Lazy from C-Z

Time skips forward, day three, back to one, and forward march to illumination. Three bucks, constables, nothing, no one, never. For we are ever free. Free to walk, free to smile, free to love, free to loathe. Birth and its many defects, desecration, madness, frustrations, deafening. Loss, regret, we have found each other again, speaking the language of sorrows. Drink deep from that well, that we may know salvation. Spoil further the concept of we the people, we of low value, we of low standards. Tragedy begets tragedy easily. Learning curves are nightmares bound to keep us astray.  No más .  The first of salvation, once held, will give rise to hope anew. Only until then are we, in the deepest aspect of our beings, truly one as people, as a collective. Time skips time. No sense of reason or rhyme. The flow depends on the aether that is bound to us. Illumination is become us. Four twenty, no score. Five eleven, no dice. Charming. Sculpt and tumult, birds of the same feather, an ensemble

"Hold on," she said, taking my hand; "Smile your biggest smile." I would, however, tonight, of many others, is not mine to give. Told her every single thing, and she, in turn, gave me all that she could. The view, from my perspective, was breath-taking, as she occupies the space in between my eyes. But as the sun, in all its glory, undulated to the other side, we both find ourselves, hopelessly, swept away. I took the right way, she left, and still felt wrong. The days, burdened by grief, now turn to and against me, unknowingly, so I may understand, in my own way, what solace truly is, albeit the requiem for those weary and lost. In the long years, numerically undeterred, that followed, one day, I had heard that she has, somehow, settled down, somewhere, with someone, and something inside me cracked wide open, inconsolable. Sometimes, I think about her, and go about my life, asking, with no answer to tow, what it is that makes me...

It was fortuitous that what was supposed to be a minor date turned into a siesta . I took to bed at nine in the morning and had my alarm at one in the afternoon. It did nothing to me as usual. Mother had grumbled of this and that and try as I might to let these cacophonies peddle negativities in my mind, I have to endure the indignity of no solace for quite a bit more. There is not much to be had on a four-degree-weather Sunday. Sundays are for sabbaticals, and I had foregone that religious aspect in me a long time ago. Candela had informed me the day before that she is dropping by for an hour and wants to have a meal before she leaves for the holidays, but for every message she sent me is an hour I spent catching winks. But I for one am glad it happened as it did. It would be disingenuous to meet up; spend an hour prepping and rushing the commute, beso , eat, adi ó s , go home. I had my rotors all in a flux trying to balance every single minute detail of my daily activities, micromana

 I could open my mouth And chase the whole thing off Or I could close it And let it chase me away

Drip, drip. Eyes falling, tears. Drip, drip. Drip and dry. Nothing. Quieter than when conscious energy once materialised itself in its primordial form. Nothing, and then something. Nothing, nothing again. Some voice... what have I done? Some face... of whom I have never seen nor met. A silhouette. As if... in the end... was the face of my maker. Or the face of my ender. Two moons and birds chirping, one wintry night. Try as I might. For the fools out there, fools in love, delusions of grandeur, fools in life, of adventure, and fools of those who wallow in the misery of solitude. Time ticks, tick, tick, tick-tock. Sleep, and pretend myself slip sliding away. Drip, drip. Eyes falling, zetsubou .

So I felt like the biggest asshole (felt like the biggest asshole), as I ... wait anxiously for the installation of Endwalker -- and I am sure later on too in queue -- my keen optimism has dwindled down into a bouyant mess. Gone are the days where my safety lines are at all times kept intact. Bygone days. Months. Destruction of its madness cemented on my inadvertent hesitation to make things right. Because fuck it. Mow down the sexy people? I do miss the catboys and the bunnygirls, but the whataboutism over the past few months has been staggeringly triggering, and my sharp-eyed focus on work and the loss of my comfort zones has made certain that my extracurricular activities were all left by the wayside. A simple promise I gave to someone before I was left to fend for myself in the cold. But now all is done. I have finally killed rock and roll... or have I really? Eat all the grass that you want; accidents happen in the dark. December was the purported month of last chance. Technical

Love deep in this world-hardened shell, I could never seem to figure out Sometimes I come across an impasse where all the triumphs and the burdens meet; I don't know how to react She came and all I did was act as if the jouissance I felt was real and nothing could take me further from the feeling that I could be somebody who could be better than someone I'm not; Maybe I'm fooling myself But the earnest effort I did helped ease the burden I carried with me all along; If this ends up in disgrace If this whole thing dies in its place If this little toying game ends up in shame, I want no more part of anything, anything at all, except the madness of my woe; I'll thank her for the time, and wasting mine My spirit will survive but die a cruel dive And even if I will still learn to love again It won't save me from the perils of what's to come and deep inside my shell I will wait and bleed;

The niceties had come and gone the moment the pretence had dissipated. Fortunate for me that the kick incurred only tapped me by a tickle instead of a full-blown genki-dama to the face. I had planned an exit strategy and only suffered minor burns on the way out. The dragon's den became insufferable to an extent, much to my dismay. I am a villain through and through, I realise, and with this discovery is the acceptance that I may never share any kind of lofty ideals meant for a person worthy of stature. I have come only to liberate the demons and let live the visage of tyranny inside me, except to that of whom I cherish. She is all that will ever see the sweeter side of me. My verdict is vindication; held as a votive, not in vain; for the verisimilitude of my vestige is voracious, violent, and verily vacuous. It does not discriminate; for my vengeance sees no side to anything and everything. Everyone deserves equal punishment. Being an adult has given me a different perspective in h

Nothing goes to plan and it is okay. I still feel copacetic amidst all uncertainty. Perhaps it is better off this way for now. I am not exactly the type to get bogged down by a single misfortune, and tragedy begets new beginnings, so a haircut to mark this end and beginning will suffice. Tonight will be a good time, perhaps. Maybe even tomorrow. It depends on the situation of the beau. So at this very stage the intention is for the revitalisation of my senses. I am somewhat reawakened. And should this fleeting feeling be short-lived, then I raise a glass to zetsubou and dance merrily to chillstep. There needs to be some reconciliation between my two finer sides, lest it be mucked up into a gelatinous mess.  My edda is finally underway. I had promised a certain someone of this. One epic divided into two subliminal parts. Seems nearly doomed to fail, I have a month to go, but to hell with it. My edda is coming! But Ani will never be able to have a feel for it. Dismay dawns upon my count

Head hurts, I know why  Hearts ache, I know why  Hands shiver, I know why  Feet wobbles, I know why   To live and die in solace in a maddening pace  Manic, depressive written in amazing grace  Punching holes to combat this mundane strife  Sitting lonely together with the love of my life  I have more souls than one;   Doors creak, I know why  Water flows, I know why  Wind swings, I know why  Flowers wilt, I know why  To experience firsthand that maudlin trance  Gambled my wits in a game of chance  Fell down through the rabbit hole  In a place where bulls took stroll  I will see it through in time;   To take myself on a wild goose ride  Chasing after sticks with one left foot slide  Sip the water from your lands  And the beaches and its sands  So we can live in an island under the sun;   When I no longer know why  Then I’ll no longer try  But until then I will fly  Until the day I cry  But I will never die  Never die  Said I know I... 

Dune on the sofa Quicksand buried deep Sandy dunes at the coastline Ramen girl and sleep Stars from above Tobacco and a thirst Love poems and distractions February 30 is the worst Sing of melancholy and wine Trifling on hallows eve Sings about being forgotten And yet still hold to believe Never sing the songs of pain Of ill-begotten time of joy Of way behind the mark of sorrow Of what she calls her little boy Si de pronto me olvidas no me busques, que ya te habré olvidado

Would there have been any easier way to say it, I would, but there really is not. I swam all the way back to square one. An inch farther from where I was when I had lost everything in a fell swoop. My only hope is to do this one better than the last time around. The whole process of spiritual recuperation really is as exhausting as I had imagined it to be. On top of that there is an uneasy feeling in the background that nothing is still tagged to end, meaning all that came before now has the potential to smack me right back in. Where I was, at my most miserable, but only this time this loss completely destroys me permanently. Wherever I go I fear the smell of rabbits, of bulls, and of stars, and anything resembling niceties. Nothing nice is ever really nice. Everything nice comes at a cost. I still stand tall, eager for the new, but scarred so very internally that the mere feeling of microrejection bites me hard, and it coils me into foetal, and wallowing into self-despair becomes my o

To live, and to breathe, in the fortune of sadness, To die, in the solace of an old soul's another; To walk, in the shadow of someone else's heartbreak, And to struggle, when the moon chases for cold blood. Redemption comes to us all; but, for all of its glory, is only ever sweeter for the wicked.

1.               INT. ROSE'S HOUSE     -     NIGHT Five persons sit at the dinner table. The ambience is somewhat awkward and gloomy. ROSE sits beside her boyfriend THEO, her sister, ELISE, sits by herself across the table. Their father PETE sits at the head of the table, and his wife MORGAN on the other side of table. MORGAN The turkey should be ready by now. ELISE Don't worry about it, mum. I'll go take it myself. Elise walks over to the kitchen. ROSE Mum, dad, me and Theo have something to tell you. PETE ( chewing ) What is it? ROSE Theo and I... we're going to Madrid in spring next year. We're going to find a place of our own, find jobs. Well, I'm finding a job. Theo's already found one as a chef de partie in a restaurant, and I want to do something related to HR. MORGAN That... sounds amazing, Rose. A bit unexpected. Pete continues to eat, just staring, listening in. THEO Rose always wanted to go to Madrid. I can be blamed for that, talked her into it w

Time after time Nothing that I can do Knowing your ways and Loving your ways But not getting through at all For a bit, I had gotten used to the sky and its alluring blue. I had forgotten how it is to walk the earth, to toil, to sow, and for the past few days I had purposefully wanted to forget a lot of things, to lose myself once again to a fit of berserk. Some days I convince myself that this is worth it, and some days I tell myself it is all a fluke. In the cradle of this verdant external embrace, it had just been a sweet few days, but in the anxiety-ridden internal struggle of my heart, its rok had been eternal. I have never ever been more tired merely resting.  Day after day Leaving the past behind Coming to terms with Stitches and burns and Learning to fly again

The cold season has come. No longer will I be able to wear my flip flops out and about. Shame. I adore the chill of the wind, it burns. The walls in the watchtower of my senses beckon against the silence. "If I had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate to say that for destruction ice is also great and would suffice." I do have to hurry. There is a small meeting I have to do, and I must needs, at the very least, look the part. Why am I thinking of bulls? That's because rabbits are hideous beasts. All they do is multiply by the dozens and hop really fast. Bulls on the other hand are strength in one. Bulls are prohibited inside a china shop, but rabbits are welcomed, for they become feast. Bulls feast upon china, dancing to the tune of cling and clang. In three minutes I have to go. The thought of ice and bulls excite me. It has given me a whole new reason for being, renewed, and revitalised. I will be back again.

My shoulders throttle from the workload done in the previous evening's kitchen parade, and my stomach suffers from all of its endeavours. Today was as calm as a printed blue sky. I guess my life now revolves around dealing with the aftermath of the Rabbit Soiree, so work becomes my querida , and my mobile phone becomes the only source of my emotional bacchus, beholden to it now as I was then to the tether I once attached to the woman who now proudly flaunts having had betrayed me. It has been a few weeks since then... the day my life stood still amongst great circumstances. And in these new circumstances offer new potential and even greater risk of losing it all again to an ecstasy of cyclical patterns, most of which have already presented itself to me in my previous encounters. Getting older has its boons. You live and let live and you learn. I am become truth, and to others I can now provide inspiration, or a warning, or everything else in between, for I have had my fill of happi