i know what i want,

i like flats. not the ones with flourishing exotic colours. just normal plain looking ones. i like slippers too. i like leg bands. bands mind you. not chains. too girly. maybe even some tattoo. i like...ARGHH i lost my focus come back later.

belief (cont')

where was i?
ahyess. the multiple roller coasters of emotion that emerges from time to time, bubbles of chaos and miasma that drift to the calm surface, only to ameliorate what would've been a rattling experience with the opposite sex. speaking of which, only just recently i rode, yes i did, a wooden roller coaster and if your mind wanders about how bad it could have been, let me gladly inform you that it is..ONLY the world's steepest wooden roller coaster, at 77 degrees, YES GO DO YOUR MATH. if anything, this ride was the heartbeat of fear itself. and the worst part was that i got on with a full bladder. thus, only one thought kept regurgitating in my mind throughout the entire 'journey of joy', which was pleasedon'twetyourselfisitendingalready. well technically those were TWO thoughts. i reckon, full bladders and towering rides have a way with mushing and coalescing your thoughts together such that it all sums up to one ugly monster which seeks to frighten you with figments of imagination. so yes, roller coaster of emotion fits the adage i am trying to get across.

single-targeted anaclisis is as ugly as it is beautiful. as normal as it is special. as demanding as it is in giving. as forgiving as much as it forgets. to put it short but not sweet, it's a hyperbole of contradictions, so extreme that everything is accepted to be the norm. and if i were to be intelligently empathetic and sympathetic enough, i'd practice apathy with it, perhaps even with a tinge of hypocrisy for one can only piously deny the desire that rumbles beneath. yet the main reason lies in the fact that the writer of this post embraces what that appeals most strongly to him first before coming to a halt of realization that it is a little too late to concentrate and centralize his efforts on building a solid wall of knowledge for himself that could have brought nothing but success. so yes i've successfully described what you'd term as a relationship in a non too forthright manner.

if i was organized, i'd be dangerous.

belief,

remember the time when your mother interminably orders you to go to bed early. from there, fast forward.
no no not to the point where you'd fall asleep feeding yourself information in the all too familiar last minute fashion for the written Biology test the next morning. somewhere in between.
yes yes now we are within the proximity of what i am trying to get at, i can almost feel it.

the folding of our bed - the sheets, the positioning of various items that lie on top of it and lastly the comforter - yes this was what i had exactly in mind. remember it? how you were supposed to tuck the sheets in to erase any trace of folded or crumpled parts on the bed sheet, making it look altogether brand new except for the fact that it holds the slept-on-and-washed-ten-thousand-times dimension to it. how you were told the method and the position to place your bolster in, your plentiful soft toys, your pillow so as to provide a somewhat subtle soothing frame to the end effect of a successful bed making. no doubt you are often reminded that you'd have to pull all four corners of the quilt comforter to ensure each side is equally distributed, sometimes to the precision of a mathematical equation, as humanly as possible without any further aid of technology. yes this was it.

but screw that, that's not what i wanted to talk about. though i have likened that process to the telling of a story. how everything has to be neatly organized in an ordained manner.
a story about how i have been lately.
it still holds me in disbelief how, without fail, every time after i come back from a trip overseas, i'd allow myself to sink into momentary trances where i cogitate and reflect just about anything and everything. like for example, i find it profoundly disturbing how with the abstinence from any form of web-based social communication, comes an assortment of distractions and temptations which main objective is to attenuate my focus in life. it reminds me of this part in SAW where the harder one fought for freedom from something the harder it gets and finally the more tied down one is.

naturally, the idea of a pleasant form of 'propinquity' pulses gently at the back of my head from time to time too. but..i can't possibly allow that. like the aforementioned, this too, presents a handful of - i shall continue this tomorrow.

The man who couldn't kill himself.

The rose collapsed inwardly, the once vibrant red that flowed from its meticulously shaped petals fading rapidly, replaced with a colour darker than black, a colour clearly representating death, quickly, as the black darkness spread right down to the stem where his fine fingers curled.

The tree trembled and shook, before shuddering to a sudden serenity as the leaves which were green and crenulate just a moment ago now fell to the ground, a tainted breeze gently billowing over the leaves that seemed to hung to the branches for their dear lives or what remained of them. Brown, crumpled and dry. They all fell to the ground. Along with strips of bark that came off, some brushing of his arm, his fingers.

Everything he touched died. Everything. As he raised both his arms in dismay. Everything died. Bringing them, spreading his fingers over his face, his sharp strong nose breathed in the stank of the death as they drew nearer. Everything ceased to live. Preparing himself for the pain he would feel. Everything he touched faced death. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, they made contact. His hands. His head. Death.

And he let go a rictus of grimace, which trickled into agonizing screams. No. NO. NOOOO.

Nothing happened.

Dark Restaurant,

recently i found out about this concept. wait, no it's not a concept, it has been out there for some time. nevertheless i just found out about it. and that's what matters.

so the name says it all. it's dark. really really dark. pitch black in fact. what? a restaurant? in darkness? that's worse than blasphemy, you say? but it's true.

wish i had experienced before so that i can say more but for now, all i can do is read about other fortunate people's stories.

it's a very very well-thought up idea i feel and very meaningful.

now that is a TRUE blind date :D

what doesn't kill you

only makes you...stranger.

or so it was quoted by the Joker.

well i don't know how that applies to what i have to ejaculate. i screwed up. it all boiled down to one time. and it didn't go as smooth as i wanted it too. hell. but. yes. i am motivated. strive for the best, no? nevertheless i screwed up. darn it. after all the hours. shucks. blunders. i was so bloody nervous. argh.

a machine doesn't work well on  rusty chains now does it.

chopinwannabeblogposts,

yay :D see the bands on my hands? i don't know somehow they make me play better! odd mindset huh!

i like fear despite how i always lose to the battle against the everfluttering butterflies which linger uncontrollably within me. the ebbing tide of control against the gravity of chaos quickens the flap of the wings and weaken the strength of my knees. *brrrr*

let's see how far few weeks worth or practice gets me :X

makeup eats me.

i am a fan. really. how makeup miraculously transposes things that would've otherwise escaped our selective blindness. really. when the before and after are juxtaposed, you will still be somewhat amazed. i have fallen victim countless times to this cunning fronting. however one thought eludes me why don't most males do the same. i mean..if it has the magical surreal effect on females, its bound to produce analogous outcomes on the 'darker' sex too right. really.

come on even male peacock fan their amazingly positioned co-..feathers to the females during the s-exciting rutting season. that is unless i got my roles reversed.

conclusion. i love make up for what it enchantingly does. i hate make up for what it does to significantly obscure what my eyes see.

needs,

i can't be going mad.

but two nights have passed. two long draggy nights. i might even add cold to it. the reason is...my tool of technology, the one that allows me to do nearly everything was infected with some hardassed trojan. and it went down, real hard.

everything became dull. the curtains were a few shades darker, books riveted my attention like how mice would, to a well-fed tiger, the guitar sounded odd and even the piano seemed sorry for me, displaying it through the sound made by the many wrong keys i played. my focus flickered like a candle in the windy evening. something was missing. a profound absence. an overlooked necessity. a dulled-down drug.

i would step into my room only to realize nothing really entices me any longer. skipping everything, i'd let my feet lead me, in a trudge towards my bed. despite in its all out effort to soothe my what-i'd-term-as withdrawal symptoms, even the bed knew i had gone too far this time. but..

i can't be going mad.

bowdlerizing [ the fucks ],

"what are you doing now,z-win?"

if there can ever be a phrase that i despise so much that i channel all my emotions into one momentary display of control and serenity, supposedly lacking in anger and hatred, masked by a simple smile, hiding the twist of a sneer - that would have led to a rictus of dissatisfaction - around the corners of my dry lips, dry from anger and disappointment, then this would be it.

stop..asking..me..that.