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.
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. :)
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.
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. :(
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.
: 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.
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.
................
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.
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
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.
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.
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