to fade into the darkest depths of ambiguity?

The day would have been a resounding success were there a jolt of lightning striking up my bottom to wake my bootstraps from numbness and slumber; We would all concur, dare say. Alas, insufficiency in the gamble ruin a rather palatable occasion; Just because I'm unassertive doesn't mean I'm a twat. Or am I? You erred, ser, I told myself, a big buffoon; So I sit by a bookstore cafeteria all by the lonesome, how sad, for this day it would have had altered a new tomorrow for myself and for others around me. Sod the naysays and the bygones and the whatnots. How pretentious can I be when I for a moment called myself a carnivore through and through and end up shoplifting a vegetarian sushi made from the gentle hands of those more capable? Do I kick myself in the groin with each reminder or do I stand up for myself and realise that all really is mine for the taking? England is mine and it owes me a living! Wasn't it you who swore I was not free? Wasn't it you who said I n…


There were two cufrons on top of the tabliz, one used and the other one unused. It seemed as though that the used one was filled with cofieur prior to it being left there for me to find. I did not bother to think what the consequences of it might have been, but I'm surprised to know that if it hadn't been for that cufron of drank cofieur, I wouldn't have discovered Fara's affair with Mildritc.
I took the empty cufron and filled it with brindelleuvi leaves. I've stored these in a secret compartment where Fara wouldn't be able to find. She always had the urge to take some without my consent, and by the time I discover that the leaves were gone, I find myself lying on the floor unkempt and clearly shaken from convulsion. It was hard to decipher for what reason, but perhaps it was a worthy risk to take. Mildritc would have found that predicament hilarious. After the watra boiled, I made tanis with the leaves. None had made me feel more soothed than the feeling of …


Life was teeming within the city proper, I was smack-dab in the middle, grasping for something and holding on to intangibles; Joy is such a fickle emotion; I dread the thought of what I lack and what I can't achieve, but only pursue, intently, and for how long should I chase for that which I cannot clearly see, or should I wait until I collapse under the weight of my own desires; I do not want pity, but share with me a smile, just that, and I will love you forever.

Pay me no mind, but pay my mind...

Panic, said I to ourself, to that which no longer care
Have you to feel what no longer is there
Have you to walk free with feet of mine bare
Have you to widen your senses to be made aware
Have you to see that which headed is evernowhere 

Royal Borough of Greenwich 03052015

Something very unfortunate...

Surviving again lately, if only due to a great loss, which should have affected me more than I expected it to. My father rushed a trip back home to greet the inevitable and unfathomable heartache with his arrival upon the news of his dear mother's demise. My grandmother. My dear, sweet grandmother, whom I personally cherish, as can personally attest, as the only true soul I have encountered in life, moreso than the other, who had passed away recently as well. It comes with a cost, because now I have grown mobile yet again, finding myself perspiring in the pursuit of a journey, cheap as it may be.
My only wish was that I could have felt her aura near me one last time. She was as light is relevant to everyone else. I never really knew what I had until it's gone, and surely enough more will come, some of which will rock the core of my being.

Me You Sun: (Sol) Searching

Harsh, her words were, as winter, battling against the breeze of soothing spring, the second heart of mine, it awakens. There is a man, a miserable pile of feelings, thoughts, and longingness, battling between these two hearts, when one has weakened, to a state beyond repair, and that which is tied by a false sense of responsibility. "Come on," I say to thee. "Come one and all. For we who have survived Ragnarok." Bless femininity, and let capriciousness ebb and flow. I, myself, will survive once again, not for a future with her, or for any other similar notion, but a thought that I, as a man, will be, for the sake of being.

Me You Sun: One Sweet Afternoon

As I, fazed, pulled my head away from the heat's smothering embrace, I saw her face -- ever incandescent, ripe of sweetness, of beauty -- shimmering beneath the golden dome of sky. It was all too much for a man like me to take. I am but a fool, I say, and, just like that, the perfect shine was gone. So I, painfully, composed myself back to normalcy, to the reality of what we both will never be.  No amount of love, of tears, of wishful thinking, will bring the sun back to me, and my memory will one day falter, and so, bearing an unbearably high quantity of sorrow,
will the image of her face.

Exodus Paranoia

The fire started in a distance, his bones crackled with every step, while the voices of the spirits made no effort to attract. It was a new breed of terror seeping in, haunting the chemicals in the air, undulating with discrete strength. It's time, a girl's whispers coming from an unseen source. It's time for us to feel the joy again.
Joy, what a simple word with a mischievous intent. What joy can there be in spreading fear amongst all men's hearts? Their mouths ashen with malice. Who is to feel the joy when joy easily turns tragic? Like dancing naked during summer in a barren iceland. These beings of pure dementia, these harbingers of lunacy, of degradation, of shallow emotions, of cradles filled with fucking filth. Burn the witches. This world deserves a better definition of joy.
Whatever the world will be, it will simply be, but I cannot allow myself to sit idly by whilst this pieces of humongous scum, of torturous and inhumane scumbaggery, of fiddly fucking monstr…


High time to break bad when a day turns your whole life around. That's all it takes. One bad day, one big joke, and history repeats itself. I tell myself every single day it's time to go, move your butt, and I never heed my own voice, out of fear for what's out there. It's a meaningful experience out there, full of the uncertainties of life, but it's a heavy burden to bear once again. Especially now.
But now it really is the time to go, I cling on to something like a frightened mouse. I am admittedly frightened, for my life, even though there's nowhere else going for me but up. I just wish I didn't have to go through this all on my own, but it wouldn't be like this had I been alone anyway, so... que sera.

Me You Sun: excerpt

It was always hard to determine whether or not my father was mad at me at one particular moment. He'd always come up to me with a wide grin on his face one moment and lean his forehead on mine and say, “You are the greatest gift life has ever given me.” And it completes my day, only to see it fade away a few minutes later when he rages about me being unappreciative without having done anything to rue him. It's been really difficult with his mood swings. Sometimes I just thought of leaving him and going somewhere else on my own, build my own stories and all that jazz. I just couldn't. Not without swallowing a sense of guilt I could do without. So I linger on, waiting for the day life will do its own magic, while I'm stuck here waiting for god knows what and lord knows when.
Five days ago was my twenty-eighth birthday. I almost couldn't guess the right number had I not peeked into my Facebook profile. I celebrated the occasion by lying in bed all day whilst people g…

The trail of contrail

This is to commemorate my initial ruination; a day of eternal mourning. 15042015

Time won't waste...

... and we just learn. 15042015


Ritual @ Hammersmith Park 15042015


Spring @ Hammersmith Park 15042015

Autopathy: the wrong kind of depression

Shots of whispers, paper money on the background. My father walks away and never looks back. Like I care. We worship monkeys on a sidewalk. They cry in epiphany. Bounce... bounce... bounce... tell him that.
What's my world to do when all else fails? Your world might be different, but who's fighting who? So I take the stairs, spiralling peacefully out of control, when the physician gave me the deal. There is a benign tumour inside me waiting for the right moment to strike. Cancerous? Maybe. Will it be fatal? Fucking hope that would be the case, then I go Walter White on everyone's ass. You only live once, that's what I would have said. You only love once, too, but that's out of the question.
No one really understands how the rock loses to paper in rock-paper-scissors. No one understands how elephants lose to mice, either. No matter how doe-eyed Mickey will be, one simple misstep and he dies to a mammoth. A mammoth with a gift of gab like my mum, sneaky everlasting,…

Memories of DA: Sseoni and Morrigan

Calm before the storm.

Memories of DA: Hawke

Luchi Hawke


Somehow I feel revitalised by the prospect of a new flame. A bird whose wings are not that far off from the previous dame;
Whose talons are as sharp as her wit can only be whetted whole, And whose beauty is paralleled only by the purity of her soul.
She strengthens my laborious days. She inspires my mind in many different ways. She speaks to me without a shred of malice, Unlike those others whose hearts are callous
Her words make my spirit smile, and I want her to stay for awhile;
Like when she said a magical thing happened in her life when she met me. I was eating lunch when I read it, and I had to choke on my tea. I want to deserve her, the best that I could possibly be; Avoid the same mistakes and the pain I foresee.
There's a storm ahead and I feel fine; Dark days are coming but my intentions are divine.

Eleven Minutes

Eleven Minutes @ Sky Garden. 170315

Sky Garden

20 Fenchurch Street, London. 170315


London. 170315

We ought to love the ones we destroy, if only to learn how to love again

A budding feeling grows inside me. Like a lost flower in a desolate place.
I know I don't deserve this yet. I tell myself this every day. But it's there, and I want to keep it, just in case something special blossoms. I'm frightened at the thought of losing it, and it's not as if I have it, but I can feel something special. Like the first time I had it. Like the first kiss around the same days as now. Bitter thoughts, painful memories, learning processes. I never want to make the same mistakes again.
Miles apart. There is still time for me to change, to improve, to strengthen what I lack, rather than bury myself with these Bunburyist tendencies. I don't want to live a lie. Like the first time I did it. Like the first words that came out of my mouth during those old times. Hostile thoughts, unsavoury memories, tragic missteps. I want to make this one right and learn from the past.
If only I could claw my way out of this miserable block.
That's part of the chall…

The walls keep on thumping

What on earth were you thinking What on earth Some ships are better off sinking Not on earth
Sometimes love is a devotion It flies us all in waves of emotion Up and down In perpetual motion
These walls, they keep on thumping Who is it on the other side
Let me sleep Let me sleep Let me sleep
They, they keep on thumping What on earth These walls are finally crumbling Why on earth
Sometimes love is a devotion It flies us all in waves of emotion Up and down In perpetual motion
Up and down...
We couldn't show the things I saw The birds and the trees, on the other side We're better off in torment These walls, these walls need to open wide
Good riddance Love, yours truly

Valentine's, again

I keep having Elvin Bishop's Fooled Around and Fell in Love on repeat in my head all morning. It's like an infection that can't seem to go. I gave in to the temptation and have it played on Youtube as I write this.
There is only one person that comes to mind when I think of that song. It's not a pretty memory though; it's something that I try to disassociate myself with every day. If all else fails, perhaps a lobotomy could be of assistance. Nothing good could come of heartbreak. It's only heightened by the fact that today is the worse day of all, knowing that that person could be spending it with someone else. It's not the only day I've thought about this. Times change and it might be different, or it might not be. What I do know is that I've never been the same since then. Probably not ever.
It's been more than a year or so. I've been stranded in this room for the same duration since then, a hikikomori, just like I've always feared. B…


So many places to go, the problem is where to stay. Cornwall I know some people here, but just acquaintances. I'll be damned if I can contact them in any way.  Edinburgh Back and there again? Vienna Sabrina wouldn't be there. She'd have to be in South Korea by then. I would love to though, just not sure if it would be worth it. Northern Ireland New land, new people, legal stay. Far away from all the shit. South Korea Too expensive to go and too far. I'd have people to help me though. Would really love to go back, just not for the same reason as the last time. Philippines Last resort. Work would come easier though.