Hungry Ties

I've seen The Van, The Wynn and The Garden, now I have to see the MGMT boy who carries such last name. Google tells me that, since I have no idea about whoever names.

There are several occasions that propel me into the excitement of seeing the band. Needless to say, my head could no longer ponder upon the money that would be spend on the lights and sounds.

A request for a better year is a part of my routine as an idiot. Though if it is possible for me see the MGMT boy and call him a dolphin, then nothing could... well it is impossible to not have shitty days.

I like how I write MGMT in capitals. Makes me feel like a crazy obsessive fan.

Scarring for senses

I have never felt this low. California ain't being pleasant.

MM

Broken shadow lingers. With soft language romancing the fear. Gripping on the sweat. Sealing every scent. My broken shadow hinges.

Forever in debt to your priceless advice

The adoring voice, the wit, the case of mental confusion, the talent. I for one don't believe there could be a better Kurt.

A look into his eyes will show you how much life you don't have, since you keep on wishing he wasn't dead. Though it's a good share of time to waste on him.

A friend of mine harvest the dream of buying his house. With thoughts that Kurt would haunt him and eventually pass some of his magnetic charm and talent to my friend. More like passing his relentless nightmare, the Hole girl.

We all enjoy this jarring concept of fulfilling our lives.

Sweet Lies

Sugar glazed lies are perfect gateway from complain or mopey people.

I use it all the time.

Like today, when I was cooking, I told my mother the chicken will not be fried. Butter chicken was made and I could not tell her since she never fancies butter and by telling her would mean I have to deal with her words on how terrible butter on food is. Besides, my definition of butter chicken is simple slices of chicken grilled on a pan of butter pool.

Thanks to the first man to lie, she loved the chicken, without any rant to torch my ears.

So since Christmas is approaching, lets just lie to little kids so we get more time for online games than baby-ing them.

Social Depression

It is an ultimate depression when one could not even think on delivering the inner self to the world without any aid from the society.

We mumbles sympathy for the less fortunate. We forge impression based on faded views. We celebrate victories build from stolen pieces. We pat ourselves on the back because we believe we have made it.

A careful evaluation on our own statements would produce sad truths, which are, we put ourselves together by begging for social nods and glossy remarks. I know most people would deny any intrusion from the society and believed there is no dependency on any ideas and thoughts outside of them.

At least that is what I used to hold on to as well.

Nevertheless, Anthropological (self) study shows me the brighter lights. I read a journal and it forces a crude revelation that for long, I have refuse to see. Most of my life I have been telling myself I am not a part of any social hurrah and I stand on my own. However, after the read up, I realized that is a lie that is forced in me.

The journal centers upon a teenage female who is a native in an African Tribe. Basically when she is sent to the city center as a 'gift' from those who apparently care about her deprivation, her mind plague by the toxic scenes of the society. She exhumes disgust and shock upon learning how those who have lay pitiful frown on her, are living. Needless to say, the table is facing the other way around and she is the one who is now showing shame that there are poeple who live under such condition.

The journal is as a point that we are the one who could use some sympathy because we are the one clinging on some sort of false support. We are worried that without our clothes and knowledges, the world will unhinge us.

Hence, the 'What kind of style' or 'Which personality do you have' quizzes are the one we focus on in identifying ourselves. Terms in fashion and celebrated writers/personas we hold on to. Just to prove to ourselves and others that we are not deprived.

Of what?

We are in deep deprivation.

Inability to construct an individual, developing own thoughts, walking on sticks ,and gripping on stance and beliefs. Sheer clues.

The modern life is in the lowest point because there is not one individual who would turn away from the madness.

Ask yourself, would you settle as the one without knowledge (the ones you value most), without visible success and values ,and most important, wihout any identity.

It is imminent that no one would succumb to such truth, or most would not. I know I have seen how ignorant-careless I am by leaning on the poisons. Well, I could never reach the height the African Girl has, but at least I know I no longer exhibit an item out of the society.

People rarely see me as a person and so be it. They have all the books and awesome materials, and I have the truth.

Illuminated Hidden Clocks

I have been experincing with Insomnia for as long as I could remember. The progressive nature of such disorder is putting me in a sub-conscious nightmare. It is known to self that it is paired with my Restless Leg Syndrome (RLS) which is cause by iron deficiency.

Several people have associated my problem with multiple issues. First, the TA my mom went through during the first few months of the carriage. It is palpable a disrupt in preliminary growth would results in this kind of things. The next few are those that irritate you as they are literal indications of human emotions, and thus, making me dispose the obligation to listen to their crap. The 'issue' that they believe to be the gun is the fact that I could never stop thinking.

Mad.

My head or mind or what ever it is you subject it to be, is a constant moving-functioning part of my body. It is always churning things, regardless of the value or substance. That is why I am highly imaginative and my IQ is above average. If I ever stop thinking, I will be a mad simpleton. Yes, a simpleton. It is not that I think of silly matters like politics, I just like to think or imagine things others too scared of, because they believe it to be stupid matters or they think that might caused them to be stupid.

My mother always complains that I ask to many irrelevant questions. My apologies to people who have to confront my mind, but you just have to direct your complains to God.

I am not trying to be a Genius or anything close to it, I just enjoy these manic thoughts of mine.

Though, I do not believe in Geniuses or highly inteliigent beings, because those are for fickle minded people who preach on infusion of others' thought in the birth of that others. I believe in curiosity and unanswered question. As that is an obvious connection to Einstein.

Guess this problem of mine is a blessing in disguise, but I do remember, I need a medical examination on self as an accident has affect my bodily functions. To hell the man who ran me over.

Hard Spun

The blue speaks of the distance.
As the sea softens the edges.
And the sky freezes every motion.

Errors

I miss watching a solid squad playing on the pitch. With all the deep ends and dramas surrounding the club, it is quite possible to lose interest. Not in the club, but in the sport as a whole.

Hodgson is a definite meh. When I heard he will be taking over, I wasn't in full confidence. And here we are, struggling for a full form and a strong 90 minutes.

Rumours of Torres and Reina leaving, young players (Pacheco, etc) following suit, are not the best indication of a take over. Hodgson is a mental fuck and he should have never step in. Listen to his post-match remarks and it'll hit you right off.

If we lose any of the promising players, surely he'll be burned. Mind the northern people.


Though this heart thumping actions are quite healthy. Since we could get all the blood flowing right, thanks to Hodgson stupidity.

Otto Piehl

Christmas came early for me.

I found a vendor selling envelopes of others who had lived in the period of pre and post WW (also, stamps, letters that were never received, postcard, etc.). It's absolutely fantastic since it carries millions of history in its own manner. There were tons of different entities but I was drawn to buy some of Herr Piehl's envelopes. There were no letters in it, but who would read others' letters anyway. I reckon he had lived during Hitler's' era as there were many of which with Hitler's' face on the stamps. I only bought letters on the 1963-1968 as my eyes could not scour for more.

I was so excited about the prospect of digging into the man's history. The idea of propelling myself towards the genealogy of Piehl is making me sick, as it is what I have always wanted. Though it is severely difficult because there are definitely more than two of them, hence a thorough examination is vital.

However, since I know a partial of Germany's history, with all the faces on the envelope, I could successfully complete my self-learning.

The lady was too nice and she gave me two of the old Czechoslovakia's stamps, of 1949-1950 when they were Ceskoslovensko.

And the journey of emptying my pocket begins, thanks to the wonderful vendor. I am so happy I could eat myself.

Once an extensive collection has been made, I will definitely insures my album. There are few official envelopes from the offices (one with Nazi's seal and the Queen's). They will soon be mine.

TY

You just made it even more difficult for me to forget how much I hate you. Thank you. Really.

In Station

A bundle of agony wrapping your head to pull you in. That calls for a silent show on your feelings. I understand failure is your next door neighbour in getting to, well somewhere. Though I am in deep tears trying to figure out ways to handle it when it comes to my studies.

Without considering any unfortunate cloud to guide me, I found pre-remedies for the 10th of December. In the form of Miss Moss and TeenAngster

These two have an array of interesting pictures and stuffs. Good for you two.



Things to look forward to, besides the hideous monster of the 10th, would be fantastic pictures in our imagination.


1.

Kitties and shakes. Lights that might show love.


2.

An exception to all acceptance.



Yes God, we are all struggling.

Pierrot Strings

I remember the first time listening to RID and when I know they have a connection with Noel Fielding, I got excited. Because Mr. Fielding is just plain insane.

The only I dislike about RID is that they appear to be trying very hard to be different or prove to people they are. It is obvious they are not the first to be in such music or appearance, so when they had 'Don't Copy Me', I realized the grip in reality is too painful for me to hold on to.

People who try to be cool should really calibrate their efforts thoroughly. At least I don't buy their efforts and plays.

Despair In Sun

Summon your eyes for me. The mirror of your crumbled dreams. The wound slithering soil. Reach for me. To see the figures of love. Water me with your senses. To foresee your breath. Trapping bits of your inside. Lost deep under the skin. Where lies and promises creep into the threading waves. Following your eyes and lips.

............................

Everyone and every thing (even soups) is in it with Tumblr. I find it rather dispensable after spending some time with it. Maybe it's my lack of enthusiasm in matters. Or maybe I find to many funny people using it.

Then again, it applies to the whole section of internet services. I should redeem myself by straying away from this internet royalties. I know part of my friends, who have eject self from internet would be happy. None of them with facebook or any other social networking services. They have only emails and search engine as those are vital in applying their beings to progress.

Now I understand, how the pre-modern limbs find the sun.



------ Bobbi, I heard a man singing 'Soldier of Fortune' and I swear I could hear the echoes of yours trailing the lyrics. Good thing you have a terrific voice.

Touching Point

If I could take you further, we'll stop at cherry point. One arm on the side, to put myself in nostalgic dreams.

..............

I genuinely miss having my friends around. The time has somehow trap me in the lines. Pulling me from contact. Complaining on 'I wasn't like this before' seems pretty stupid when you're no longer that moping cow. If by stating such could revert you back to the person you were, I'd do that in a heart beat.

I want my fast legs, good eyesight, non-anxious head, and soft skin back. But the life isn't fair so I could only mope and kick some steel around, and be the horrible child.

Eh, I still have my lazy self attached. And the friends whom I could no longer point out and scream the names out. Maybe a few.

Potting With The HP

I watched the first part of Harry Potter. It ended with people or things dying, and Harry the Whiny Twat becomes a gravedigger. Fantastic.

Since I have only watched the first three, two minutes in " What the fuck is going on here? What is it this way and who are those people." I wanted to ask my friend but she was too hooked on the lines, I don't even think she knew I was next to her.

That's the danger of improper trail in the sequence of inventions. I don't read the book and essentially, I don't care for it. I thought watching it would be fun since it is imaginative, and impressive coming from a supposedly single mother who was on the brink of being a bum, or she was a bum then she got on the train and found magic.

Who knows what is the exact story. All we know, she got the idea when she was eating a 10 quid muffin.

Nonetheless, I would watch the second part.


While watching it and they were mentioning Voldemort (OMG) or his funny face was on, I remembered a friend believing it was stupid for the name we shall not mentioned (I knew she was making fun of Shamalan's yellow thing) to not change his name into a common one, Jamie, John etc. Since in that case, it could be easier for him to kill others as they didn't know he has changed his name. Potter playing board game going 'Hey Jamie, I just got a new-" and Bam he's dead. Thanks to the trip to court for a name change and Harry Whiny Potter is dead.

Yeah

1 Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
2 The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien
3 Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
4 Harry Potter series - JK Rowling
5 To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
6 The Bible
7 Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
8 Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell
9 His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
10 Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
11 Little Women - Louisa M Alcott
12 Tess of the D’Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy
13 Catch 22 - Joseph Heller
14 Complete Works of Shakespeare
15 Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier
16 The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien
17 Birdsong - Sebastian Faulk
18 Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger
19 The Time Traveller’s Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
20 Middlemarch - George Eliot
21 Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell
22 The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald
23 Bleak House - Charles Dickens
24 War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
25 The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
26 Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh
27 Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
28 Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
29 Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll
30 The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
31 Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy
32 David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
33 Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis
34 Emma - Jane Austen
35 Persuasion - Jane Austen
36 The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe - CS Lewis
37 The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini
38 Captain Corelli’s Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres
39 Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
40 Winnie the Pooh - AA Milne
41 Animal Farm - George Orwell
42 The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
43 One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
44 A Prayer for Owen Meany - John Irving
45 The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
46 Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery
47 Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy
48 The Handmaid’s Tale - Margaret Atwood
49 Lord of the Flies - William Golding
50 Atonement - Ian McEwan
51 Life of Pi - Yann Martel
52 Dune - Frank Herbert
53 Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons
54 Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
55 A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
56 The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zifon
57 A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens
58 Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
59 The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon
60 Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
61 Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck
62 Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
63 The Secret History - Donna Tartt
64 The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold
65 Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas
66 On The Road - Jack Kerouac
67 Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy
68 Bridget Jones’s Diary - Helen Fielding
69 Midnight’s Children - Salman Rushdie
70 Moby Dick - Herman Melville
71 Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
72 Dracula - Bram Stoker
73 The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
74 Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson
75 Ulysses - James Joyce
76 The Inferno - Dante
77 Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
78 Germinal - Emile Zola
79 Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray
80 Possession - AS Byatt
81 A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
82 Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
83 The Color Purple - Alice Walker
84 The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro
85 Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert
86 A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
87 Charlotte’s Web - EB White
88 The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom
89 Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
90 The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton
91 Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
92 The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery
93 The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks
94 Watership Down - Richard Adams -
95 A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
96 A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute
97 The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
98 Hamlet - William Shakespeare
99 Charlie and the Chocolate Factoy - Roald Dahl
100 Les Miserables - Victor Hugo

BBC


I know a lot of people have been posting this and emailing this around with text of 'How many have you read' or 'OMG. I HAVE READ 80% OF THIS.". The latter being a twat sending junks to my inbox. Seriously, who gives a fuck about a list of books I, apparently, should read.

I hate it when people believe they're better than everyone just because they read 'better' books. Come on now, I read 'Buddy' and I get to save a year without having to go for Grade 4.

Susan Boyle

Is it difficult to digest in the fact I could very well download Boyle's voice and listen to it. After all the hard thumping sounds, I must balance my ear out with some Susan Boyle's. She's not that bad if you forget how she was first seen in BGT.

I don't fancy her, I just enjoy the feeling when her voice kicks in and you realized she was, all along, living with cats. Impressive.

Under Thin Air

Fixating eyes on walls. Walls against every memories.


.....................

Currently wishing I am always where I want to be. With Hanna and the cats, and the others. Well it's not possible to be with the cats since half of them have died. It could've been a happy day if we are scheduled for New Queasy, instead of the place we've been to. Sorry HH, I know we're supposed to be an inch within each other for Christmas, but the lady from past commences for family parties marathon.

It's nice having your old friends around you. Just to save some tears and awkward moments during the first hour of face off.

Fragapalooza in June? Where's the damn piggy.

DD

When any compressed words cannot convey faithful emotions.
We look at ourselves in different direction.

When no warmth can be signalled by our breaths.
We stop searching for the wind.

When moving pictures become static.
We will let ourselves go.






I must release myself from this edge where stupidity meets.

Slip On

I have always envy my own mother.

She seems to be happy without clear marks of age and healthy smile.

She's travelled to half of the worlds' population dwellings, without being a douchy lady to others.

Before I know her,

She was a lousy student, yet a brilliant one. Apparently, from her mates revelation on her past, she never really cared in revisions and studies after classes. She spent her days watching awful soaps and game shows. Though those hopeless past has gotten her a place in her life.

Now I have furnish my life with her presence, I learn a lot more about the world by just trying to listen to her.

I remember her telling me how the laziness caught up with her when she was offered several jobs in DC, evidently she did not accept such. It appears it is not about being lazy or restless, it is a matter of being content with her life, which is something I admire her for.

She often calls me for a mental opening. For me to remember to be thankful and content with my life. Being a teenager, it has not cling on to my mind and my soul.

Which made me realized, I not even half a man I was supposed to be.

I was always vindictive due to the chances she had passed. Non-existence of a realization that the shaking head she had gestured, was made in pursuance to my needs. If she had continue with the scholars program, I might not be writing this. If she had taken the offer and moved us all to DC, I will never have met the people I have now, and perhaps became that douchy girl. And if she had let me leave her for the snaps and drapes, I would probably be somewhere in the world, regretting every minute of it.

These frames have showed me how much of a horrible daughter and a person I am. Improvements are under construction but I believe it is about knowing what should be made known earlier. Nothing is to late to learn eh?

Since she was on the telly twice, she often addresses her dream of seeing me looking like a fool in it. This came about as I always made fun of her for being unfunny. I do hope I would try dragging my feet to any of the castings I was asked to go. But I know I will never fancy that kind of life. All I want to do is sleep my way through the dreams and wake up feeling all shitty before breakfast. Not the other way around.

Guess I am a bit content with my life. Guess I am listening to my mother, even of an inch. Guess I am not as bad of a person I thought to be.

In Light

It's nothing like the light when we stop chasing. When we stomp on the grass thinking no such luck would depends on it. We run through the mirrored sea. Reflecting our losses and warmths. Fights that flicker whenever it gets by. Forgotten the faces that we've driven off without a second glance. Just maybe we haven't realized. That the lights never really swing above us. Or fights the current to navigate our senses. Just maybe. All along. We've been living without it. Without it pushing through the empty vessel inside us. Vessel of our half-clinging life.



....................


I had the chance to have a terrific conversation with a nice Spanish boy. It was all nice as we speak of football and telly shows that have more than an inch of relevance in it. His picture on the screen is almost an attachment of a story that holds in mine. When I figure it, I know it's way too good to be good.

Terrible luck or star runs in my family. So you could say we have a sixth sense in feeling a bad vibe approaching in situations. And most of the time, we got it in our hands.

As words travel through the pixelated push, I find the feeling inside. Some might say you're lucky to find someone as such. But the L word doesn't exist in mine.

Then, after few more minutes to an hour, I come to my final judgement, with a concrete facts and evidence, that the Spanish boy often walks the other side. If you have no idea what that means, it means he fancies another being of his own build and gender.

I know the cometh would carry such effect on me, since it's not a wonder a person of everything you've dream of would either be a bastard or a homosexual (I believe it should be asexual). Hence my night was spent thinking, he might have thought I was a boy considering the manner we both speak in.

I should thank my mother for disallowing me in developing more like a boy, because then I might fancy girls, and girls are the worst kind any girl should be in a relationship with.

I should have known when he comment on how much of a nice chap D.M is.

Carousel

Via ThisShit


This is what happens when you can't look at the books no more. I was browsing through the web and found a site where you could dress this funny lady up in your own taste. Stupid, I know. But in desperate time. this will entertain me enough. A friend actually thinks this is something I would wear, except that I don't own any colourful cardi.

Which brings me into going through the forum in FashionSpot. They have a thread of 'Trends you are sick of' and I gladly agree with most of it, considering how I have to keep the face when seeing such in front of me.

However, one stated Vans footwear. I didn't know it was a trend until they posted few pictures showing 'this' kids wearing such. To my surprise, I ended up hating it as well. Not the footwear, the kids who make such into a trend.

What's a fucking trend anyway? A well accepted clothes or just a sad excuse to be cool. Nonetheless, it is stupid and no one should pay attention to it. It angers me to see kids wearing clothes, which they carefully examined just to show people they're hip and cool and eclectic. As much as I know I am at the losing end, I am glad, people in the FS are on the same side as I am.

I may not be a fashion girl, but I know how to value things for money. An expansive and horrible looking sweater is such a disgrace if you vowed your eyes to fashion magazines. Sorry love, you are as daft as the magazine.

Who Do You Want To Be Today

Who doesn't love a quirky bastard in a band.




I need my casual tea and a house full of foam. Since awful weather and people won't get me by.

Ever So After

I've always covet for a Mulberry, now after three years, I bought one from the old collection. It got less expansive.

Though I promised to not buy more unnecessary things, I have, in defence, gave away most of my bags. Besides, we'll try to throw in our bad luck when we hit the fruit machine (or whatever picture they now place in there).

On a better note, I bought a used Emile Zola's book (or a read book) with a memorable note that goes "When you're not under the sun, come search for me in this sea".

I couldn't be bothered at first, then I realized, I could be picking up people's dreaded lives and the past they wish they would have kept. Though I never get people who sell their books, especially those who did such with comics. Such a loss.

The reason we're all fucked up

This works because the boy in the picture looks proper serious in being what he thinks he could be.


here

I have the exact pair and sold it off, without having it paid.

Another reason why I should settle for one. :(

Fools Are In You

Parade and chant for your brick end. Pose around the images of your catastrophe. Cling on to it. Grab it quick. Cry on a life that is never easy. Suave your way. For them to witness, the build from the past.


...............................

The one thing I can't stand the most in people. The words on how hard their lives were and still are. I get it, your life is misguided by terrible events. And now you're a toughie. Seriously, everyone goes through shit in their lives so have a decency to not dumb yourself down by exposing a small magnitude of the calamities in your life.

I'm not as old and 'wise' as you are, but I am sure I have gone through a deeper hole than you. Get over yourself, you fool.

Life's hard, don't boast about it.

Bubbie

Gaze into the endless pit lies within me.
And find me.
Search within the unkempt bush of façade.
And feel me.
For I has gone beyond the stretch.


............................

We made that bubble thing in a class. Bored to the point where, we're begging for the lights waiting beyond that tunnel to flick on to us.

It (the bubble) was supposed to be a creature of some sort. Due to humidity and stupidity, it looked more like a crumbling piece of nothing. Though the stench was rather tasty. Haha


..............................

Mum: *Reading a book*
L: *Saw the word RPG*. Hmm RPG. Do you what RPG is?
M: Yeah, People of something, Republic People ehhh
L: ......................
M: *Smiles*
L: It's the weapon. *mimicking how it is used*
M: Oh, *continues reading*

Most of All

A) There are people who think you're pretty. (Laughs) They must be blind.
B) You don't have cheekbone. I mean, not as prominent as mine.
C) It's funny. You don't really have a shape.
D) Don't get me wrong. I don't think you have a style at all.


The few things that are thrown at me by girls who, in fact, declare themselves as the friends who are better than me. Stupid statement indeed, and how wrong are they. (On B and C anyway, the rest are up for personal debate).

I don't like girls or female beings (most).

The Serpentine

Being reminded by an isolated dream has really put me off. The fact that I could no longer run around on the paths does not necessarily means I do not feel attached to it. The only memento is a picture of a teenage girl with mismatch shoe laces. I blame the job jumping mother who would not settle for one. No, I blame the frantic bosses who would not stop pulling her into their lives.

I thought we could go back for Christmas to see our family friends, and mine, who I will not succeed in recognizing them, boo. And perhaps rekindle the broken string caused by an unfortunate wedding.

Instead, the place where my parents spent most of their teenage years is where we could spend our Christmas. Stupid trams and dangerous roads. Terrible eh?

Dream

Your chest against the window. Searching for solace in my shadow. Breathing the air from the wall. Grasping the life by your side.

If it is ever real and constant. I will let you see me. If it is ever strong without your strength. I will come in your dreams.

By every night and day I call you. To beseech for needs. Unable to calm the wind, or tame the cruelty surrounding you. To rent another seconds with thoughts on me. On no one else but me.

Though I have no place in reality. In moving picture or stale frame. No pieces to find. To try and sense.

Without you I cannot exist. Without you I can never be real.


.............................



This is one of my favourite video from one of my favourite song. It can really takes you off your mind and put you somewhere no one else can venture into. They have a Part 2 of the song and it is even more beautiful.

This kind of song made me realized how the bad image painted by others on mainly metal music, is an absolute nightmare. I rarely come across a demonic song of satanic purposes. Probably but unlikely (Stairway to Heaven for fuck sake, and you enjoy it).

Nonetheless, I wish I could go deep into my own dreams (some of it) since it is the only avenue I could explore myself without touching reality sensitivity. Perhaps I could head into the loony bin and commit to such.

Perhaps this should all be a dream.

Aching Faith

" Pray to God that I don't believe in "

It's a line from a song made famous by some band, whom knowingly by others, will never be identified by me.

When I listen to such line, the feelings of remorse and pity are forced out of me. I do think it's such a sad thing for anyone to not have the confidence to find God, and worse, starts turning into scientific faith. Am not much of a religious cloud myself, though I do believe there is a vital channel in which comes, finally, to the faith you're holding on.

However, when I start looking deep into my own self, I find it hard to digest on the fact, I'm one of which who divert herself out of any faith in life. For a start, I never really believe in luck, destiny and 'plan'. For me, everything that happens in life is a way of pushing the idea on how life will never be fair to you, which somehow often gets to close. It's ridiculous to think everything is tailored made to suit your circumstances, as it is only a ploy in making you feel you're an inch away from the deliverance. A ploy to coat your very emotions in separating the lines between happiness and everything else.

Faith has nothing to do with luck, destiny, plan, and anything along those trails.

And my God, has nothing to do with the faith.

Pavy

I'm sure it would be evident to know which I would fancy, since the other two are a bit scary to look at.

I don't really watch Vanity Lair since it started, but the re-run made me. With Pavle on, it's even harder to resist.

The show is, without a doubt, a silly concept in taking a piss on the idea of 'beautiful people'. With Ms. Chung constantly portraying as another 'beautiful' people and mentioning that every time she talks to the participants doesn't make it better.

Though, the man up there with Nick (if that is his name) are real fun to watch when mixed with the real vainholes. They actually and constantly separate themselves from the group due to the others' 'beautiful' traits. Even coined a name for the stupid kid who complains about the hair thing.

Fuck it, I watch the show because Pavle is fit. No reason for me to make justification since it's a pointless and ludicrous show and no one should ever think about joining it or make a new one out of it, or even watch it.

It's basically about a used-to-be quite interesting girl turned oh-my-gosh-I-bagged-an-indie-boy-and-I'm-cooler-and-prettier-and-a-fashion icon (I used to think she was fun but then, she proved me that all models are alike) as the host, deliberately annoying others with her 'witty' lines and at the same time narrating the days (big brother style) of the moronic beauties in the house.

The house consists of some people, a boy who became a gal who is a glamour model, men with make up and nail colours, girls with cakey make up and hideous tan and Pavle and Nick. They stay in the house and one day there'll be three new people hoping to join the sadness of the life in the house and only two will make it and somehow, the next day only one will make it and the one will remove the existing member and live another week without seeing the light of happiness or anything at all.

Confusing? Not really. I just make it appears as such so that no one will watch it, even though it's a re-run.

Hefty Dreams

'I want a huge old building and have mass rituals'

The exact words from my own self, scribbled on an old piece of paper in my school book.

Nothing really change I guess besides the fact I now understand that I do not need a huge old building to conduct rituals. In spite of the scribbled wish, I still am unable to do such, for a scarce in human anticipating for an upcoming rituals.

Have never conduct or witness any, which instigate my dream of having one.

How nice it would be to know anyone who is not mentally mental, to have a similar interest in the things I enjoy. Like reading obituaries in the morning papers.

Pimp-ish Pot of Leppys'

Greenish-bruised sleeve
opened up wishes.
On the image
to be painted.

Oozing mockery
under few loves.
Holding hard proof
by callous breaths.

Pots of gold
for a pool of blood.
A stamp of spots
for an endless mark.


..............................

I have this greenish-bruised sleeve, as a product of an eventful incident. It is never an accessory I wish to carry, though a reminder on my existence. It has been a subject of mockery and hateful sing along, which is sad, having it coming and revolve around my household.

Regardless of the stupid manner it being appreciated, I am quite happy to have the honour of holding such, since it being said by members of strangers murmuring the coming of luck hidden under it.

I might very well be made fun of, or having names called for having it. At the very best, I know those friends who never treat it like how the features in my current episodes treat me, will be in me.











Does neon lights, jumping animals and old history part of the deal for the pimp-ish pot from leppy?

Flight On

The emergent conscience blinking upon her sight. Counting colours while clutching the head lights. She is under every troops. To keep the threads in line. She blesses the air and curses the sun. Not keeping others. Not knowing much. Witnessing creatures assigning wrath. Her channels through their hasty fights. By losing everyone in a lightning night.

..........................

It could have been faster if I flick through the channels without putting in any consideration, since I no longer enjoy the telly as much as I used to. Same issue plastered all over for me to decipher? When it concerns a bunch of annoying friends who keep telling others on the friends' secrets, there is nothing for me to analyze or even bother.

People or 'friends' are generally funny. Causing them to constantly making you feel terrible about the slightest thing in life. Like, calling you ugly because one of your eyes happens to be looking weird, and putting you down because your shoes have dirts on it.

Seriously, I don't understand why 'friends' have this urge to say nasty things about you just when you are out of the gloom. 'I got terrible result', 'Poor you, and you smell and ugly.'. There is a reason why we name them as our friends and not just random acquaintance. If you have nothing nice to tell your friends, don't bother speaking to any of them. Criticizing is on thing, mindless bashing is another.

I get it, we all say nasty things about others, but not when you are supposedly under a close ties. We should know better how the friend would feel if we say some things. Calling your friend stupid when you know he/she has been struggling with a mental issue (alzheimer)and telling others your friend is ugly when he/she is in recovery after a horrible accident (bad sun exposure).

There's a reason why we're friends you douche. I think you're a bit ugly and dumb, but did I say it to you straight?

Hence, the reason why I would not bother having another 100 friends. I know better people are not necessarily interested in having you as another shoulder and hands to keep.




Though it's funny how I keep complaining. I guess I am a douche to my own self. Self douche-ry.

Just Maybe

You are not as good as you think you are. Telling your equally stupid wife not to become like a mother of mine who you stamp as 'a divorcee with tons of boyfriends', probably open up my mind on how much of a scumbag you are.

Before I could begin,

To say such thing is as revolting as looking at you giving me advice in life.

Coming from a married piece of shit shagging any girls he get makes me nauseas.

And boy, advising your wife who parade herself with her younger man is like teaching a cow how to swim.

If you really think your money and 'knowledge' validate every statement you make, you are as pathetic as I now know you are.

I would not mind if you end up in a ditch holding plastic cup for change because frankly, you do not deserve any treatment from even a mugger, sick bastard.

I know for a fact my mother or even myself are not much of an angel, though we never turn our backs on the glass. Nonetheless, my condolences to you to not realize how much your whole money-constructed life is no better than others. If you think you are better than everyone else, do not fucking bother being with everyone else.

Next advice you should tell your wife, do not fucking come to the divorcee's house for a swim, and treat others as an excuse to not see your stupid face. Bastard.

A Scottish Mob

By now, I think people should be aware on the fact that, that fatty behind United is in or under the Scottish Mob. Maybe that sounds a bit offensive. (Rephrase) That fatty who manages United for over 20 years is in relation with the Scottish mob.

Behind the team would not justifies his 'efforts' in managing the team. Hence explaining, the reigning title and impressive records under the name of Alex Ferguson (Sir, Yes)

I know this may seem like something out of the jealousy box, but really, it is quite impossible for man to escape all the scrutiny and public bashing. How can a man command part of Manchester to be an absolute dickhead and instruct a massive attack on the people who supports The Reds.

I mean, really. Quite surprised no one has ever noticed his grim activity.

He is considerably overweight, under a lot of stress frequently, baby-ing over the concern of better club, and constantly putting the 'enemy' on his radar.

How much more can I say?

He has nothing more than an evil and wary face.
He never instigate any conversation with other managers.
Not very chatty eh?.
He assaulted the wimp and he got away with it.
No one question about it.
He murdered a young man with great potential in The Reds. Notice how we lack in young players?
Okay, perhaps I made that up but who knows.
He is an evil conniving chap, who probably has more evil under the belly than we ought to believe.
He is an ego magnified man in/under the mob.

If he is a regular fat arse, why would he worry over silly matter like Manchester City. And how did he get all the young boys to come over and stay despite his well known tantrum and ludicrous requests. We know how Wenger does it but that is a completely different spectrum in this theory.

He has got the full criteria of a mob, a cunning one. It is a wonder why none of his boys ever criticized him. People are people and they do fall under some mistakes, but Fergie, no man, he got it under cover like the bodies he has snatched.

Such a shame he will not stop moaning about Liverpool. Constantly trying to pull our blood pressure up with his silly remarks.

I could very well salute him in carrying the club victoriously. Though, that did not happen due to his unprofessional attitude towards thing.

Open your eyes people, he is a mob and we should end this despotic years under him in football. I do not have an ill feeling towards him, I just have no love for a mob like him.

If you love the game, sign up for a free trial in the investigation of the Sottish mob on www.youmustbemadtothinkiamthismad.org

May the evil runs off the pitch.

Ps: If you do believe (and have full confidence) in me, I love you. But you may have to consult a psychiatrist.

Zippora Vermillion Rose (Seven)

He was a son.
Smiling with a teary eye
Longing for the mothers' warmth.

He was a child.
Hanging from the tree garden
With eyes in shots of innocence.

He was a boy.
In spots of charms
While draping himself in his tounge.

He was a man.
Carrying a hand of trust
To search for a heart.

but he was never a love.
Wishing for breathes.


...............................

The name, can it get even more interesting. With a dash of fresh look and absence of gigantic physical measures, she is definitely one who will never force a blah from me. Funny thing is, a person from fashionspot, ought to believe she is a daughter of Zippo's owner, which quite frankly would be an irony, if she marries one.



And that is Ms Zippy Seven. I reckon she looks a bit like the Chloe girl whose last name is impossible to remember. Nonetheless, it is nice to see a girl who can carry a mile of euphemisms without looking like an arse.

Though euphemisms are not really something we should celebrate.

Having been told as being eccentric or unique or different, did not really affect me in ways it should in todays' world, considering everyone tries their very best in being the aforementioned traits. Being those would mean you are a descendent of a mad parents, or just a sad child.

55 Head Ons

Shredding for numbers. Taking for joy.
Loving to lust. Longing for the lost.


The mad reading guy tells my mum he is avoiding me to dodge my inquisitive mind. Cannot really tell from which conversation, he then suddenly feels the need to avoid my questions. Though it is not a rare occasion as I had once been told, someone believe I am a person of 'risks' when in open conversations.

Which bring me to a conclusion, that people are mental and they are heading to a terrible head-haven.

Except for our M&S family friend, who sends us goodies and foodies.

We are the new pants bomber rats.

Top that weird observers.

Understanding Snatcher

The trouble with two is, in the agony. To pretend the air will not steal her fluency or his charm.

The trouble with two is, the exaggerated attempt. In erecting wit.

The trouble with two is, to fill the emptiness. When smiles no longer the absorbent.

The trouble with two is, it never stay true.


...............................

When asked the other day on the things I've missed, it's expected for scotch eggs and walking to be featured. Never thought those two things come hand in hand with a family friend (who never returned, due to a better job offer).

Though I have failed in compensating my past preference. My laziness and lack of care might contribute to such.

And the funky number man, reckons the minimal experience I have with men (not boys) might cause heartache. As laughable as it seems, it's not the first in handling the line. Was told, previously, I should no longer assume men as a bigger form of boys. Apparently, being 'like' one of the boys might suspend my days as an adult. Boo?

Nonetheless, the whole concept of listening to these funny observation or inner link (what ever they named it), is to have a fun laugh and maybe put a small, unintended thought.

Only 19 and they want me to worry over that philosophical mind crap. Sheesh am at the age where I consume my own energy in rambling over pavlova as a different food than baklava. Or learning. Or life in general (IN GENERAL).


Please tree of the above, send me love that will send me to the tingling noise of winnings and Mulberry. I might need it after the awful mistake created by the tedious system in modern days. Thank You, love.

Charlieissocoollike, Twilight?

The way he chuckles reminds me of an evil friend who, apparently has an admirable power in preventing children from ruining her drawings.

Amazing.

Anyhow, its a wonder how anyone (even one who's over the age of ignorance) has an ability to keep up with the stupidity of the book. I mean, really, a 'genius lady' creates a girl character of possibility in having a funky disease (frequent seizures and bad acting), who's strange enough to fall for a monster who has hair spray fetish, and boom, best book like ever.

Really now. It could pass as a best attempt to write a fictional saga by a two years old. Which could explain the concept of, whatever it may be.

Since the lady allegedly plagiarized numbers of book, she might, out of her own lack of intelligence, plagiarized from a two years old.

Love the sensible justification of how terrible the book is, by throwing David Walliams achievements. A camper he may be, I'll invest my thought for him, which has already happen.

On a less greener side, a friend points out to me, on how horrible I look when watching any moving pictures. Apparently, I open my mouth and show my bunny teeth while putting on a smile. Fuck you non-attentive friend.

This is me chanelling them

Once I dramatically elaborate my senseless days away from home to my mother. With expectation some hug and a line of "It'll be better" deliberately end the approach. However, things never does pass the way we plan. She manifests her concern over my love for lounging in the comfort of our (her) house. Pointing on how others developed multiple and joyful relationships with the world, while I blatantly accused others in signifying their ignorance on me. It's not about me adopting an anti-social life, I despise such concept being plunged in motion, anyway.

This case constantly revolves around my lack of vision on the world.

Not that I don't care.

I just can't.

It would seems like a waste. After all those toddies years constructing a life of their own. Climbing an endless wall to nowhere. Dreams are made of lies and candies. Obstructing ways in soul searching.

Meh.

I'm not in my brightest mind anyway.

Why bother stating matters of irrelevance when you can't even stand by your thoughts.

Regardless,

I need to find ways to alter my days in this baby.



The days spent walking down the blocks, with interval of spreading false directions to similar bones. And exchanging views on the world with random strangers. Clouded with the view surrounding St George's Episcopal.

I loathe how I can no longer search faces.

Eny

Summon me to your limbs. From your wounded earth. Call for an expression. To search for the last. Find me in the skins. Aligning their smiles. Break every corner. And climb into walls. To get me in. Every needles in you.

................

Kaldor-Hicks boys are a bunch of sick bastards. Sweet potential over actual need. Lets try your re-birth in their shoes. It irks me just to think of the potential nodding heads to such plague. It may only seems like a concept in economics, but I just have to wonder, on the designated box created in separating their conscience and mind. Justifying a horrible act does not make it better. I may not be an inyourface philanthropist, though it never allows me in snatching a wanted hand.

With lies I have seen, posh people never really bother about the other half. Unless they were from the same dug hole. Charity IS a justification that we have the potential to care. Donating empathy to soothe our aching souls. Idiots are meant to roam as idiots, however you justify your intelligence.

Double

It's easy to be happy when you pay for your wants with your own money (and additional family loan). Finally got this piece of shit without having to borrow from my mother. Nothing beats the smell of fresh item, except when all of your money went out in a second. Good thing a family friend happens to have a three days job for me.

Guess three is the new lucky number, considering the torment I went through with the eight on my neck. Blabbering and stumbling in front of my passion.

It would a breeze to have a super power, of which you'll have no contact with dearest anxiety. And a machine to stop the rumbling attack on alarming days.

Would be easy if I just stop wishing for the back of everything.

Green

So long you are away,
I'll keep it inside.

Instant Light

The trouble of sending an instant sun is the utter chaos in a house of pride. Funny how people intensely anticipate in the race of shagging your own life. To be told off by an inexperience and rather daft child, that she has a way better and full life than my own self, is a kick to your own little bag of the thought 'no such kid will be attach to my family'. Pulling my facial muscle has not stop the idiocracy, rather constructing an even more intrusive attempt in snatching my patience. Point is, there is no point for me to accept the reasoning for such behaviour

Henry's Pill

The most difficult part in being a barely adult child, is having to fancy the younger boys.

Not that it is a preference, as this would only be a mere consultation with fate. To try an earn something to compensate my lack of reason in accepting and dive into the pool of years. By now, I should be reading books and argue on typical social concern, rather than playing cards and games.

Could have been the fact that I have always side myself to the wall. Rejecting the instant make-believe wishes while letting the teeth falling dreams seep into my thought. My childish thought.

Or the look on my face that screams 'Hi! I'm almost 20 but I look, smell, act and talk like a 14 years old. Ask me a stupid question'.


I should probably stop going to the fruit. The stupid smiles and putrid smell of tobacco do not make me feel better.

Stupid child.

People of People

Mine in yours, yours in mine. Every taste of the bite, every bite for the taste. Pulling gravity to rest, resting on a pulling gravity. The tongue to kill the feel, feeling the tongue to kill. Words for love, love for words. Mine for you, Yours for me.

.............

The fine picture could no longer be seen as such. With defining issues and contrast, it is fair to admit how far off we are since the beginning. I can no longer hold the frame to the lies and carrying it on still. It is too hedge off to not bother.

The continuation of lazying around powered by the maximum dose of laughter, does not give you any right or permission to undermine my being. With less number on the paper, I can put you back where you belong without doing much. You in a team does not mean you better than me.

Insolent child(s).

Up Us

Some bones are funny, while most trace the trend. Hidden beast in an angel, triumph terror in a glass. Some lines are high, and the spoken pacing rough. Linen covered under ears, and stealing reality from the breathes. Sallow and sweet, sudden, yet no longer by side.

..............................

People are funny. Unfortunately not in a comedic performance. Too attached to modern cultures and racing ways, yet empty in the hole where fillings are the most plead.

It's a fact how everything we see corrupt our minds. We no longer learn anything by our own thoughts and efforts. Everything is drawn down for us to knock ourselves in. Manners, way of life, and, to the way we dress. No one really bothers in finding the person inside.

Ignorance is no longer the issue. It's the pride and sense of worth that do us blind. We're too cultured and hip and cool, that we do everything wrong to the nicest being we're next to. We're too pretty and intelligent and possess no body odours, and yet, we use the spoon to saccharined our fouls.

In a way, I'm glad nobody really knows me. Since I know myself too well to blend in with the light minds. Let see how far you can climb, cause baby, the land will always catch you free. Be there a name glittered on you, I can tell better with a poo carrying me.

Keep Steady Beat

Miss singing the kind of shits being played all over. It's almost fun when you're with the people. Unless you're keen in singing, this may not be a preference.

A family friend had lavished me with her past items. A mustard-coloured, funny and dirty bag she had since in her twenties is now clinging on my shoulders. Beside it being bigger than myself, it fits nicely and extensively.

And the 'cool' sunnies kids are wearing these days. With rejection on such by her niece, she decided the best person to give away unwanted stuff would be me. Made sense because a thrift kiddo like me appreciates free things.

Besides, the best things in life ARE FREE.

Where's The Ginger Girl?

An anagrammatic text would either annoys the shit out of you or connect your mind to others' thoughts.

If only there's a vision goggle in reading it. I have a friend who's as keen in anagram as me, resulting various migraine in coming out with an actual message.

She reckons dreams are made up of anagrams in pictures.

I reckon we should lay off the problematic and mind-boggling things to computers. We're doom to be taken over by them anyway.




If only it would be easy to read a fine by your circles. Would've been as easy as playing with colours, and tripping over it once we come to its' grip.

If only there's a line to your door. It'll be less of everything.

If only the sky bow down to me. I would be farther, leaving every note of wishes.

IF only I could speak in you. There will be no words left to be a reminder.

Arthi

Those fast eyes, chasing the end. Losing its' tip from the body. Tucking romantic lines and savour the spits. Exposing the lifeless. Echoes the bridge. Covering the lips with numb thoughts. To stage a life, to marry this bone.


..........................

The best part about looking like a 15 year old is getting away when stupid commentaries are made. The un-best part about it, is, having another 15 year old saying 'Nice to meet you' in a superior manner.

Once I turn 20 next year, I'll be 16. Hence, a disregard on money should come in again, in a bigger form.

It's almost impossible for me to watch any news channel now. CNN never cover the football properly. BBC fuck you hard. And others say things they probably don't even know of. Our news broadcaster is turning into Wikipedia. Appreciated for the wrong reason. Or no one cares in tuning in.

Obbie

Snorting the present lights,
as a phase pass on by.
Illuminating trends and deep delirious thoughts,
harvest next to the collected dreams.

The neck elongated,
for a catch better tainted.
Mouthing a peripheral context,
to earn legs in the tribe.

Prayers needing substitution,
of another washed vision.
Tracing their defaults,
a mechanical faulty trials.


....................................

I like to think there is still an available rustic wooden shack waiting for me at the end of the light, reaching the edge of life.

I like to think I am not as daft, even without any interest in reading constantly.

I like to think my freckles and rashes are only the phase we all go through. Or at least I am going through.

I like to think I have my mind, still, and the girl inside is holding on.

I like to think.

Sweaty Pages

With World Cup going on, it really made me missed playing football. Apparently if you are an only daughter, you are not supposed to play football, or being all sweaty running around with the boys. It is not proper nor meant to be.

Growing up as the only girl, I did experiment with numbers of sports, the fun and less fun.

Before football, my brother and I played Badminton every weekends. I was not any good but I could hit the cock, shuttlecock. Then after a while we stopped, well I stopped, since I wanted to go with my brother for his football match.

Then, the football madness burned madly inside me. I was a centre back, but I wanted to be an attacker, but I was not fit enough, considering my legs were tad a bit too short, or a lot shorter than theirs. It was much better playing with my group of friends because no one bothers if you did not played in your position. Everyone just stormed after the poor ball. And running after it when it went over and trailed the streets.

After that, evidently, came the mother's intervention. She told me I cannot play with the boys no more and I should do something rather fetching.

It was Golf to her and Hell to me. I started learning it as soon as I turned nine. Every morning during the weekends, I had to follow my father to the driving range, and hit the balls. Those white hard balls mocking my masculinity. Fun was not happy to aligned itself with Golf. I believe that was when I really start hanging out with older people, hence, my lack of interest to hold a serious conversation with the peers. If I had not played Golf, I would definitely able to do such with the friends (they got the brain, I just got the ability to fake my understanding). And again, I stopped Golf but it was for the better.

Immediately after that, I followed my mother for horse activities and quit doing it. Then, the archery, but cannot stick to it due to the situational factor. Along the line came skateboarding and again, it let me down because my mother found out about me sneaking around to go and skate, and the friend moved back to the States.

With all those semi-ugly memories, I entirely ignored sports, until my brother decided to made fun of me for being a bum.

I knew I could only play football again if my left side is invincible. Damn ribs. And if I have new set of people to play along with.

Starting again is quite difficult as your hold body is used to the softness of the couch and crunchiness of the chips.

Though I am looking forward to start playing tennis just so I can stop myself from moping about how my arms are not as fit as my lower body.

Regardless, I still love playing football more than anything, even Sudoku. And man wants to be girls.

Pretty Boys

A revelation.

Didn't know there are more Brazilians than the Portuguese in the area. Should've known before stepping into the pub.

The antic of 8-10 years old kids trying to impress shorts-clad ladies by expressing their 'queued' disbelief everytime the ball ignores the net, was frankly, a televised minutes on the current trend. I would had easily labelled them as idiots considering the first half of them sitting behind me, the back atmosphere was un-kiddified. They didn't even wince on the thought of the other team scoring. And I thought kids still dwell their thoughts on candies and Mario.

Plus, the pretty boys were such a disappointment. They can't kick.

Good thing someone pointed out a man in Torres's shirt with a (caked) red blushed face, mimicking the great pretty boy on the pitch.

Football's much more interesting when there's crazy bums.


Someone in the Arsenal's management sent an email on summer's job opening and another one of competition with the winner working 'closely' with the team.

Yeah, as if I would like to fuck any of them. Over Wenger's pedo-dead body.

Spinners

Lois: What's going on here?
Stewie: Euh we're playing house.
L: But the boy is all tied up!
S: Euh, Roman Polanski's house.


How I wish my mother would share the laughter as we watch Family Guy. She never appreciates those comics. In her world, The Simpsons is made up of question marks. Boo.

New Herds

They want to open the sparkled rounds to you.
or turn to the next continent.

They admire the settled foot on foreign grass,
and study the language of the unknown.

They long to wake up in a different city,
facing every corner of the glass country.

They stop waking up to you,
avoiding every reflection of the truth.


...............................

I remember quite well, as a child, half-listening to the sound of people mapping the globe. My mother and our close family friends love to share secrets of their travels to mark an overlapping fate. I do not know much about the world since my current situation has not allow me to set my foot on their grounds. Much to my jealousy over their experiences, which only exist once I understand the whole outline of that conversation, admitting your wishes to share their comfy shoes is apparent to me now.

Mother and family friends have lived in different countries for a significant duration. Since, I am not a travelling gypsy, it is sad to say my mother no longer flies with the herd as much. Though I could still prolong my envious thoughts on our family friend, who is currently living in different lands, with a month on each. She is doing some research slash good deed for the locals, and I can make a self conclusion that she is having a blast while leaving her sister's favourite kid (Yes the sister loves me :) ).

Since my field of study will send me nowhere interesting, I can only hope I might become a charity case for a traveller. Haa or married to a fugitive.

There is a lot to learn about yourself and others by travelling. Like, locals love to ask me for directions on places I have never settled in, and for an opinion on donuts. I learn people are weird and a bit daft, since who would ask a non local for directions. And, I learn I attract funny, not in a laughable manner, beings. Or scary men and nuns who would stare at you in public transportation.

One thing I can be proud of is, frantic compliments I receive about my hat or cap or whatever it is you call it these days. Yes, it is the one thing I always get when we go somewhere.

I might not be a constant fliers but I sure am an awesome hat slash cap girl. ;p

Make Me Feel Young

Towered atmosphere,
soothing smiles.

Seasoned hairs,
sighted as shoes run by.

Speedy palms,
catching up to arm.

Repetitive greetings,
"Have you got a biz card, Sir"


............................

Yes, I am able to live through my first day of the first job. Mind you people, a posh bratty kid I am not, even with the pastries and Twix bar as breakfast. That's just a kid being unhealthy.

Didn't have to do much, fixing the catalogue and playing my self-recorded sentences the whole day. Not fun but not bad, not bad at all.

The pedo winks and hellos are a bit funny but it pass as my sweats turn heroic on me. And a pedometer. Holding myself back from laughing at that (though it's silly, which is the point), is much harder than the job itself.

Indeed, a pedometer with a slightly attractive girl on the page.

White roses on a grave

Can (easily) play this song now. Was a bit scared in the beginning, since their riffs hit you in the face, instantly. Then, I realized the bass lines aren't that tough. Though am a bit rusty now, thanks to months of laziness and studies.

And a friend think I should sing it too. I didn't know they're going with the dog sound aesthetic in playing this song when he asks me to sing it. I can sing like a dog or fish on ecstasy, if you roll that way.

Next, learn RATM's and be my brothers' favourite. Haa

Technically, You're Not In.

Yes, that's for the US team to figure why they're in World Cup. Since they call it soccer, it wouldn't apply to the general spontaneous chant of FIFA whenever World Cup comes to mind. I didn't see a letter S or Soccer, making US team laughable in playing football, considering their 'football' is a bunch of tubby man running around the field trying to topple some other tubby. Thus, due to wording technicality, you're not in. So quit telling people Beckham used to play for your team to make winning the cup or have people enjoying your game plausible.

I don't hate them, I'm just angered by the confusions I have to face every time a conversation about football with an American occurs. Sorry.

And most of them are talking about the scarves anyway.

Monstrous Agenda

In presumably, trying to convince people that bears are cuddly and won't eat your head off when you say hi to them. Of course, the bears' name should be Teddy or else, it'll chew your head off.

I have absolutely no clue on the job matters. Considering a family friend couldn't help thinking of my new profound love for nothing, I'll start working next Wednesday, thanks to sympathy.

And Whitehall's 'twatter' doesn't lure even an inch of human brain, which proves he's an awful young man with a fancy face, and few good lines.

And Ian Kershaw will not talk to you directly, since he's better than you, or me.

Unsentimental

Hold on to me while I'm underwater and feed the remnants with your bricks.

Keep me inside when it's cold outside, move around to stay in sight.

Immense yourself in the sea of custard but don't drag it too sudden.

As it all exist in our imagination.

Mountain Goats

and I thought I could rest after that episode. Good thing they're not shit, or else, I would be the sacrificial goat of humiliation. Funny how in a way, I'm representing the voice of the goats, as believed by my friends, and I'm a cannibal.

Last night was pretty good though, despite having endured (some) long poetry. I have a problem in following a long line and I hate it when a poem gets draggy, since the anticipation of getting lost is imminent. And to make fun of things even without any intention of causing harm. Like when they give books as the prize, I shrugged thinking nice pastries and teas would be nicer, jokingly. Though, pastries and teas are quite appropriate for such occasion, just to keep me focus. Selfish bastard.

You Dear

"I regret to inform you that in a very competitive field your
scholarship application has been unsuccessful."




I wonder if they mean it as they compose these very harsh statement. Considering their regret, I can, with fair composure, conclude such genuine trait may not establish their intention.


Ironically, I had planned to write this on Tuesday, the day I assumed to be the break. However, my heart was heavy as I thought about the manner to which my reaction to either positive or negative (now we know it's negative) email should follow. Subsequently allowing myself to log into my email account, which is irrelevant on normal occasion (since I only open my emails once in a day, and I had done it earlier).

You can call it god's way of manifesting His words in my mind, I'll call it a weird coincidence. Mother saw my reaction and screamed at me. Oblivious to the motive behind my application, she continued to demise me. Churned my strength and spat it out. It would be easy if I just told her I do all this to emulate her but swallowing the high pitch noise is much easier at this point.

I just hope she will one day, erase her reasoning behind my action and allow me to do things secretly. Just so I could enjoy or drain my tears at my own comfort.

I Moth

Single rip to the cloth of the beat,
insinuate the senses I have never feel.
Calling for the ripple,
to send me back to you.

To where the warm blood soothes itself.

Travelling eyes wandering around,
in search for the longing fool.
Begging for another insight,
to leave the memories with you.


.......................

For the record (Hanna), me using a lot of "You's" is not a revelation. It's a mere substitution to a lifeless word. No reference to any person at all, since I'm not as stupid as people think, thus, in no way would I ever drag my words out of my vulnerable fragile-labelled self. If I would say something about anyone, there would be an interesting acronyms (since I'm good at it);p .

And,

a you-can-call-it clairvoyance or whatever they are, informed me, I should dumb myself down in front of others. As, my brain works in a different mechanism which points out every reason for me to not make others feel stupid. And he said, I have managed to achieve that discreetly. Therefore, to friends who potentially come across this, I'm genuinely sorry if I have ever, in any circumstances, made you feel stupid or anything associated with it. It's just that the trouble of conveying my thoughts to others is as rough as a sandpaper. Or because I'm a total idiot. I'm not going to do this personally since I'm a horrible person. :)

Chips or Poetry

Epic episode. One of the epic ones. There's another episode where there's a poll (obviously) asking what do the British public prefer, chips or poetry. Surprisingly, 80% prefer chips. I was thinking of the 20% of twats who answered poetry. I don't see people running around like mental when there's a short of poetry.

My mom has been complaining how I have been spending my break in room watching this type of show. Since she doesn't get why am I laughing like an idiot, I asked her to join me watching one of the episode. Evidently, being a mother, she doesn't laugh. At all. It's understandable because she's more interested in fat people moaning about their weight on Oprah. And she likes Oprah.

I'm not much of a funny person but that doesn't mean I should justify any hilarious idiotic remarks made. As we all agree, reference to the bottom bit of youtube annoys us while entertain us at the same time. It's fine if you don't think something is funny and you inform that to others, but love, don't bother explaining the reason behind it.

We get it, you're an idiot.

Obvious Contrast

Between mexican-clad boys and sounds of semi-toasted men. Can't wait to have kids who'll make fun of my music taste.

Sorry, I Don't Dance

and I can't.

To think that blood runs in me. The dancer carried me. Still, I can't dance.

I believe during the third month of carrying me, the dancer tries to infuse the system in me, an it fails. Hence, surrendering her frail body to the hospital. Contemplating on the outcome. Several months later, I exist. In not only the dancer's life, but everyone else's.

I do, at times, ponder, if the blood that was lost, is the one that carries the dancer's hope.

But, I know it's not it. I know I can dance. Without any lesson, I can straighten my arms and legs. And spin around while letting my one foot carrying the weight. With all these, I wonder, why I don't dance.

Tracing the defaults didn't save me any clue.

Though, it starts right after I lost my three friends. Not in a tragic picture, more like me leaving them to save a year in school. I do dance around with them. Celebrate days and try on others' shoes. For days we could laugh and spare only a minute for disgust. We could barely hate each other intensely.

After I left them, I start to lose interest in achievements. The little one that is. If before, I'm able to speak and act in front of a huge audience, I now can't. Once, I could shed tears and loosing the noose around my heart, I now can't.

I share everything with the three kids, but I now share emotions with the ghosts. It's much simpler and unabashed by letting the flies fly. Making excuses in seeing a moving object is easier for me now. I can escape the responsibilities in chasing others by creating a space for me and the ghosts around me. Building walls to protect them from others' hunger in winning the game of earning my being.

People deem this a paranoia and seclusion. I call it the non-existence of trust. I lost it when I left my three friends.

Mind you, I am happy. In the least amount needed. I can't replace the confidence I had in them. I can't make up a new scenarios to fit theirs. And, I can't pretend I see them in my current circles. But, that doesn't mean I can't live without them. I'm only singing these verses to exclude myself from disappointment. From others.

But, as of this, I understand losing them makes me a better person. In a way, I am not ashamed in writing letters to anonymous. I have always write to people I know, who doesn't know me. This would be a perfect instance. I write to a soul-less machine, just to make me feel better. And it does, without pushing for a consideration or an explanation.

If I did this to a human form, it would consume me times and bits of my brain, just to let them see and comprehend, far beyond these words.

And these are the conclusion to why I don't dance. Because I know no one will see me behind the routine. They'll only see Grace and Joy, which neither is myself.

Plus, if I still dance, I will'nt write and fantasize, and draw lifeless images.

Jimmy Clee-What?

Watched a documentary and bit of the Glastonbury Festival appeared. A man with a strong resemblance to Phil Jupitus started talking about the Festival, and his name was Jimmy Clee-something. I started laughing with thought the person got it wrong or he was pulling his finger on them. Well, all I know I was the one reading the name wrong.

And Carr's look a like was in my sleep. Fucking wreck.

And the bloke at the phone shop cheated me and quit the job.

Will the person who's been messing and planting curses in my life surrender him/herself to death. :(

Sea of Lines

: Oi, what's with the old bald man slapping the players' hands. Idiot.
: Eee, that's Prince William, idiot.


Didn't realize it is Prince Willy in the FA Cup's opening. He looks like a proper old man. With partially bald head and the frown face. To think Hanna and myself used to linger around Eton makes me sick. Least, was not waiting for the Nazi Boy.




Wants to grow old like Mr. and Mrs. Vogel over here. Except I don't want to be a librarian since I can't stand the monument.

4,000 pieces of art. They're either that driven in collecting pieces or a brilliant mastermind in robbing museums. I much prefer the latter inference since it would made me love them even more. I don't condone in the activity of robbery but to add such in the Vogels' life, is like a pepper to the nice hot soup.

Reading The Artists Magazine, after a whole lot of time forgetting and abandoning them, makes me miss sketching and paint again. I want to be similar to the entrants of 'over 60' competition, by re-living the moments which I had once enjoy being in. Have always admire oils and graphite but I just learn a new medium, which is amazingly produced with intricate details, scratchboard. I know it has been a while since people start to use it but it just hit me when I see the two artists pieces. Lovely.

Lazy and Safe

Fingers you've collected.
While roaming around.
Should be no use.
In dismantling this machine.

Twirling Eyes

Turbulent waves of indefinite feature. Sting the pulse. Initiating a combative reaction. To shield self from the sunken teeth on your flesh. To shield self from the mixture.


................

A little kid I know calls the rolling eyes, The twirling eyes. I am glad the kid is a girl. It's a scary thing to have jazzy boys.

It's nice being a year older now, since the power to make your treasures ancient now lies in your wrinkly hands. I much prefer in marking the age of things around me rather than people. I only remember my mother's age just to avoid being kick in the face for being a terrible daughter. Honestly, age doesn't play that important of a role in my eyes on others.

Ever since I was a lot younger (living in a pond with limited words), I have always dwell myself in a non-living concept of life. I have friends but it only come in force when my imaginative monk decides to take a break. I was always curious and asking question which to my mother, is one that deliberately pushing her patience to the limit. As until now, it carries on.

Nothing bad, I reckon, could come from this ionized corrugated iron up in the head. Though, it bothers me when nobody else could sit through a conversation on history and those silly stuffs, and everything else in between.

I hate to think of myself as a nerd due to my preferences in subjects, since nerds are people who know things and are amazing at annoying others with their knowledge and exceptionally irritable while shoving their intelligence on others faces (for instance: Rory McGrath on QI).

I hope I am nowhere near that state since that would eat me alive. Generally, I don't share things I know, without being in the occasion where there is a reliance on such. Randomly dropping facts is particularly, a shitty thing to do. Well, literally, considering birds do the same thing. No wonder I have such disgust on those losers flapping their wings to prove to us they're better. Fucking turd.

Congratuwelldone!

Yes, I'm going to bring it back to my dictionary despite none of my friends acknowledge the phrase. It's almost like when no one gets it when you tell them It's Chico Time when they ask you on the clock.

And after two weeks of an extensive eyes and fingers workout, I deserve a congratuwelldone for my own self.

And a marathon of all the things I've missed. To be with neglected Bassie.




I enjoy Jimmy Carr even with the weird sound coming from him everytime he laughs. Epic.

Plus One

1.

Uh huh.

Commentator: 'the lack of tackles from Liverpool show that they are happy to sit back and just attack on the break'.

I think a kid with down syndrome could make more sense.


2.

Wow these commentators really don't like Liverpool


3.

love this commentator.

2 minutes in: 'Liverpool have done nothing so far which deserves two corners'.

As if that makes any remote sense.


4.

"Must of done it [injury] from one of his two touches"

Seriously GTFO you pathetic excuse for a human being, you're doing my head in.


5.

'He does kick himself. but I can't believe it isn't a penalty.'


6.

Ah well, just typical of Stevie from this season.

Lazy and wasteful.

But it's only Lucas who passes backwards and costs us goals so it's okay.


7.

I want us to win still, but if Chelsea win because of that Gerrard pass, I just can't wait to hear Ferguson


8.

It's literally like Drogba waits all season for the Liverpool game before he starts diving around like a twat. He hasn't dived at all this season, until now.


9.

Lol, the commentators even making up statistics:

'Gerrard has 1 in 29 against Chelsea.'


and


10.

Lol at United fans practically blaming us for them not winning the title. You lost the title yourself.



I slept during the first half of the game. Guess my conscience didn't want me to witness the Stevie Effect. I've noticed some of the commentators have been quite bias and daft in blasting Liverpool in every game. Seriously if you can't stand them don't bother commenting on the game. Must've been a retarded United fan with a lacrosse players' ball. I know that one fat bald guy being a twat and unprofessional in every Liverpool match. Cow.

It's good there's footylounge, for me to prove to my mother am not the only one who hates United. Half of the board (beside the United fans) hate them, so go figure.

Just today Ferguson has shown us the pathetic side of him, kicking himself in the nut while blaming Stevie for their loss. Poo

In 10 Years Time

I would like to sketch a portrait of my teenage self as a nonsensical, slightly peculiar and not much of an intelligence built sod, of a person. At this age, I am quite sceptical in going through the winding road of achievements and climbing the social ladder.

To begin with, I don't even believe in the latter creation as everybody knows once you're on top of any given circumstances, the person(s) below you will start a regime in toppling you. This = no relevance in life's autonomy.

Thus, the notion of completing the cycle of achievement at this age is as funny to me as learning vegetarians believe we shouldn't consume animals flesh as they are created to roam around this planet as much as we are promoted to commit to that lifestyle. I would bet that these people aren't as religious as they believed since they had missed out on few chapters of the holy book. But, I am no where near the greatness of creature so I would love to leave the subject of religion behind in being an opinionated fuck.

To be in peers where all have subscribed to the concept of completing eternal stretch of goals has placed me in a position where I would be happy just watching Strange but True episodes. It's almost as if the society has prescribed a new curriculum where the young should very well accommodate themselves with grand details of their future self.

Everyone now has something up in their minds in putting together the puzzles they had dreamed of as a child. I failed in adjusting to this subject as my goal in life is to be happy and it applies in all areas of my life, well generally. And,this is to be the least in the normal expectation of others and they're aren't happy with me. Except my own mother, of course.

Thus, in asking myself whether I am acting as an insolent child is irrelevant since I feel that I am doing quite well in making myself visible to reasonable people. To be a highlight in your society is not in my current or past, and hopefully future agenda. And, I am not interested in being a pastel to everyone else.