Lazy from C-Z

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 f...

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 ...

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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...