Like most of the time these things happen, I cannot recall its advent, the events which made up it's start. I do remember death, some of these deaths of my own hand, and running...always running.
But I was with friends. Three or four of them. On the run from someone somewhere, but we ran together.
The earliest memory was boarding the platform. Each time we reached a new area, there was a platform in a building. I believe the interior of each edifice looked the same: all walls made of tile the colour of corn kernels' many shades of yellow. Dim lighting, sometimes yellow, other times orange. The platorm was always by the bathroom.
Our final mission would be carried out in the rain. "It never rains in --" the last word I can't remember now. The Leader takes off running, his figure already rendered tiny by distance, descending a gradual decline. We follow him quickly, the rain washing over us, to a diamond fence, where soldiers convene for a meeting. We fugitives (?) wait in shadow.
One soldier is steps out before the others (I see only his back, washed in light), and he appears suddenly to be stabbed by several targeting-lasers. A barrage of bullets follows, and he is killed.
One of my foolish comrades, later, points his targeting-laser at a husky soldier near the fence The soldier turns around, intending to shoot my comrade, but does nothing: he is defenceless.
Saturday, 11 September 2010
Sunday, 1 August 2010
The Childish Woman and the Man Who Who Slays His Youth
Unless I'm feeling lust, I don't like the feelings women give me. And girls. They're feelings of sugar and warmness and kisses and hugs, body heat, cold lips pressed against you in rain, loneliness, betrayal, and guilt. Things that disturb. Closness. Vulnerability. Naked, bare, ravaged honesty that is tattered and beautiful and wrong.
Lately, I've been having these feelings again. Not love, not likeness, but interest. I know a 28..sorry...29 year old woman who, despite her obvious mature age, seems to want to climb back into the egg of the womb. She does not want to grow up.
She isn't that attractive, our personalities don't click, and she doesn't seem to have a clue as to who and what I really am. But she is a puzzle and I am curious to figure her out. I can't describe it.
Someone (else) has been rubbing my emotions raw lately. I can smell the blood and see the bone sticking out.
there are some people who simply shouldn't get too close to others. When they do, bad things happen. They either destroy themselves or others. Self destruction doesn't have to be suicide, but a 'sealing up' of all you are and stand for.
Lately, I've been having these feelings again. Not love, not likeness, but interest. I know a 28..sorry...29 year old woman who, despite her obvious mature age, seems to want to climb back into the egg of the womb. She does not want to grow up.
She isn't that attractive, our personalities don't click, and she doesn't seem to have a clue as to who and what I really am. But she is a puzzle and I am curious to figure her out. I can't describe it.
Someone (else) has been rubbing my emotions raw lately. I can smell the blood and see the bone sticking out.
there are some people who simply shouldn't get too close to others. When they do, bad things happen. They either destroy themselves or others. Self destruction doesn't have to be suicide, but a 'sealing up' of all you are and stand for.
Friday, 23 July 2010
This summer...
July is a spiteful wench. She loves to suck the vitality from your bones and from your mind.
She has hair made of fire, spits photons at your eyes, and loves to sit in the car with you when you have no AC.
She holds the south in her iron, super-heated grip.
Ugh. You need to sleep.
She has hair made of fire, spits photons at your eyes, and loves to sit in the car with you when you have no AC.
She holds the south in her iron, super-heated grip.
Ugh. You need to sleep.
Thursday, 22 July 2010
Period.
I want.
No, 'want' is the wrong word. I never 'want' to do this.
Allow me to retry: rather than me wanting to cry, tears themselves want to fall from my eyes.
But no. There's no time for tears. There's absolutely none.
They didn't roll off so easily today. First time in a long time.
No, 'want' is the wrong word. I never 'want' to do this.
Allow me to retry: rather than me wanting to cry, tears themselves want to fall from my eyes.
But no. There's no time for tears. There's absolutely none.
They didn't roll off so easily today. First time in a long time.
I had a dream that someone blew my brains out. It felt so real. And I actually died. It didn't hurt, but I felt wind go through my head.
For some reason, though, I either didn't die or came back as something less than living.
I remember dusty roads, a blue sky, air the colour of blue-chrome, a cold sort of look, a lonely and old sort of look, a baseball field with a curved fence (the one that looms behind the batter's plate/mound/whatever).
I also think I sought revenge. Woke up before things started making sense.
I knew the guy who shot me. Way back from childhood.
They say every face in a dream is one from real life. Dreams do not come from nothing.
Speaking of dreams, I saw Inception tonight. Very good film.
I can't think.
For some reason, though, I either didn't die or came back as something less than living.
I remember dusty roads, a blue sky, air the colour of blue-chrome, a cold sort of look, a lonely and old sort of look, a baseball field with a curved fence (the one that looms behind the batter's plate/mound/whatever).
I also think I sought revenge. Woke up before things started making sense.
I knew the guy who shot me. Way back from childhood.
They say every face in a dream is one from real life. Dreams do not come from nothing.
Speaking of dreams, I saw Inception tonight. Very good film.
I can't think.
Wednesday, 21 July 2010
Oh how they run.
Words love to run away from me. They want to starve the writer inside of sustenance.
Those bloody bastards. Am I going to have to start swallowing dictionaries like daily supplements now?
Those bloody bastards. Am I going to have to start swallowing dictionaries like daily supplements now?
Phantom Touch.
I chose this title simply because I saw it somewhere and thought to myself:
'What an interesting combination of words.'
Is it wrong to let it all slide off like so many droplets of water and oil? Is it wrong to never let them sink in, seep in, and settle? Is it wrong to wipe them off like bothersome sweat?
Either way, I'll keep doing it all the same. After all, there simply isn't enough time.
'What an interesting combination of words.'
Is it wrong to let it all slide off like so many droplets of water and oil? Is it wrong to never let them sink in, seep in, and settle? Is it wrong to wipe them off like bothersome sweat?
Either way, I'll keep doing it all the same. After all, there simply isn't enough time.
Let's restart like it's 2012.
My blog's life cycle seems to be mirroring Mayan prophecy about 2012. What I thought was an end was rather a new beginning. See, I actually like for people to see what I have hear. It's a way to infect the internet with my ego. Is this selfish? Maybe.
But enough with the pessimism - or at least so much of it. I'm keeping in the mind the 'employer takes a look at all your information online' possibility and treading this ice carefully. I like the cold, but I don't want to freeze to death.
So recently I've discovered that I no longer care for wordsmithery. My fingers and pen and keyboard were once on fire for the novel, the short story, the essay. It's just not in me right now. It may be lying there dormant, but I simply want to move on to something else. I don't mind being typified as a writer, but I desire to be something else, too. However, that writer does still take shallow, withering breathes, because even as I write this post, I feel the need to be poetic, using metaphor and simile and other words I learned in English class that I've forgotten. I'm even trying to watch the proximity of my words, checking that two words aren't too close to each other.
And right now, I just pressed backspace and fixed a typo. Twice, now, actually. Oh, took out a spacing error!
Anyway, lately, I've been RPing my life away. This is why I cannot relax, cannot slow down, cannot play video games, cannot 'play' period. As Brother John said, one of my favourite simple quotes of all time: "There is simply not enough time." (Damn, I wrote two "times" too close to each other.) I feel as though I must keep pressing forward into this unknown road that's been lying before me for ages, yet I was too afraid to step forward.
"Swallow your fears.
Swallow the things that hold you back
That hold you back from
Living life."
A song. Plays at work all the time. Folks, truth comes in many forms, even in song.
I can no longer live in a fantasy world of ornery, snappy Korean women who control energy, 16 year old schoolgirls that transmutate bodily mass into knives and kill people part time, and alien commandos who can manipulate shadows. All of these crazy, raging ideas and vivid, colourful insane characters in my mind must be put back in their toy box for now, the child in me must go to bed, and the man I am must go to work.
There is a road before me. There are footsteps ground into the dirt, from where I dared ventured forward but a couple of times. But now, I must strap on my bag, tighten my shoe laces, step forward once more.
And never look back.
But enough with the pessimism - or at least so much of it. I'm keeping in the mind the 'employer takes a look at all your information online' possibility and treading this ice carefully. I like the cold, but I don't want to freeze to death.
So recently I've discovered that I no longer care for wordsmithery. My fingers and pen and keyboard were once on fire for the novel, the short story, the essay. It's just not in me right now. It may be lying there dormant, but I simply want to move on to something else. I don't mind being typified as a writer, but I desire to be something else, too. However, that writer does still take shallow, withering breathes, because even as I write this post, I feel the need to be poetic, using metaphor and simile and other words I learned in English class that I've forgotten. I'm even trying to watch the proximity of my words, checking that two words aren't too close to each other.
And right now, I just pressed backspace and fixed a typo. Twice, now, actually. Oh, took out a spacing error!
Anyway, lately, I've been RPing my life away. This is why I cannot relax, cannot slow down, cannot play video games, cannot 'play' period. As Brother John said, one of my favourite simple quotes of all time: "There is simply not enough time." (Damn, I wrote two "times" too close to each other.) I feel as though I must keep pressing forward into this unknown road that's been lying before me for ages, yet I was too afraid to step forward.
"Swallow your fears.
Swallow the things that hold you back
That hold you back from
Living life."
A song. Plays at work all the time. Folks, truth comes in many forms, even in song.
I can no longer live in a fantasy world of ornery, snappy Korean women who control energy, 16 year old schoolgirls that transmutate bodily mass into knives and kill people part time, and alien commandos who can manipulate shadows. All of these crazy, raging ideas and vivid, colourful insane characters in my mind must be put back in their toy box for now, the child in me must go to bed, and the man I am must go to work.
There is a road before me. There are footsteps ground into the dirt, from where I dared ventured forward but a couple of times. But now, I must strap on my bag, tighten my shoe laces, step forward once more.
And never look back.
Thursday, 15 July 2010
The End.
As of today, I'm closing up shop here. It's been fun. But most things end, and this blog is one of them.
Cheers!
Cheers!
Saturday, 8 May 2010
Listen.
I've learned to be quiet these days, to keep the words to myself. What I lack in speech I make up for in listening. The world is too loud to shut it out, it needs to be heard.
Also, I really have nothing to say anymore. Here, and there, sometimes, the need to speak arises. Also, the need to smile. I smile when necessary, speak when the time warrants it, and express when the situation requires it.
Abov e all, I continue to listen. And learn. I've become a mindless child again, and from this womb of solitude and dark, musty rooms with moldy, moth-eaten books, this dark room where evening sunlight eternally seeps through old, cracking yellowed blinds, I will listen and learn, and shut the hell up.
I cannot figure out why sometimes when I rest and close my eyes and empty my mind, I start to panic. Nonsense comes at me at a million miles per second, the raw pulp-filled mess left untamed and unrecognised in my subconscious. But it doesn't make sense as a whole. My heart beats quickly, breathing turns difficult, non-existent commercials play in my thoughts, music and words and psychobabble and beautiful nonsense. But there is a tranquility here, one so....pleasurable, that I can't stand it, can't let myself be this relaxed and conent, so I don't allow it to course through me.
In other news, I haven't studied for my exams. I doubt I will fail, but I really don't care anymore. I don't say this out of angst, but neutrally, merely reporting the facts. I have no more dreams, nothing to compel me to chase after anything. It may sound sad, but I'm not sad about it. I'm a simple man with a mind only God can figure out, and I feel I should be doing something, but I simply want to relax. I'll work for the rest of my life, play video games, perhaps get married maybe not, drink a little here and there, watch the world slowly destroy itself and continue to enjoy and despise my own company.
Right now, such a simple course doens't sound so bad. I neither sad nor angry or anything icky or bad or 'ew'. I just am.
I bought my mother a rose. White.
I also picked up candy for my family.
Got a mother's day card.
Some girl likes me at work but I don't know why. What in me (at work) can possibly be desirable? My kindness is like the water running in the pipes beneath your feet - quiet and unnoticed except by those who are down in the dumps enough to be underground. Most people don't see it, so it can't be that love and kindness that she sees. I don't know. Romance is stupid. And so am I.
Also, I really have nothing to say anymore. Here, and there, sometimes, the need to speak arises. Also, the need to smile. I smile when necessary, speak when the time warrants it, and express when the situation requires it.
Abov e all, I continue to listen. And learn. I've become a mindless child again, and from this womb of solitude and dark, musty rooms with moldy, moth-eaten books, this dark room where evening sunlight eternally seeps through old, cracking yellowed blinds, I will listen and learn, and shut the hell up.
I cannot figure out why sometimes when I rest and close my eyes and empty my mind, I start to panic. Nonsense comes at me at a million miles per second, the raw pulp-filled mess left untamed and unrecognised in my subconscious. But it doesn't make sense as a whole. My heart beats quickly, breathing turns difficult, non-existent commercials play in my thoughts, music and words and psychobabble and beautiful nonsense. But there is a tranquility here, one so....pleasurable, that I can't stand it, can't let myself be this relaxed and conent, so I don't allow it to course through me.
In other news, I haven't studied for my exams. I doubt I will fail, but I really don't care anymore. I don't say this out of angst, but neutrally, merely reporting the facts. I have no more dreams, nothing to compel me to chase after anything. It may sound sad, but I'm not sad about it. I'm a simple man with a mind only God can figure out, and I feel I should be doing something, but I simply want to relax. I'll work for the rest of my life, play video games, perhaps get married maybe not, drink a little here and there, watch the world slowly destroy itself and continue to enjoy and despise my own company.
Right now, such a simple course doens't sound so bad. I neither sad nor angry or anything icky or bad or 'ew'. I just am.
I bought my mother a rose. White.
I also picked up candy for my family.
Got a mother's day card.
Some girl likes me at work but I don't know why. What in me (at work) can possibly be desirable? My kindness is like the water running in the pipes beneath your feet - quiet and unnoticed except by those who are down in the dumps enough to be underground. Most people don't see it, so it can't be that love and kindness that she sees. I don't know. Romance is stupid. And so am I.
Monday, 3 May 2010
Tonight.
Come marked for slaughter and prepared for failure. In this crowd of faceless, twisting, stinking bodies, babbling on and on, you inhale the whiskey and the smoke and the sweat and the crass body oils, resting pitifully in the fact that never expecting success lessens the sting of failure. You walk the path of the defeatist, footsteps sliding across the rainbow-coloured glowing squares, brushing past the denizens of a world you cannot understand and cannot understand you.
High heels, lip stick, perfume, nail polish, crass Axe Cologne, vanity, superficiality, loud music; yet you see, hear, and feel absolutely nothing. You'd like to snatch the mirth from their faces and erase those laughs in the air, but as usual, your impotence leaves you with nothing but the choice to take it.
Order another drink, pass the fuck out, and try to forget the time that you wasted last night.
Then you smoke 'cause everyone else is doing it, and you don't give a fuck, and you get that urge to destroy yourself again. And maybe through the veil of smoke, someone will see.
They don't. You're the life of the party, a badass motherfucker who no one really knows or really will. And it's all for the best, 'cause they'd lynch you when they found out what's lurking beneath.
High heels, lip stick, perfume, nail polish, crass Axe Cologne, vanity, superficiality, loud music; yet you see, hear, and feel absolutely nothing. You'd like to snatch the mirth from their faces and erase those laughs in the air, but as usual, your impotence leaves you with nothing but the choice to take it.
Order another drink, pass the fuck out, and try to forget the time that you wasted last night.
Then you smoke 'cause everyone else is doing it, and you don't give a fuck, and you get that urge to destroy yourself again. And maybe through the veil of smoke, someone will see.
They don't. You're the life of the party, a badass motherfucker who no one really knows or really will. And it's all for the best, 'cause they'd lynch you when they found out what's lurking beneath.
Saturday, 1 May 2010
.Six
Liars. Liars. Liars.
They all lie. We all lie. We lie in bed, with all our lies, lying next to each other.
Pale, anemic bodies quiver and squirm amidst each other, white maggots corrupting a dying truth.
Veritas Morti. Veritas Morti.
Silk, velvet lips, dripping smoke and sin. Listen. Do not touch. Do not move. Listen. Strike when ready.
When in the shadows, they strike you in the back. They whisper:
MURDER
BETRAYAL
MURDER
BETRAYAL
Crimson fountains from their throats. A smile carved in there neck, vermillion lips dripping with blood.
Veritas Morti. Veritas Morti.
They all lie. We all lie. We lie in bed, with all our lies, lying next to each other.
Pale, anemic bodies quiver and squirm amidst each other, white maggots corrupting a dying truth.
Veritas Morti. Veritas Morti.
Silk, velvet lips, dripping smoke and sin. Listen. Do not touch. Do not move. Listen. Strike when ready.
When in the shadows, they strike you in the back. They whisper:
MURDER
BETRAYAL
MURDER
BETRAYAL
Crimson fountains from their throats. A smile carved in there neck, vermillion lips dripping with blood.
Veritas Morti. Veritas Morti.
Friday, 26 March 2010
That is it
Today.
Yes, there was a Today. The world did not end. Wormwood did not decide to pay Terra Firma a visit and blow earth to smitherooniekuns.
Lately, I have been tired and sleepy. I dozed off in traffic today. I dozed off while reading "Stranger" on the bus. I'm dozing off right now. The Sandman is flirting with my eyelids and I don't like it. I want him dead.
I saw the world again through a yellow-tint.
A friend of mine experienced immense suffering.
Empty mind. Here.
Work tomorrow, then かずこ先生's birthday party. I hope there will be rose wine there; I think she like's it. It will be good to see her and 正二先生 again.
I'm visiting my friend in Japan this summer. Our shared room will be as big as a luxury closet. At least I'm staying for free!
Hard to write. Edit: hard to write 'well' consistently. disconnected.
Have you ever seen time slip from your fingers like sand? Has reality evaporated from your brain?
I'm tired. I have to work tomorrow. I haven't studied shit all week.
Yes, there was a Today. The world did not end. Wormwood did not decide to pay Terra Firma a visit and blow earth to smitherooniekuns.
Lately, I have been tired and sleepy. I dozed off in traffic today. I dozed off while reading "Stranger" on the bus. I'm dozing off right now. The Sandman is flirting with my eyelids and I don't like it. I want him dead.
I saw the world again through a yellow-tint.
A friend of mine experienced immense suffering.
Empty mind. Here.
Work tomorrow, then かずこ先生's birthday party. I hope there will be rose wine there; I think she like's it. It will be good to see her and 正二先生 again.
I'm visiting my friend in Japan this summer. Our shared room will be as big as a luxury closet. At least I'm staying for free!
Hard to write. Edit: hard to write 'well' consistently. disconnected.
Have you ever seen time slip from your fingers like sand? Has reality evaporated from your brain?
I'm tired. I have to work tomorrow. I haven't studied shit all week.
Wednesday, 24 March 2010
This is It
Today.
Today, I saw the world through a yellow tint. Did R Kelly piss on me eyes? No. I wore yellow-tinted sunglasses. It gave the world a solemn, old, vintage look. The morning looked darker, fuller, more mature - a PG-13 rated morning look. A morning full of strong, blaqk coffee (no sugar) and boring, sugarless bran cereal...not fruit loops or pop tarts.
It is time to grow up.
But Peter Pan is here and he's castrated himself so that he will not grow up. Unfortunately, he's made himself a castrato and the Sicilians want him, now.
I digress.
Women and girls and females. Human. All around campus. In their sandals and shorts and skirts. Skin. And such wonderful skin. Legs and thighs and arms and feet. Polished toenails. And hair.
No wind today.
A woman on the bus told me today, "Everything out there," she gestured outside the four-walled moving machine, but was really referring to the world, "is science fiction." Through yellow-tinted sunglasses, I took in her full, round face, full of age, wisdom, and kindness. A face a son needed to see after running away from home too long.
Mountain Dew, cold, after school. Drank between long expanses of reading 'Stranger'
A dying tree crowded by bricks and people and insanity and people - yes, again, people; an old chair hiding behind a bush for perhaps many months, rained on and snowed on and sunbleached; those who smile only out of necessity and fear; girls who smoke; cigarette butts as ubiquitous as blood in a human body, or corruption or love in a human heart; a sky without clouds, or clouds that look like fish scales; a sigh seen and not heard: like Romeo and Juliet, and tragedy, and Gatsby, and the Ubermensch, and the death of God in the New Age, and a Catcher in the Rye, and a Clockwork Orange - these, too, deserve to have their stories told.
Haikus, novels, short stories - come forth! Preserve them, before we forget them.
How selfish can we be?
Today, I saw the world through a yellow tint. Did R Kelly piss on me eyes? No. I wore yellow-tinted sunglasses. It gave the world a solemn, old, vintage look. The morning looked darker, fuller, more mature - a PG-13 rated morning look. A morning full of strong, blaqk coffee (no sugar) and boring, sugarless bran cereal...not fruit loops or pop tarts.
It is time to grow up.
But Peter Pan is here and he's castrated himself so that he will not grow up. Unfortunately, he's made himself a castrato and the Sicilians want him, now.
I digress.
Women and girls and females. Human. All around campus. In their sandals and shorts and skirts. Skin. And such wonderful skin. Legs and thighs and arms and feet. Polished toenails. And hair.
No wind today.
A woman on the bus told me today, "Everything out there," she gestured outside the four-walled moving machine, but was really referring to the world, "is science fiction." Through yellow-tinted sunglasses, I took in her full, round face, full of age, wisdom, and kindness. A face a son needed to see after running away from home too long.
Mountain Dew, cold, after school. Drank between long expanses of reading 'Stranger'
A dying tree crowded by bricks and people and insanity and people - yes, again, people; an old chair hiding behind a bush for perhaps many months, rained on and snowed on and sunbleached; those who smile only out of necessity and fear; girls who smoke; cigarette butts as ubiquitous as blood in a human body, or corruption or love in a human heart; a sky without clouds, or clouds that look like fish scales; a sigh seen and not heard: like Romeo and Juliet, and tragedy, and Gatsby, and the Ubermensch, and the death of God in the New Age, and a Catcher in the Rye, and a Clockwork Orange - these, too, deserve to have their stories told.
Haikus, novels, short stories - come forth! Preserve them, before we forget them.
How selfish can we be?
Tuesday, 23 March 2010
Monday, 22 March 2010
There's nothing more daunting than an empty page.
Except maybe empty eyes.
Or your girlfriend's father. I imagine that's like meeting the President on very bad terms and the Secret Service watching you through sniper crosshairs.
But the page! oh! It mocks you! So wide, so endless, so excessive in its freedom!
Except maybe empty eyes.
Or your girlfriend's father. I imagine that's like meeting the President on very bad terms and the Secret Service watching you through sniper crosshairs.
But the page! oh! It mocks you! So wide, so endless, so excessive in its freedom!
Sunday, 14 March 2010
/b/
From a blaze of glory, the hero appears. His cloak is firm, blaqk, and torn. And he's mad as all hell.
Bad guys are going to pay. Good guys are going to get pushed to the side, powerless in his struggle against beings that exist only in the shadows of people. He is the common man, awaken, who threw away all his fancy tech. Unbound, unconnected, unwanted.
Into the blaze of glory, the hero charges.
his theme song: "People Are Strange."
Bad guys are going to pay. Good guys are going to get pushed to the side, powerless in his struggle against beings that exist only in the shadows of people. He is the common man, awaken, who threw away all his fancy tech. Unbound, unconnected, unwanted.
Into the blaze of glory, the hero charges.
his theme song: "People Are Strange."
Tuesday, 2 March 2010
Thursday, 11 February 2010
Dan Keplinger Event at Uni
Once, I did a very stupid thing. I jumped (or dropped) off the first story of a building, fancying myself a badass. Instead, I proved myself to be a dumbass because I dislocated two metatarsals in my left foot. I registered with Disability Services at my uni, something I never thought myself doing. But then, there you go.
The semester after I spent the semester on crutches, I was invited to join a student organisation that made life easier for disabled students on campus. "Why not?" I said to myself. It was for a good cause. Last year, Disability Services told us that Dan Keplinger was coming to our campus in February.
Us (the student org) had the job of doing most of the advertising. I set up a facebook group page and our administrator linked her event page to it. As I expected, not a lot of people showed up. Dan, interpreted through his wife Dena, said that small groups were best. It allowed them to be more personal with small groups.
This is a video he put up on his profile page on Disaboom - sort of a social networking site for disabled people.
It's funny how we end up doing things we never saw ourselves doing. All because of a dumbass decision, I met an amazing man, and an even more amazing artist. I do, however, discourage the audience from jumping off buildings.
The semester after I spent the semester on crutches, I was invited to join a student organisation that made life easier for disabled students on campus. "Why not?" I said to myself. It was for a good cause. Last year, Disability Services told us that Dan Keplinger was coming to our campus in February.
Us (the student org) had the job of doing most of the advertising. I set up a facebook group page and our administrator linked her event page to it. As I expected, not a lot of people showed up. Dan, interpreted through his wife Dena, said that small groups were best. It allowed them to be more personal with small groups.
This is a video he put up on his profile page on Disaboom - sort of a social networking site for disabled people.
It's funny how we end up doing things we never saw ourselves doing. All because of a dumbass decision, I met an amazing man, and an even more amazing artist. I do, however, discourage the audience from jumping off buildings.
Wednesday, 10 February 2010
You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!
Stranger: James, are you there?
You: Anna?
Stranger: JAMES?
You: Anna that you?
Stranger: OH JAMES! *runs up and hugs you*
You: Hey how are you
Stranger: Oh, james I'm wonderful now that your here..Where have you been all these years??
You: Traveling. I went on walkabout
You: I haven't been feeling myself
Stranger: Why didn't you tell me?
Stranger: Well?
You: Well I Mean
You: How'd you respond?
You: I don't know how to tell that to someone
Stranger: Oh *looks down* I see.
You: Sorry , love
You: I didn't find myself still
You: So it was for naught
Stranger: *sits down* Oh..
You: Enough about me. I've been selfish after all. How've you been all this time?
Stranger: Well..I've spent my time looking for you.
You: Dammit, please don't make me feel guilty
You: I've had so much of that in the past you know
Stranger: I know james..I know..*crosses arms*
You: Look, enough about me, what's new with you. How is your family? Still talk to them or...
Stranger: Mother Passed away a month ago...
You: Shit...
You: I'm sorry to hear that
Stranger: Oh Its Fine, She was sick..It was her time.
You: I suppose. I haven't spoken to my family since I left
You: I told them I was leaving, just not where
You: I didn't know where either
You: How is Thomas?
Stranger: Thomas? Oh..Same old Tom *rolls eyes*
You: Seriously? Thought he'd be off doing something new
You: Well, do you still feel the same about what's his face?
You: Markus I think
Stranger: Oh, Him? *looks down* No..Not at all.
You: Heh why what happened
You: You two even moved in and there was news about engagement
You: No, I shouldn't pry
Stranger: He slept with my sister..
You: What?
Stranger: Got her..well..Pregnat..Then Walked out on her.
You: Wait, Come on...He didn't seem like the type. He was going to become a bloody missionary!
Stranger: Thats what he wanted you to think.
You: Just another jerk?
Stranger: *sighs* Yes,
You: I do need to ask just because you haven't left my mind:
You: Are you still bitter towards me?
Stranger: *looks up* ...no.
Stranger: No, I'm not.
You: Well thank God. I think I'm finally able to move on. You ate me up onside you know that right?
Stranger: I did? *raises eyebrow*
You: Come on, Anna, You know more than anyone that my outside is just a shell. I don't let things just roll off of me
You: I do care, even though no one sees it
Stranger: *smiles* oh, i never would have guessed.
You: Is that sarcasm?
Stranger: No James, I really didn't know.
You: If you met me now, maybe you'd Ｓｅｅ it. My eyes have a kindness to them.Ｔｈｅｙ’ｒｅ ｎｏｔ ｊｕｓｔ ｍａｒｂｌｅｓ ａｎｙｍｏｒｅ
Stranger: *looks down and smiles*
You: Ｓｏ Ｉ’ｍ ｔｈｉｎｋｉｎｇ ｗｅ ｃａｎ ｓｔａｒｔ ｏｖｅｒ． Ｙｏｕ’ｄ ｌｉｋｅ ｔｈａｔ ｒｉｇｈｔ？
You: Ｙｏｕ’ｖｅ ｂｅｅｎ ｔｈｒｏｕｇｈ ｃｈａｎｇｅｓ ａｎｄ Ｉ’ｄ ｌｉｋｅ ｔｏ ｓｅｅ ｔｈｅ ｎｅｗ ｙｏｕ
Stranger: Excuse me James? I-i can't really understand you.
You: I'm thinking we can start over
You: Sorry my font is weird. I've got the language bar on love
Stranger: *eyes widen* Oh. *smiles and slightly blushes*
You: yes, i'm still studying japanese
You: i can hold a conversation now
Stranger: Thats good to hear james.
You: But, um, yes, start over
You: Youd like that right?
Stranger: Well...Yes..yes i would. *smiles*
You: Then I can rest easy tonight
You: You arent sleepy now?
Stranger: No I'm not. Why?
You: I guess i assume everyone is as tired as i am
Stranger: *chuckles*
You: I'm sorry, I have to go
Stranger: Alright.
You: See you soon~
Stranger: Goodbye, james.
You have disconnected.
Tuesday, 9 February 2010
Sunday, 7 February 2010
Forgive me for being bashful, it's just how I am. I'm concerned for the both of us, you know.
But I regret that you'll never know that, for a space of two minutes, you were one of the most precious things in my mind and in my eyes. The chatter of the restaurant meant nothing; a boy gazed at you with longing eyes. I wonder did you notice. It doesn't matter I suppose. I doubt you'll think about me anymore, but you will linger in my mind at least for the rest of the day, and all the regret and all the wonder attached to you. Pretty and slender, dressed in your simple black uniform. It was best that I saw you this way, so that I could focus on the softness of your face, the soft brown in your eyes, and the odd but cute way the tip of your nose was formed.
Our interaction consisted of nothing but the exchange of plastic cards, cordial thank you's and nods. It left me wanting more - so much more. It's always like that: never enough.
If only you'd granted me one day to know you better, one day to hold your hand for just one time. At least, then, there wouldn't be regret.
But I regret that you'll never know that, for a space of two minutes, you were one of the most precious things in my mind and in my eyes. The chatter of the restaurant meant nothing; a boy gazed at you with longing eyes. I wonder did you notice. It doesn't matter I suppose. I doubt you'll think about me anymore, but you will linger in my mind at least for the rest of the day, and all the regret and all the wonder attached to you. Pretty and slender, dressed in your simple black uniform. It was best that I saw you this way, so that I could focus on the softness of your face, the soft brown in your eyes, and the odd but cute way the tip of your nose was formed.
Our interaction consisted of nothing but the exchange of plastic cards, cordial thank you's and nods. It left me wanting more - so much more. It's always like that: never enough.
If only you'd granted me one day to know you better, one day to hold your hand for just one time. At least, then, there wouldn't be regret.