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| It's friday, and it's christmas.
I wonder if my mother had failed to tell me that sometimes money simply cannot buy anything. And sometimes, I , we , simply cannot just have everything that we truly desire in life. The worst part is, we have somehow failed to understand and deal with it.
It's friday, and it's raining. | | |
| I was just thinking about the places i'd go once I'm done with my slavery term. I almost peed in my pants feeling what could be a cheap thrill of being on a vacation. However, It would be blatant deception to be convinced that i actually have enough money and absolute freedom to go to all these places.
I swear i could almost taste the freshness of the salmon sashimi as it melts in my mouth, or the cold russian vodka as it burns down my throat. yea i live amongst delusional characters who constantly feels the closeness of the unassumingly nearing liberation day. | | |
| He awoke each morning with the desire to do right, to be a good and meaningful person, to be, as simple as it sounded and as impossible as it actually was, happy. And during the course of each day his heart would descend from his chest into his stomach. By early afternoon he was overcome by the feeling that nothing was right, or nothing was right for him, and by the desire to be alone. By evening he was fulfilled: alone in the magnitude of his grief, alone in his aimless guilt, alone even in his loneliness. I am not sad, he would repeat to himself over and over, I am not sad. As if he might one day convince himself. Or fool himself. Or convince others--the only thing worse than being sad is for others to know that you are sad. I am not sad. I am not sad. Because his life had unlimited potential for happiness, insofar as it was an empty white room. He would fall asleep with his heart at the foot of his bed, like some domesticated animal that was no part of him at all. And each morning he would wake with it again in the cupboard of his rib cage, having become a little heavier, a little weaker, but still pumping. And by the midafternoon he was again overcome with the desire to be somewhere else, someone else, someone else somewhere else. I am not sad. | | |
| "Why?"
Because sometimes, they can be nice; just in time when you needed someone or when you're lonely.
and so you feel secure painting the big picture. but as soon as when you're half way done, things start to get sour and
shitty,and you're stranded cos you're almost there and it's just hard to stop. So you'd continue painting aimlessly with the lingering uncertainty and that vacant heart and be left with nothing to hold. | | |
| It's true, there's always the peak then the bottomless pit then up a bit and finally settling to stability.
It works in the most mysterious yet grandiose fashion but unfortunately we couldn't resist wondering why
it just couldn't stay at the peak where everything seems finer.
I'm on the brink of losing my brain and all the possible ways of bringing myself to sit and study like a true blue dork
for my sats2. And what's even more frightening is that, it seems that I've completely (well almost) lost all
recollection of whatnots nonsense math thereoms and properties of the 118 elements of the periodic table.
And tomorrow is going to be another humdrum routine with the aging ogre breathing down my neck
and chaining me to my desk ordering me around like a slave.
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