An Entire Quote. (Copied & Pasted)

No matter what anyone says, words are worse than sticks or stones because you can’t pull them out. You can’t forget, and there’s nothing in the world that can soften the heat of syllables and consonants and vowels wreaking havoc beneath the pillows of your lungs or the curves of your heart. Words leave the invisible scars, the ones that litter the backs of your eyelids, the soft lining of your throat, the nooks and crevices that run from your hips to the hollows of your knees. They form in places you didn’t even know you had inside you. There aren't stitches to heal these kinds of wounds, no drug to numb the pain. Perhaps time softens and smooths the edges, but they’re still there like fingerprints visible only underneath ultraviolet light. They still sneak up on you when you’re the most vulnerable, when you’re not thinking about anything at all. The most beautiful thing you could ever say to someone else is “I love you.” But even this can’t act as a sunscreen against the ever agonizing, “I don’t care.” And that’s the thing about words. They always land somewhere very deep, like land mines in the skin that go off the second after it’s too late. Another charm for your bracelet, a thousand tiny deaths.

As much as I love words, as much as I immerse myself in them, find myself fascinated by them, I hate them too. They make it too easy to never forget.

White & Cold.

Drunk; influenced by the alcohol I had consumed, I write this. A very first Christmas without you. Once a year it shall be, but the numbers shall increase. Someday we shall be together, if the fates allow. Let's have ourselves, a merry little Christmas, now. So many new experiences I had encounter, and without you to tell to. But I know you had seen me through it all. You had seen me through my joy, my happiness, my sadness, and my loneliness. I know I'm not the only in the world, I know you too, aren't the only who had left the world. But the world is as such, it leaves us, we shall leave it, but for a fact it must come. Nobody is exempted. New year on, we shan't face the same troubles, it will all be brand new, the old must depart, the new have to arrive. I'm sure Mama misses you so much, as I miss you. It's difficult Pa, it truly is. To be reminded of the joy we had shared together all these years, all the years you enjoyed Christmas, all the years you lived. I'm alone this year. Nobody is with me. I'm without Mama, or Calvin, or Chelsie. Or Uncle Bootit, or Uncle Barney, or Aunty Angela. Nobody is with me. I'm alone. I have only my friends with me, and that's difficult. Please tell God to come see me and say Hello and to bring me away to a better place. You see me through this all. It isn't a stage anymore Pa, it's true, I cannot pretend you exist anymore... Someday soon, we will all be together again, we will live together again, all of us. I'm certain, all of us.

Give A New Direction.

All in a day's worth. She is pathetic; by that I mean immature, and selfish. The greatness of blood ties, truly is thicker than any other liquid because it's brightness of red lived since we all began. Culture, also a racial issue, goes to show the living only live by a chord, plucked by initiates, nurtured by nature; to sum the foolishness of minds. The expansion of creativity when the ego is challenged, with pride at it's stake, it blooms exaggeratedly as fast as a bolt of lightning striking the earth. Products of selection when one defies social standards prevails class of higher standards. As like snails, the majority of specific high spenders, by Chinese origins, are a shame to humanity, though a comfort fact is they aren't the only. Purchase to show, show to splendor, splendor fails to project its magnificence because its abusers have tarnished a name so hard been built along a century. The quantity (a word harshly used to describe a mass without meaning), influences itself, neighbor to neighbor, shame to shame, all shared in a competition. They will not win this competition because having own nothing but the physical is a disgrace to life, thus their disqualification. The massive division, like amoebas, have caused a division in souls; a scrambled jigsaw, half of its puzzles flushed by time. I'm ashamed to be yellow. I bold by statement in protruding imaginary, that they aren't the only. I thought of a word thoroughly. It cannot be followed by any other words considering its meaning to be active ongoing with no ends so it shall be an end itself: Infinitely. 

In-Moment Questions.

The thoughts in my head goes on, and on, like a broken record so to speak. Just as I am about to pen them down, another thought comes to mind; have you ever wondered what another person's thoughts are, the style and the sound of its words? Everybody pronounces words differently and the structures of sentences/ thoughts differs from each individual. Language for instance, is just the basis, but beyond that is purely personality. Before I lose myself, allow me back to my initial start of a to-be rant. I wish I knew what the future holds, in precise detail. I am the sort, the current sort, who moves about in life mainly fueled by emotions. I search for the Happy & Joy in each second of living, and I action my plans out. I do this on a make believe stage, in pretense Death shall fall in a similar fashion of Gaston Leroux's chandelier to take me to the unknown. However, a change has come in me. My initial fuel of emotions is now polluted with rationales and with that comes worry. My make believe stage has been invaded by a director who wishes to remove the scene I had prepared for Death. This new thought; having done many unreasonable actions thinking life would end at any corner, what if life does not end but carry on, long-term? For that then, would leave much memories, experience and of course, regret. Perhaps hardship too. Is it worth the gamble? The serious tones of these statements are in conflict in my head, and it's torturous having to deal with them. Here comes more. It has been there all my life, resourcing it's energy from different unique and particular individuals, it is however now becoming a harmful bug to my grey matter. This role belongs to Influence. I try my best to embrace the influence of others based on my selection. The problem comes when all that I have absorbed starts fighting against each other to gain the larger hold of my being, which then makes me question, of my actual self being non-existent. It is a dangerous ground to play in but my thirst for perfection in the eyes of others remains at large. I shall end here.

Pod. An.

With no ethic. I find, after much influence, living is to love and without love, we aren't living. Without love, life is monotonous with only sparks that come from moments where smiles are put on our faces and, or big amounts of dissatisfaction that causes us be upset. I'm finding for love. Big time love that comes and never leaves. I seek for love in the physical form. I am in my alone time. My alone time where I begin to lose myself in all my thoughts and questions, even raising more questions on existence of being. To challenge the heart with all it is capable of with love. For we know, love brings despair. Who I wonder, in times coming, shall sweep me off my feet, my ground, my world, my routine, my knowing, into a joint world where my feet shall then be placed in such a way one foot in mine, and one in the other. When one feels the negative form of love betrayed, the pain is felt in the chest. Could all the ideas provided by the media and society cause us to feel it in the chest, close to the heart? I doubt so. I feel that the origin of pain felt in that specific area comes from the pain which is actually felt there! The discomfort, the diaphragm wrenching feeling, the nausea, the suction. Such pain is one so great and mysterious it cannot be felt and inflicted on the physical. Many failures in love had caused people hurting their bodies in order to feel a greater pain than what's felt inside, so what's felt inside could be felt less. But they soon come to learn that what's inside absorbs outside pain, causing unimaginable amounts of hurt. Yet, living with the pain is living. For living is loving. No love, no life.

Earache.

Earache. As the silence gains volume in being absolute. I hear nothing but the noise I make, and when I intentionally stop all action, I hear a buzz. This buzz is a no noise buzz. It is so loud that upon hearing it, my own voice seems inferior towards it.