Lazy from C-Z

And today I start wondering to myself: Has there ever truly been a good reason to smile? Little reasons, probably, to aid in the slow death march onwards. The clock unticks for no one. There was a little happiness on the side, some cold cherry on the way, and whine for breakfast. The last one is almost always the worst. There is very little to suggest things are going to change, and it would have been great or so if things had not been so monumentally hard to carry. I can only take so much for so long until my back starts to sore, and then when that selfsame burden unravels into all the reckoning and vindication and punishment for one, it will be hallelujah for the masses, glasses clinking at a wedding, two turtle doves, and a partridge in a pear tree. So the smile is theoretically not impossible. Every now and then my facial muscles twitch into shape at a minor event or two. Even at work, believe you me. But the thing that makes man bite dog is that yesterday I have opined to myse

Friday night. Both backs of my knees are burning, spreading hellfire across the kneecap, skin marooned looking like medium-rare venison. The trousers are partly to blame. Mood was wistful; despised the swimming of ghosts during the hush and banging of pans during the rush. I would decline the itching of my throat with someone else's voice overlapping mine; some ectoplasmic residue coughed up and out leaving not much but a void, and this void shadows every step I take, enveloping the melancholy, some sadness, a point of contention, of unadulterated rage. It was due to the dullness of tomorrow that I was able to muster the energy to not care being manhandled by others anymore. I took it all in, in full surrender, and made it mine; owned it. It was only by mere happenstance that I was still able to literally stand and walk, what with the burning knees and all. When the moon finally quieted, the wetness that presided over my body clogged up the pores of my skin, making itself itch ever

The woman was a pudgy thing waddling around the space giving orders, cackling her trademark cackle here and there, though anything barely registers as funny. It was not easy to ride the wave of her humour. Though I suppose it is easy to apply that to every single local fish I have met here in London. The woman will inevitably be my doom. The only good thing I can take solace from this is that it gives my life, in its present form, some bit of flavour, in order to give my day-to-day some kind of meaning. But in general the unwarranted drama is wholly unnecessary and nothing but a bucket full of copium. I have to take the humility until I no longer have the opportunity to do so, and this has always been the case anyway, regardless of what I do. So it is best to see it through to the end. Another addition to my trophy shelf of fails as if to imply that no matter I do it will always be the case. I just cannot be bothered to care a bit more. Best let it be and move on to the next best thing

it may seem self-defeatist but the names of days need a fresh new identity i feel like the voice inside my head is ringing always eating at me thinking of this thinking of that thinking of her she knows who she is and all pale in comparison what i know now is no longer how i felt since monday it is a bad expensive shot no squall and still wither no heart and still soften as if i have been inflicted by marshmallow syndrome it is high time for something new something different something contrarian to the contrary because it is a new day a new life a new beginning to jump right back in to be able to walk amongst equally minded i hate loporrits because there is no fuckingway my soul my dance it keeps echoing in the corner please stay and listen there is much to learn and despite the images it is my style stray cat cooler than bugs but no bunny no not anymore no problem say goodbye i have to go say hello i have to wake up another saturday and then what maybe this is it for me no problem no

Five hours of condensed tension; it is an understatement to proclaim that I am emotionally encumbered by unforeseen circumstances that seem all too familiar. I could stretch it thin and stretch my mind thinner, but overall there really is no point to persist. Must retort the cacophony with my silence. That is the only protest I know of that best defines who I am as a person. The alternative is... more than undesirable. Five hours with words released not amounting to more than five minutes. Even less so at a time. Is the problem then because of who I am or is it this dramatis persona I appear to be simulating in front of others? I oftentimes do wonder what it would be like, from the outside perspective, to meet me as I am in my current form. Do I truly divaricate this formless and intangible and sinister vibe? I speak solely out of sincerest curiosity, not as a form of self-criticism, but a mere observational point that perhaps must needs be determined. One by one, in very predictable t

The path is narrow, but it is vivid and clear; there is no other recourse. When she invited me into the security room, it was plain to see what was in store. At the back of my mind it was an easy resignation, like countless times before. All it took was a single mistake. People can be so excessively petty. So now I have to make do with what I have, as I always have, and will continue to have. Some blessings in life can only be so fickle, and some others have their paths made clear to them from the first. There are things yet I have yet to discover, and every single day is a struggle towards that lifelong journey. Until then, true happiness will always remain elusive like an eel. The clock continues to move along. And my smartwatch now has a lovely view, all thanks in part to a certain someone allowing me a perusal of her immaculate image. I love her truly with all my heart. And I read somewhere along the lines of: " Life is the reward of virtue -- and happiness is the goal and th

the pied lady in her element; defiant to the core; water flowing between her thighs such a bad disguise; right, rancour, wean, and stupor. the mother's blessed, tit hanging low like fruit off a flesh tree nothing good until we are free; to stumble, rise above, and persevere. after all this time, i still wear my gloves to show the love i love for her, we are at a needless standstill;  i am the heart and you are the mind and someday a bladder will grow.

Of course, I have to pay the price for wanting. It is part of the territory. And suddenly, just like that, the weather manifests itself in its tepid ways. After all the whispers and noise in the background, even now, continue to permeate, it is prudent to just ignore it and allow myself some headspace to simply be me. It is hardly productive to assume that words form easily in mind when the uncertainty of security is at an odds, and it is likely the case that perhaps the best thing to do is to simply let it be. For what it is worth, mayhap a little bit of sunshine in a cold, dreary day is necessary at times to fill the gaps in between. Like those little moments during the commute where one finds themselves a target of sunshine overhead, with the chill filtered out by indoor warmth. Let it cool down and subside. It is sometimes necessary to also want to wallow the self in propellant anguishing. Suppose it is nature's simple way to counteract the mundane, though, to be perfectly clea

Every day I wake up, then I start to break up; lonely is a man without cause. Ding dong! The witch is dead. Long live the witch! As I stood that first stand, on my way to the loo, it dawns on me how spurious things have been, and perhaps I can take into account my own misgivings as well. Nothing has made sense, and it belabours belief into question. While I still have all day to continue to ponder -- and pander -- nothing I do will ever bring clarity to the misconceptions, and perhaps that is the precise reason why it must remain so. I must needs accept the circumstances -- again, and act upon it as steadfastly as befits my station. There is no need to count the stars. I must accept my purpose. Here. In this soil I stand upon. Not up there. Nothing any more. Empty promises. This soil is mine to sow and mine alone to toil, and toil it shall be. To be honest, I am already dreading the concept of it, but it is what it is. Back to square one, as I deserve.

Far be it for me to ask and do the things as tall a task; to love and cherish from afar, be free unwilling to leave a scar, some words were left unspoken; In light and day, dark paths my way; it does not matter how; if walks are buried in dunes of sand, and no one's there to lend a hand, mine life's curse that yours disavow; when here on out there's no sense to shout it will not do to ask me now; for in your word, it is only absurd should I decide to take a bow; Your words to me may be sincere, still I will wait until I hear the endless whisper of deadest hope; when time has come from where we're from to find the madness to elope; one cannot say it will not happen for in night sky the stars swim darken as willed by you through horoscope; so am I so stupid as to think that love between us is at the brink? Do we choose to wash with oil and soap? Nope I don't think so We are How we are Where we are When we are Who we are together with cadence we can weather; the strugg

Minsan , sa aking kakahalubilo , things get out of hand. And it is in these madnesses that I have sought salvation unto myself. I have taken an olive branch and extended it to the far reaches of my known entities, both inwards and outwards, kasing-layo nang nararating ng timtimang kapalaluan . These days were meant for progress, but instead I find myself nibbling on to scraps of blessings however form they come because something about myself simply cannot keep up. Maaaring hindi ito mahalaga , subali't hindi ko lubos-maisip na ito'y anino lamang ng aking mga aabuting panahon . Hangga't ako ay biglang tatanda na lamang devoid of the potential deserved, none will have to bear the burden of these hopeless ruminations. Far from the consequence brought about by an extended olive branch, I realise now na kailangan kong maglakad mag-isa . As it was always meant to be.