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.