Lazy from C-Z

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.

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 year...

You talk the talk you pick up the pieces you climb the ladder you fall back down you swallow your pride you bear the shame you wear the mark you lose the game

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, an...

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...

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...

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.

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 peopl...

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

... and we just learn. 15042015

Ritual @ Hammersmith Park 15042015

Spring @ Hammersmith Park 15042015

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 everl...