The Search of Winds.

This time for real. I suppressed bubbles of hopes and expectations way down south in the box between my diaphragm. They did put up a fight though, trying to surface back up. You know how bubbles are! Well, I'm really glad I finally understand how to put out such flames of passion. An idea is to break yourself, for your desires and passions are of your own. Once broken, everything changes and a new form is created. Come to think of it, falling off that cliff isn't such a bad idea after all but the twirls of aching feet did hurt. I doubt I would ever meet my sort in this world besides her. Yet again, being a double in both of my age and experience makes me know for sure that a chance of meeting really have more meaning than I believe. Who ever first thought of coincidence? Must be them lacking in serious beliefs of the greater unseen force. Scientist, for sure. Yet we're all tempted to sin that thought every now and then for we do not know it all:

The Black Doll Angel

Circling the atmosphere with grace,

Grace comes in subtlety and might,

Might with stricken chosen force,

Force of temperaments and sin,

Sin fearless of consequence,

Consequence of every act,

Act as how a life is led,

Led by days darken of the,

The black doll angel.

Yet, in soot I still desire to be covered. In dirt shall I find my peace of mind in terms of removing your mask where the genesis of soul exist. The box with a keyhole releasing bubbles failingly, as the search of winds.

Ate My Mind.

Left for Mid Valley at nine this morning with Azril, Lydia and Maria. I bought 4 shirts, and a perfume. I actually paid half for the perfume because of the vouchers I received for being one out of two best agents at work. Overall, I enjoyed this time of shopping very much and also the latter, where we had really good food at Tony Roma's. After Mid Valley, we came back to Seremban to change before heading to Port Dickson for a short dip. Wait - I can't do this. I'm just not in the mood of talking what I did today. I don't quite get the end of the day though, which is after a 4 hours karaoke session. Something happened within the group and there was a display of attitude which is definitely not to my liking. I seriously thought all the dramas had been dropped when we decided to unite again as friends. Why don't some people just appreciate these moments because for a fact I know that they will not last! Nothing fucking last. I waited far too long for this yet so soon can I already smell the decay of separation. I do not want to go through it again. See it, please. That as much as change is inevitable, don't surrender to it. Have you not learned anything from Sheryl Crow's Fight For This Love? Maybe the spots on a leopard really do not change and selflessness taught only by absence. To add to this cup, my longing for you has unfortunately been increased all the more. The economics of passions and desires. This really is a very complicated emotion that I myself am unable to understand and control. It makes me weak and I despise feeling powerless. I'm chained so strongly to it I feel hatred building despite it's opposite. Which could probably explain why doors wouldn't budge. I can think of a million songs to sing right now. More to add, but I think I'd stop here. It's pointless, I find this is. Humanity takes comfort in lies. I take comfort in all this hatred. The joy of ending a joyous day in stark rage. Fuck.

O I C.

So I've been reading what was previously written on this blog and had realized that my style of writing had changed dramatically ever since the start of this blog and my other. I don't quite understand how such a change could occur. Will by reading works of different authors affect one's way of writing? It could probably be true. Even so, I feel that ideas would be influenced, but language and personal structuring of the bodies of sentences will somehow differ than anyone else's. I like it so much more with the back-then style of writing compared to the now. It could also be because of the situation that I am in. I know for a fact that I choose words carefully to prevent others from actually identifying me. Though as mentioned in the previous post that all matters are laid out, they are mixed like a jigsaw. So, do the put together and you will be able to see it clearly then. I'm thinking of making the posts on this blog to resemble something like a photo album. This would definitely make sightings easier and less of a bore. I definitely see change now.

Helping It.

Yes, I cannot. I don't think anybody can. A post was dedicated to my trusty journey-written car-notepad. I want to wrench what was written thrice mostly everywhere I can lay my thoughts down. I do not know. I feel this constitution of emotions can no where be correct, so to speak. I will not use my favorite 'P' lettered word. IT has appeared too many times over the entire tight-expense of creativity for this blog. I will not, and of course I can't, not. I have been listening to two songs especially for the entire day, along this entire week. Bruno Mars', Just The Way You Are and Lady Gaga's Monster. With the both of these songs up in my head, it is almost impossible to rid unwanted thoughts. Hence the depressed state of wanting the impossible. I praise perfection singing his song, and demand attention singing her song. It is sad, truly. Because upon the playlist being on repeat, helpfully, I cannot assist myself in being saved from this wretched state. I can again, once more dwell into playful goth stories of murderous fairies but what's the point. The picture I no longer have to paint, for the gist would probably have been gotten far back at the start of this colored cup. My nature is not to be hidden on my blog, it's bare. I'm bare. Over all pages spread upon floors of experience, I lay nude. That serious. However, my pose is to be found difficult in understanding. Nude, I may be, but the intention to stay secure remains. So, words flow beneath layers of metaphors and personified appetite; my hunger for la mort and l'amour entwined expressively for the purpose of solitary confinements and, control. So I sing,

"You are amazing just the way you are, eating my heart. You are a wolf in disguise with brilliant demands of being stared in the eyes. I've seen you before; your hair, your nails, your laugh, you are amazing just the way you are; a monster!" 

One Love.

Title sounds familiar? Well, after all, I adapted it from that very famous David Guetta hit. Honestly, I am feeling quite drunk as I'm writing out this post. So let this night begin, I was driving following Kenn to his place from Mid Valley (again but not anymore, I know where he lives now), where he slowed down at a traffic light before we had to turn right to his place. I was following a Lexus Harrier by the way, and these big machines travel fast and are able to break well too. I slammed on the brakes as I saw him stopping for the red light, and my little Jo skidded for about ten meters landing to an inch away from Kenn's rear. The screech was unbelievable. At a moment like this, I very much believe in mythical banshee like creatures waiting by roads and taking every opportunity of skidding cars as such as mine to allow them come to life by screaming. Just so you know, nobody was injured in this whole Hollywood stunt making process so let's skip to the fun parts. This time, we had a bottle of Jenke wine (with me drinking most of this red delight), before entering the club. Upon entering, we settled for a tequila shot each. As you would have probably guess by now, I have absolutely no (being not racist whatsoever) Indian blood in me. Hence, being drunk very early. The best part about this club we were at is the  fact that it is well known for socializing. I met so many people (a fresh face, as usual, says everyone) but Alexis and Zan come to mind most. We danced with each other having people coming to greet us by our names and later turning to one another asking, 'Who the fuck was that?' and the both of us would answer in agreement simultaneously, 'Even meeting new people, you'd never remember them when you're drunk!', and then ended up laughing. This time, I know I shouldn't be admitting this proudly but I kissed a hot Vivian. Not that I know of any un-hot Vivians. Moving on; I met so many familiar faces I wish I could pull back my acquaintanceship with. Bodies were literally moving profile pictures of Facebook. They were all there! They being all whom I had ever stalked. Great night it was, being as it always is, and I hope, will be.

Overturned Bowl.

This speaks of the little section you see on the right where I had described a little bit about me. I feel that my bowl is now being filled right up to it's brim. I'm losing security. I'm losing self. I'm retreating back to that really far away cave which I believe no one knows where at. There, I know I will be able to lose myself once more fully to what's left of my thoughts and to hibernate my emotions. I need to regain that control. Right now, I'm not wheeling this ride, but my desires are, be it flesh or soul. So this bowl now, I realized, is filled with the wrong (now I mean wrong) fillings. What do you do if you mistakenly had gotten yourself a bowl of salt water whereas you wanted apple juice? As for me, I'd flip the bowl over at the sink, and watch it be drained. I'm stooping a whole lot more than I usually do. I do not understand the concept of this conception and that irritates me. I'm not in control and that irritates me too! I pleasure the control I have upon my own life. Easy way maneuvering upon the less traveled road, the empty path. Little did I know, what appears empty isn't really, but an illusion of a journey's start. Fairy netted me again, the bad fairy. You would know la misère, you were there with me the last time. She lures first, curling her hair, it's always the hair she tempts me with first. When I close in upon her, she tosses a handful of earlier prepared poudre aveugles to my face. This is a cunning concoction with absolutely no chance of deflection. It blinds eyes. It impregnates passions in the body upon inhalation. It allows the fairy now, to stand back, and watch me as I twirl around in ecstasy with aching feet before I'd fall off the cliff, to countless bodies below. And so then both me and you would know, we were never alone in this whole affair. It takes two.

Crux Dépression.

On the edge of this seat, Waiting a scare, That'd push me off. She came to me, Curling her hair, She pulled me off. He found me, Twice and soon, And so I'm off. I'm lost once more, A sound adore, Whispers soft. Do you see? The I in me? All gone, left none. 

Goat, Non Pas de Deux.

Di mana dia,

Anak kambing saya?

Anak kambing saya,

Yang makan daun talas.

Uh huh! But I know. Of course I do. I take comfort in knowing so knowing all, I shall. As I work this post, I'm inspired by other no-tells so to them, they shall proceed to Que La Misère Se Glisse. Now that's huge of a hint I can ever give to those who are searching my mind, part of my heart. So shall the body in me crosses his fingers.

"It blinds imperfections. Infinitely times Loreal's best concealers, let's not speak Maybeline's or Cover Girl's for a fact." - Twitter

That's my take on what I find love to be. My ideas no doubt probably differs from the rest but as the one who-parasites-attention had said, 'Me, I shall be,' obviously after a touch of my taste. Just so you know, it gets even random, for I'm torn between what I could share here and balance over to the other. I find this a great time of major self discovery. Vanity meter rising, but not on my own accord. It's an act of helplessness knowing the unknown. Hopes. That's what they call it. I call it a dream. For you don't see many a dreams coming true lately. Till the time destiny, or perhaps fate says, "We've been teasing his patience for some time now, so let us give him manifested desires." Then shall you see my lips curving, midpoint down below gravity. Even miss little dancing ballerina, starts her confusion dance once more.

Somebody Stop Me.

I'm addicted to my blog, I'm writing more than usual these days. Reason being below, don't look down! I'm feeling like a teenager (oh shit, did I just say that!). I have taken many responsibilities upon myself that I feel very much adult like. Blaming the I in me for ever wanting to grow up quicker. This is my last teen year, nineteen that is. I'm heaving sighs of regret to all the things I wish I could change. All of us have many, don't we? Those saying no, brilliant that you practice the art of acceptance. I understand it, but I like wells better. Long vertical sympathetic ones. Uh! Now time. I, consciously feel that I'm running out of it. This cannot be explained, like the essence of certain feelings. I keep telling myself, pause - imagery of a pair of white spectacles tickled me for a moment, resume - telling myself that I'm just having some hormonal issues, ever heard clinical depression? Here's a poem since nobody stopped me;

What Seen Saw Came.

Oh Charlie St. Cloud, thou art heaven to my eyes.

Stars maketh thy eyes, 

Orbiting rings thy halo,

And universe, thy mysterious self.

Oh Charlie St. Cloud, taketh me now;

Forever shall our peace be held,

Forever shall favor be-rested upon me,

And forever shall, my name be called.

Oh Charlie St. Cloud, picketh my chin.

Tickle my ears, tickle my eyes.

Find seers, speaking wise.

Hold thy love, thy lover rejoice.

For those going what the fuck, please do stop. I merely am trying to express myself. I am waiting by the bus stand of the road to Mount Heureux and I think I might have seen the bus far out the horizon. Finally!

Here's The Gist.

Just so you know of course. I'm bad at it (You'll be seeing many 'its' if you carry on reading. You'll just have to keep guessing what 'it' means. Even then, you wouldn't really know if you had gotten 'it' right). Well, once upon a time, it had happened and it stayed that way for quite some time. Then it happened again, not so long however. More its came by but they stayed even shorter gradually decreasing with the increasing number. All the more, I feel the shorter it is, the harder it gets for me. I keep my its short and simple. But it takes so much effort to do so and it is really difficult. It takes much mental power and also sacrifice. I don't get why it happens to me, this it. I believe that there's a pattern to everything. A thief will always be a thief, as a sinner never really get's wholly clean, so to speak. So what is this pattern like? I draw a line, a curvy one as to how time is, joining them its together. I see no pattern! Perhaps, yes, one-two its happen to be similar, but what about the rest. I started the time to my biological stop watch, the one below the pituitary gland, to see how long this it would last. I'm guessing long because there are many wise sayings to it. However, I could be special and I have my fingers crossed in my pockets, one left and one right (so no one sees, genius?). But we both know, that as to how a deck of cards is dealt on the table, leaving the last card in hand, you could already guess it being the Ace, of spade, should it not come 51 hands earlier. I don't see it coming any closer to reality. Magic, as much as I wish existed, it doesn't. Miracles too. So it won't, too.

7 Hecks.

1. What the heck is wrong with Facebook? Just when there are plenty of notifications yet to be responded that it glitches much to my annoyance.

2. What the heck is wrong with these bite marks? Why won't they ever leave and why the heck are they still itching?

3. What the heck did that hairdresser do to my head? I'll make him swallow my pubes for shit because I look hideous now. Claps for a good kung-fu styling head massage though.

4. What the heck did that guy say such a thing for? Once more, mind your own fucking business people. Yes, to that hypocrite of a slut too.

5. What the heck is wrong with me to have acted on such foolish grounds? Lesson learned.

6. What the heck happened to me? That I know, but not saying here.

Lucky number:

7. What the heck, o` what the heck have I gotten myself into.

Pas Nouveau, S'il Vous Plaît.

It's back. That dreaded state of depression. Truly I cannot help myself. If you think that by thinking positive and by occupying time with activities to help shift thoughts would work, well I'm here telling you that it doesn't for me. Let me try to describe what I feel. Hot major discomfort at the throat, eyeballs hooked to invisible weights behind the mind, needled feet, and a soar gut. Physically it feels that way. Lighter too, for you can only dream of what's left of the little weight I have, seen on scale. That's right, I too, wonder where my appetite had gone to? Emotionally, my heart thumps and pumps turmoil to all cells of my body. I feel so restless. I thought that by working late hours along the entire week would help, but it doesn't. Nothing works! Work does not even require much attention as once familiarized with the routine, autopilot mode can be activated. I once again, ignored that inner voice and had gone against it, fulfilling my own personal set of desires. How did that help? It only did in adding to the existing pile of rocks already stacked on my shoulders. La mort, I dream of thee. Do not speak, do not touch, do nothing but ignore. I constantly fail at it too. Only way right now to escape this island of mental torture is by moving to an island (literally), and of course, la mort.

I Popped My Balloon.

You hear people speaking of 'bottling emotions' up and to have a filled bottle is bad. This doesn't sound dramatic enough for my sweet usage so hear me out. I feel that 'bottling up' should best be replaced with 'blowing balloon'. Here's the picture, imagine a balloon. Think of it's rubbery texture and to how it expands when air is exhaled into it. The bigger the balloon gets, you can see it's skin stretching wonderfully making it look more tough than it really is. That's how I had feel when I popped. The more you blow into this balloon, with your misery and sorrows, you are actually developing a brilliant hard exterior which seems to be giving you super powers to have great emotional control. I had this great emotional control going on within me. I could choose my emotions and could flicker away anger and sadness from the tongue. I thought this brilliant knowing all I need to do in order to keep this power is to just keep blowing. Remember the balloon. It looks tough with it's stretched skin, but really, it isn't. I was driving back home from work slightly past midnight when my balloon freaking popped. I cried so violently and I screamed the hurt (assuming that when a balloon pops, it can feel the pain, and the pop is pretty loud). Random thoughts flew out of me, and they buzzed around my head like flies, irritating yet reminding me all the same of all that had happened. It took me half hour of yells and tears to have actually picked another balloon from my spare, regaining composure as I started blowing once more. It's a drug really. You know of it's power, yet knowing it harms you all the same, but you just can't help yourself. Oh well, poppity pop!

Wet Wheels.

Title sounds a bit dirty, am I right? Oh well, I couldn't/refuse to think of anything else so it will have to do. Never have I gotten so drunk in a club before that I could not remember half of what had happened that night. So I went with Kenn, and we ended up being cheap by getting drunk in the car before entering the club. We had Absolut Vanilla Vodka, and a bottle of white wine. Here's an advice to all those who have never tried drinking both these drinks together in a mix; DON'T! Damn hell, I entered the club in a cat walk, not because I was trying to be sexy but I couldn't walk straight, that I actually walked like a freaking cat. So I danced the whole night, flirted, kissed without remembering (the horror!), nearly tumble down the staircase, actually falling flat on my ass dragging a friend down, and screaming vulgarity, oh and, the same ol` finger down the throat routine. Really it was so much more fun than to how it is sounding right now. So I made new friends, really good people who actually took care of me, despite the fact I cried randomly, tripping over myself, and all that stupid talk. I ended up driving around the entire of KL (drunk, and at 40 kilometers per hour) trying to find my way back to Seremban but somehow ended up at Mont Kiara. So Zach came to my rescue, to a car parked by the side of a bus stand, with it's driver sleeping barefoot, not forgetting to mention, lacking sanity. That's that. Certainly won't be going back to that same club anytime soon as I certainly had made such a lasting impression.

We Get The Last Laugh.

What's worst is the fact that she is being so desperate. She bitched about all her friends, she cursed them, and she lied. Once more, the council has gathered around and had played what was recorded of her filth. They laughed. What else can they do? She walks with her head so high and mighty, even at her humblest and at her moments of apology (which I know, is a fake put on show), she still had that sense of righteousness that in my assumption, she will never let go off. Or more that, she cannot let go off. Because what has been going on right now is that she can't shake the demons off her. They will slowly get back together, the hopeless of crowds. They know for sure now that they're a bunch of people that will be shunt over shit and urine for their attitudes cannot be helped. The fact that they could stab and murder their own friends' behind their backs thinking that it's alright to do so because they feel angry. Well fuck you! Get a damn fucking anger management class. She personally bitched my back so hard that I get condemned and being looked down to. Now look where she's at. Crawling to my toes literally begging me to be friends with her. Forever, my compassion gets the best of me and I was not able to screw her damn face. Instead, calmly, I said, no. So, moral of the story is, watch your tongue. Words spoken cannot be taken back, and walls have ears.

Just This One More.

Another post before the hour ends. Let my friend melancholy take over this one. I have had very disturbing thoughts lately. First of death (as usual). Second of age. Third of life. Perhaps I should speak of them in the reverse order for then would it make more sense. Now this life, I see it as a tissue. You use it to wipe your nose or anything for that matter, before you dispose of it. But the world is such that tissues are meant to swipe the dirt of something. I want to keep my tissue aside and I would like to separate it's pieces. Then toss it above the winds and being them, watching them, then fly everywhere. Here's the catch, I have only one chance of letting the wind catch it, because if the pieces fall, they fall to a hundred times gravitational pull. Age, remontant toujours. Which is another hard to swallow fact for me. I woke up one morning realizing eleven months had passed since welcoming two thousand ten. How the fuck did I let slip the months. What happened to my awareness of time? I am nineteen, with it being remontant toujours, what am I to do? I'm scared to be honest. I expect and half hoping number one would come sooner. Death. I fear it, yet it intrigues me. Do we disappear into nonexistence? Do we then go to a 'good' or a 'bad' place? Or do we remain alive yet boxed up a flight? A colleague mentioned a movie to me, summarizing it to be a secret organization torturing people with nipple clamps and nails in the skull, all with one goal; to get a better view of what comes next. I feel so tempted to do same. I'm skeptical and I can't help myself to wonder what really does come next (sue and bite me you bitches with gasping jaws). People live their lives with everyday concerns of not knowing their meals, figuring fashion, drawing futures, but here's mine. Tissues, remontant toujours, and the end.

Go Sees.

I feel very much like Samantha from Sex and the City. Don't bother asking why, for I'm not telling. Ground fact is, the world has become so much in love with appearance that inner beauty is somewhat folklore. Trying to withhold myself here from spilling too much, but that is the truth. If you don't look it, you ain't got it. Nobody cares much on what goes on in the heart and head. As long as there is beauty, everything else can be looked over. Those who go after depth are them who know this fact, and will not settle for anything less. Desperation kicks the womb when people are jolted by the fact of being a-to-the-lone for the rest of their lives. Such people are them who settle for anything, lucky for those who get non-less. It's a shame really. A post of compliment to her worth the take back as she could talk her walk, but that talk being an utter of a syllable. What can I expect when deep down I knew the coming. Indeed 'me' am right, not I. For I chose my thoughts over intuitions. Finality of this chapter takes place soon, knowing that fake farts will always be as such. Themselves not knowing, myself not telling.

Flee Nose Flee.

I'm feeling absolutely sick. I woke up with my throat feeling so soar, with a blocked nostril and had been sneezing the whole day. Right now, I feel like I'm traveling on this sick mobile, and am going to pass the border of feverland. Gosh! I have been wanting to lay down my thoughts for some time now but never really had the chance of doing so as I have been pretty busy with work. Somebody please scream workaholic. I've been doing nothing for the past few months before actually getting this job that I had plenty of stored up passion and energy seeking an output to release it all. It's always that much short of a time marriage to whatever it is that I'm doing. There's so much I have realized about myself, so much I wish wouldn't change, and some which would. However, this maketh the me, no? And once more, change is inevitable. Fuck I don't know, I wish I do. So how am I? I believe I'm currently in an emotional/ mental turmoil. Everything is chaotic up here at it's peace. Only when the chaos starts does the peace finally sets in. Some would get what I'm trying to say, others, go ponder. Right now, I wish I could give my mind a break and to not think too much. It really is draining all goodness, as I'm always left behind feeling the drain of happiness and that hovering cloud of depression. As much as I wish to put it all aside, I wish that I find another who is as disturbed as I am, that we may share thoughts of great depth. I met a person as mentioned, and she is brilliant. A radiator of good aura and a double of my age. Caught up by chance, and spoke of minds. It was a one half hour of satisfied sharing I have not quite had in a pretty long time. Perhaps, I shall start knocking on doors. Moving slow, and with much caution, as always, but nevertheless, moving.