I hate The Killers

for filling me to the brim with hope

while that light has long ago flickered into oblivion

Fate.

I believe in the little impossibilities. That you and I are listening to the same song. That we’re looking at the same moon. That I just missed you at the convenience store. I believe that one day the stars will align to defy the odds. I believe that I’ll be waiting in line to order a smoothie and hear that oh so familiar, yet so distant laugh. I believe that I’ll stop breathing, that the world will stop breathing, and a smile will paint itself across my face. I believe that at that moment, and only that moment, will I be overcome with disbelief.

The stars, they all aligned.

At home or in school, the Aries child lives in a world of make-believe and reality, constantly blending, where truth is often portrayed as fantasy, and fantasy is disguised as truth. He may give the impression of exaggerating or even telling lies. But he just can’t help splashing a little color around when he’s relating an incident, and he often convinces himself it really happened that way.

Okay, so I don't really believe I horoscopes, I think they're all codswallop if you ask me. But this is scarily accurate. Mind you, I still don't believe in them, it's just...whoa.

Sick.

When all else fails, pretend to be selfish. Be social. When you want everything they want and talk to them about their interests, that’s when you seem normal. That’s when you fit in. Why are you unhappy when they’re not, they wonder. Perspective? There’s only one. Life is what you make it for them. You are what you look like; that costume in your closet, what you avoid. Not your mind; not who you are.

You’re hounded with voices telling you about this thing you have called liberty, but it’s all just another lie about you. But isn’t lying apart of the job description? What’s an actor but not himself at all times? A lie among art.

I've had all the big breaks I need and more than a few outstanding performances in my repertoire, I'm ready for retirement.

Pain(t)ed

My flight touched down paradise last week;
feels good to be home.
"You look different," my aunt shares when she first sees me.
"Different? How?" I inquire.
"Your eyes.. it's like they're wilting."

It's raining.

It’s 22.54. I might be the only one, but I adore this weather. I could live it in it everyday. This sense of macabre just lulls in the air, weighing down all the clouds. And it threatens. For hours, minutes, it threatens to pour. Then it does; that first drop of rain, that unearthing of dust, the darkening of the pavement. It’s all beautiful. It’s so serene, like the world is connecting with you. And in the silence of everything, the raindrops cull your racing mind, your racing thoughts, your racing heart.

How high can a broken man cry.

I'm tired of making the best of what I have. I hate that I have a privileged life that people can use against me. I'm tired of feeling guilty about how and what I feel and having to justify it every goddamn second . I am physically sick in every literal sense of the word in seeing broken pieces of good people lying around the floor; constantly subjected to the feet of the ignorant, and for what? To further prove their superiority? Hey! We broke you. Now, we're gonna smother what's left of you into dust. We're gonna reduce your existence into nothing but specks of nothing to permeate the air for young dreamers. As if to say, this is what will become of you. This is a warning. But being the optimists that they are, that we were, they smell potential. They don't cough, they inhale. All that whiff of ambition was nothing but hope masked as a threat. The tragedy of reality disguised as a sweet scent of possibility. We were just cursed with seeing the good in things.

Is it wrong that I want something different? Not better, just different. From where I am sitting, it feels like a crime. They tell me I'm not thankful. They say that I'm selfish. The world doesn't revolve around you. Well let me tell you something, MY WORLD DOES. I'm allowed to want things that you don't approve of. I am entitled to my emotions as much as you are to your beliefs, to your logic, to whatever the fuck is in that sorry excuse of a skull.

One day all that dust is gonna gather and suffocate all that's left of the world; all who let their feet follow an empty voice, not bothering to look down at the broken pieces of hope they were stepping on.

Sleepless nights make for fruitful discoveries.

Melancholia:

A heavy heart and a foggy mind, blurry eyes and weighed down lungs. In the shower, tears hit the ground with the same force as the dripping water, and your fake love. You stare as the drops hit your palm, expecting some sort of epiphany to reveal itself in the creases of your skin. Finding none, you avert your gaze towards the tiles waiting for some revelation to shout at you. But epiphanies don't come as they do in the stories. They don't appear just as you near rock bottom. They wait until the world beats you to a scintilla of your original self. They wait until you're all but gone. They wait, if they ever come at all, they wait forever.

------
this is nowhere near as good and coherent as it was in my head.

Nathaniel.

"You could love me if I knew how to lie," he writes in a note, words hastily scrawled on a piece of ripped out newspaper. His bags packed with his empty closets and his scent lingering a fading farewell. I collapse into the chair, his note shaking in my hands. I see him buying a ticket and boarding a train to the middle of nowhere, where I can't find him. Deserts and sparse shade trees. Mountains in barren wastelands. Despondent countenances and weary eyes.

The note still shaking in my hands, I don't cry. I simply find myself wishing for ignorance.

for a moment,

i was released from this corporeal vessel, and i was watching myself from afar. for but a moment, i questioned my reality, i questioned my existence. too fleeting for my mind to have processed it. i saw my hands and my screen, and i saw the letters on the keyboard, i saw white and orange and yellow, but none of it made sense to me. then i was back to reality, back inside my body, and that out of body experience -as we call it- was over. its remnants are still hanging over the clouds of my mind. like those foreign thoughts have evaporated and are now suspended in a mist at the roof of my cranium, waiting for a crack, so they can seep in again and carry me away with them. To you. If only you knew..
x

Diminished Emotions.

"The most important things are the hardest things to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them - words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they're brought out. But it's more than that, isn't it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you've said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That's the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a teller but for want of an understanding ear."
-Stephen King

Sustained Word Vomit.

Good morning bloggers and readers alike
It's 5.19 AM, and having had a slight case of insomnia, I found myself miraculously on facebook.
You know what I hate? People who post up pictures of themselves on facebook and caption it 'ME :D'. Nooo. Really, genius? Who else would it be. It's only natural that any photo you post up as YOUR display picture on YOUR facebook page would be of you. The only time you would need to specify who the person in said photograph is would be when they're not you, a drink, food, friends, nails, feet, or some other part of your body where I would need clarification to the identity of the person. Even then, tags are sufficient. Captions are reserved for descriptions of the place, time, and happenings of the picture, or other related nonsense.

And why the smiley face? Are you so happy to be posting up a half naked picture of yourself up on facebook that you feel the need to tell me that it's you, in capital letters, and append a smiley face?

I'm not really against posting up half-naked pictures of yourself on facebook (insert sardonic, hearty laugh here), but I think it's much more appropriate if it's caught in the moment. Not when you're posing in front of the mirror, hands through your hair, breasts squished together, blowing a kiss at the camera. To me, that just reads needy, attention-seeking, and pathetic.

I don't know, maybe I'm being too critical, but the sight of things like this makes me cringe. I had to physically stop my fingers from typing, "Take that down. You look like a slut."

New Leaf. Old Leaf.

I decided that I'm not going to relive the past few days in my running memory. I won't absorb it. I won't believe it. I won't think past this summer, and when this summer is over, I won't think past the fall semester, and so on. I have a plan, a large plan. It resides in my head. The only people who know of it are the people who approve of it, the ones who would encourage me. Anyone who has the ability to actually stop me cold in my tracks and shed light on all the obstacles before me has no idea of it. They don't know how ambitious I really am. They don't know how big I want to get. They don't know how far I'm willing to go. Expecting to go. If I let their poisonous words infect my brain, I'll just collapse.

The only thing I have is my mind. It's my only refuge and my only escape. When I'm longing for something I can't get instantaneously, I get it for myself in the recesses of my imagination. When I want to spend a day on the beach, a book in my hand, a cold drink on the table, his warmth, I'll close my eyes and make it happen. When I wake up and yearn to look into…his eyes, I simply close my own. If I want to step out into the frigid rain of the city streets, by God, I'll do it. I won't shut out my thoughts because my thoughts are the sole reason I keep going. The possibility of everything in my head becoming a reality is my only reason for pressing on.

So, yes, I will shut out my brain, but only that one tiny part, that dark infectious hole that seeks to poison everything around it. Green with envy and marred with disgust, it takes pleasure in watching hope collapse.

And I refuse to let it prevail.

I can't.

Olfactory Disgust.

You know how some people have certain smells? My brain memorizes them, like you wouldn't believe. Every single smell reminds me of something: an event, a season, an action, an ~era, a person, something, anything. Usually, it's smells of people, but what my brain has taken a liking to, and I can't get it to stop doing, is memorizing the smell of people's breaths. The other day, I used our house phone for the first time in ages, and the speaker smelled like my grandfather's breath. Today, my aunt returned a shirt she borrowed, it smelled exactly like her... and her breath.


I know; that's the most disgusting thing in the world. Exacerbating this is myabhorrence for the smell of anyone's breath: minty fresh or fish gross, Idon't want to smell it. I just don't, so get your mouth away from my nose when you open it. And you know those people whose breath just permeates the air when they speak? It's not a particularly horrid smell, it's just so thick, and it's everywhere. I try to breath through my mouth, but then I just feel like I'm tasting it. I alternate with my nose, and that doesn't make it any better. It brings me to the brink of gagging.

I Dreamed a Dream - Glee.

But the tigers come at night
With their voices soft as thunder
As they tear your hope apart
As they turn your dream to shame
...
I had a dream my life would be
So different from this hell I’m living
So different now from what it seemed
Now life has killed the dream I dreamed

Nowhere Else to Go.

I have so many thoughts jumping around in my head, but I can't write them down. None of them are particularly insightful or eloquent, they're simply things I would like jotted down. I feel like I don't have the time, although I've been at my laptop for the past two hours and will be for another hour, but there's just so much on my mind, it's all a-clutter.

In short, I love Rome. I honestly didn't think I'd love that city as much as I did. It's breathtaking, the people, the atmosphere, the food, the places. It's like a not-so-homey city – the people I encounter on a daily basis, come and go, I live in the vicinity they call a “vacation”, it's definitely not urban, but then everyone's so lovely and everything is so close. Everything about it. The mystery, the darkness, the grandeur of Colosseo, the enchanting little cafe’s, the cobblestone streets, its almost as if your in the presence of something truly…historical? Magical. And my words are failing me. But the life I lived there for less than two years is the life I want to live for the rest of my life. Ive been to 23 countries (and counting) in my 19 years on Planet Earth, its astounding the diverse cultures, history, traditions, customs and languages you come across. The people you meet. The minute, yet vast impact they make on your life. To be honest, I complain a lot but I would not change my life for anything. I just happen to be another fortunate ungrateful being but, hey. We’re all allowed our monthly rant quota. :)

I didn’t fall in love with Sydney when I saw it the way I did with Rome, I just might be rethinking my life plan.

Nauseous Regrets.

I stepped into the room inhaling the remnants of your fading perfume. I looked for you in the empty corners. I painted your ghost on the cushions. I stood and listened to your silent whispers. I attempted to siphon your words from the memory of the wood, the space in a thought. I drew your gestures in the nonexistent breeze. Swift flutters of dust outline your memory. Half empty teacups and unsettled pillows scream of your presence. I held your breath close to my ear. The rising and falling cadences of your voice played notes across my skin. Your empty smile, your hollow eyes, I closed my eyes and saw you there, clear as my fingers before me. I waited. Fearing that you would appear, hoping that these memories would be all that I had -I waited.

Amidst the Greenery.

It physically pains me to see the world rushing past me while I stand there frozen. And it's not a fear, knees buckling induced type of inaction, it's just that I can't. I'm glued. I'm stuck. I've stared into the eyes of truth and it's turned me to stone. My fingers are haunted with the memory of movement, the sensation of blood flowing through their veins. My arms recall the excitement of goosebumps. My hardened heart tries to remember what it felt like to beat, what it felt like to quicken with anticipation, with fear. My eyes recall tears, my mouth craves moisture, my tongue longs for a taste of salt. The kisses of wind are wasted on my numb body, the whispers of trees fall on blind ears. Laughter fractures my stone, painting jealousy in its everlasting cracks. I try to smile, but the corners of my lips split and break until I'm left with nothing more than a wretched scowl. And there it is, my stone edifice, my testament to my wasted loyalty. There stands my failure. There stands my lost hopes and dreams. There stands everything I would have fallen for.

Rayne I

Wrapped in her towel, she lays on her back on the floor. Shoulders back and head high, she places her hands on her stomach and closes her eyes. She takes a deep breath as she allows the thoughts to shroud her, evaporating all worry with the glistening drops of water. She hears a knock at the door, "Come in," she calls through closed eyes.Lucas walks in, "Oh, sorry," he hastily apologizes turning around to exit the room.
"No, no," she tilts her head to look up at his frame behind her, "come join me," she grins invitingly. He reluctantly closes the door and lays down beside her, adjusting his body to mirror hers. Closing his eyes, he asks, "What are we looking at?"
"The stars," she replies wistfully, her eyes still closed.
"What about them?" he asks again as he begins to picture them.
"Everything," she sighs.

Verbal Constipation

You know when you have so much to say and so much to write, then you go and write it down, and you stop less than a paragraph in? There's still so many unwritten words, but to add anything would just be redundant because you've described everything fully; you're just in that state of mind where you think it's not perfect because you're the author, and only you know how it completely feels, and your chest doesn't feel light enough yet? And then you try to articulate everything into words. You try to make sense of it all, but then it either sounds contrived or superfluous. Or it comes out sounding like some cheesy metaphor and you erase it, and it's short again, and seemingly incomplete. I know it's quality and not quantity, but the quality simply doesn't seem up to par.

This post ends here because of the aforementioned points.

Soliloquy

I often found myself wishing for a reason for heartbreak. Wishing for someone that I loved so much, there was actually a reason for me to have some form of fluctuation in this stagnant heart of mine. But they say be careful what you wish for, and I usually am, but not this time. In the dark of the night, my jaded mind on the pillow, I come to the realization that I am heartbroken. This weary muscle in my chest is chipped and faded, weary and unmotivated. I do have a reason. Just not the reason I wanted.

Soft Surrender.

"I can't do it!" she yells desperately, "I can't! Don't make me do this!" she begs curling into the fetal position on his bed as her tears engulf her, as her body shakes with their intensity. Her body awaiting the touch of his comfort hoping for some remorse, some understanding, some rationality to be begotten from her words. Surprised with her own sincerity and passion, she allows the waves to flow through her, her eyes shielded from the sight around her.

"Get out," he mutters in surrender. But his words fall on deaf ears, they land in disbelief: that someone so close, so dear could look upon her broken frame and utter those words. "Get out of my room," he repeats as she hears the opening of a door. She opens her eyes to see him disappeared into another location. She stalks angry, hurt, and hopeless out of the room as she collapses onto her bed and cries herself into a numb sleep. As she surrenders to that bitter refuge she's tried so desperately to refrain from. As she breaks after bending in resistance for so long.

edited for sarah k.

f men. f them to the hell they came from.

f society for setting all these rules: he opens the door. he proposes. he pays. he's macho. he's your hero. false... he's a douche. that's what he f-ing is. these rules just reduce women to waiting, hopeful idiots. you wait, and primp and wait and primp and wait. you wait for the one. then you wait for the one that opens doors, that gets on his knees, that proposes, that sweeps you off your feet and melts your heart with a smile- you start to think, if i were just skinnier, if my hair lay just so, if my skin glittered like butter, if my eyes shone like the moon, if i ran longer on the treadmill, if i fit a size 2, if i withstand the pain of the heels. if i look at him at the right moment, if i bat my lashes. if i grow my lashes. if i smiled, if i read and laughed and was the most entertaining in the room, he will come. and you wait just like that.

but you'll wait forever. because statistics, good old mathematics is not on your side. the percentage of men who fit the expectations pumped into us by society, is in fact very small. in my mind it is 0.3%.

mr. darcy doesn't exist.

and you know why? because miss austen, poor, old jaded miss austen is another me. she is a dreamer, someone who doesn't find love and then imagines the best kind, and then makes it into a person- this one man who encompasses all good in the world. in my case, it was sirius black. if austen had truly fallen in love, her stories would have taken a different turn, probably to the likes of a heathcliff and catherine story.

lesson: the heroine and the rich, smart, fedora wearing, cigarette smoking, cool-line spouting man never get together in reality.

and so, to all of you. i bid you a bad evening and a head full of nightmares.

Stop telephonin' me

When will it get through your thick head that I will not answer your phone calls. I don't know who you are. I don't know your name. I don't know what you look like. I don't even know how your voice sounds. You equally don't know any of these things about me. Stop professing your love for me. Stop sending me sweet nothings in the middle of the night. Stop calling me twentyfive times a day. Get it through that empty maze of a mind that I am not one of those girls. I wouldn't even call them easy or pathetic or bored. If anything, I'd call them mindless. The fact that you're willing to subject yourself to such horrid company disgusts me. The fact that you're trying to drag me down to your level makes me want to projectile vomit onto your face. I didn't answer the first eighthundredthirtyfour times you called, I won't answer now. Stop telling me that my voice sounds like velvet; I know it doesn't, not when I've only spoken to you in contempt or in a manner of interrogation. Stop sending me off into dreamland with little ~eloquently worded messages. They're cloying at best and harrowing at worst. Just stop. The fact that you're degrading yourself in such a manner makes it impossible for me to ever acquire a scintilla of respect for you.

The title: yeah, I went there.

No Happy Ending.

I read washington square by henry james, again. the first time i hated the book. it was dull and hard to get through even though it was short.

this time, i appreciated the ending a lot more. it's a sad, sad book only because it highlights how cruel people can be when they have power over someone. in this case, this woman loved once, and truly, despite her father's disapproval, and you feel pity.

love is just another form of power-struggle- subjection to pain and degradation that is somehow made right for a lucky few whose love is reciprocated wholly.

love is a biological weapon of destruction, equivalent to radiation, poison, and bombs. except it never kills, but maims, leaving you with an empty shell of who you used to be.

those are the morals of this story. either/or. i can't choose because they're both just such lovely prospects -_-

Have you ever thought about what protects our hearts?

Just a cage of rib bones and other various parts.

So it's fairly simple to cut right through the mess,

And to stop the muscle that makes us confess.

And we are so fragile,

And our cracking bones make noise,

And we are just,

Breakable, breakable, breakable girls and boys.

-ingrid michaelson, breakable

Remember when it was only a kiss?

Vulgarity has taken over the innocent kiss in the cinematic world of oversized screens and popping corn. Love isn't a beautiful thing on the glass box set anymore, instead, it's an invasion of space, of privacy, of a once mysterious and sacred thing. You know, there is a reason physical love isn't up and all around your face in public and in social gatherings, it's because its ugly. Horrifying. In a dark room is where ugly and scary should live away from the children and the prude beings. I miss the days where Titanic was a bad movie. I miss the days where I don't know what I see now.

I feel violated. Stop it, Hollywood. It's your fault. Bring back the kiss, please.

I hate my life.

Truer words were never spoken.

I say this without a sarcastic or sappy undertone. I am being honest and open with you. I abhor everything and everyone who I don't genuinely like. I cannot stand it anymore. If you look closely you could see the hate etched on my face. I wish I was lying. For the love of anything good and true, I wish I was exaggerating. I cannot wait for the day where I am swept of my feet away from this wretched place. I just hope this day comes before my hate scars me for good. Having hope is too tiring, folks, and I'm tired of it. So, I've decided to throw mine in the trash, it hasn't done me any good lately or ever. I will live like a zombie out of a grave. I will cope till my heart stops.

This is not teenager depression ranting. I know where my life is headed, it's like everyone else around here. So don't you say, it'll get better, because it won't. I'll just hide it somewhere till it combusts one day and kills me.

Fml.

x

Bu'ness

My Father's presence in the house has become a foreign concept to me. Businees trips have bombarded his life like a down pour of canines and felines. It's sad really and kind of mean. I'm not saying it's his fault. I love him to death and when he is here he's awesome granted that sometimes he can give off drama queen vibes, but hey, aren't we all entitled a bit of time on the throne? Even when he's in town, he works crazy hours, bless him. It's a bit weird that he'll be here in a few minutes, like whoa. Also, just because I can, I would like to state that I hate the fact that I resent him for being able to travel the world while I have to sit and mope around like some crazed emo unicorn.

Peace will come, good day!

The streets are full of strangers

And now I'm all alone again, no where to go, no one to turn to

without a hope without a friend without a face to say hello to.

And now the night is near,

And I can make believe
he's here.

Sometimes I walk alone at night

When everybody else is sleeping

I think of him and then I'm happy

With the company I'm keeping

The city goes to bed

And I can live inside my head.

On my own

Pretending he's beside me

All alone, I walk with him till morning

Without him

I feel his arms around me

And when I lose my way I close my eyes

And he has found me

In the rain the pavement shines like silver

All the lights are misty in the river

In the darkness, the trees are full of starlight

And all I see is him and me for ever and forever

And I know it's only in my mind

That I'm talking to myself and not to him

And although I know that he is blind

Still I say, there's a way for us

I love him

But when the night is over

He is gone, the river's just a river

Without him the world around me changes

The trees are bare and everywhere

The streets are full of strangers

I love him

But every day I'm learning

All my life I've only been pretending

Without me his world will go on turning

A world that's full of happiness

That I have never known!

I love him

I love him

I love him

But only on my own.

- On My Own - Les Miserables

This song makes me want to cry.

Smithereens

I know it's gonna happen. It's inevitable as they say. I just didn't realize inevitable was so real, so close, so ugly. I wish life or the world would humor me and offer me a Neverland or a Narnia. This may seem childish and irrational but sometimes when I think the world is a bitch (excuse my french) and I find myself hating every breathing thing and coming to terms with my heartless reality and dull and soul wrenching destined future, I take comfort in the fact that I'll find my Narnia someday. I believe it. It's what gets me back up and functioning with the grace of a sarcastic and not to mention oh-so awesome person while kicking ass and taking names (granted I don't really kick people in general let alone their bum and why would I take names? Do I have a list of people's behinds that I kick? In this alternate reality, I guess I'm weird) It's what's behind that fake yet believable smile. It's what I cling to when I can't find an escape. It's what stops my head from exploding into smithereens when it's trying to look for a way out, but can't.

Worn Out.

I wish my life had been offered to me in a to-go box, instead of a cold hard steel plate that I can't keep because I have to return it tothem later on in the day. My morals bind me to the place. I was taught never to steal. I was raised to trust in my loyalty. I stay because of my obligation- my duty towards the thoughts drilled into my head. I don't agree but I obey. I can run away, but I don't. In reality, I'm not capable. I live in place that offers you a false sense of security that lulls you into feeling a non existent liberty. You would never understand because you are a to go box, you take what you want from the moment and move forward, looking for a new and more exciting box with an even more delicious and satisfying savory taste. I get the same plate everyday, washed by boundaries and social corruption and dried with a false sense of hope, a political lie and a hopeless youth. Served dull and grey, and the only splash of color is in a distance so far that you succumb to tears every night because never has a reality of impossibility been so painful, so pure and raw.

How Could You Be So Heartless?

Hey beautiful people :)

MY INTERNET WENT M.I.A ON ME FOR ONE DAMN WEEK! CAN YOU IMAGINE?! I mean I was getting so heated up I actually asked a friend to log in my facebook and let me know what's going on. I swear imma need facebook rehab soon, its ridiculous.

Annnnnd shout-out to Joey! I'm sorry boo. Here's your long awaited post hehe. Oops :)

Anyhow, so Tia thinks I was slightly too harsh in my last post, and i'm turning into a feminist. Haha, puh-lease. Right!?

But allow it. That sinking in decided we be turning the tables over. Y'all know I gotta keep it neutral ;)

Tonight i'm giving you the priviledge of going inside the mind of a certain boy. Actually applies to most if not all boys, or men, shall we say? I think it's important them ladies understand what's going on, you know?

Instead of easily pointing out the stereotypical "player" label, I mean come on, there IS a reason for everything.

You probably wondering how I know, well we've spent alot of time together and although we lost most contact now (thank you distance, once again)

He was my ex, we had our differences, we're close friends now. In a way i'm glad, learnt so much from him.

He grew up sympathizing with Hip Hop ballads like LL Cool J’s I Need Love and harmonizing with RnB classics like Ralph Tresvant’s Girlfriend. He would relate to lines from artists like Diddy, who begged for “one bad chick so I could spoil her”.

No WAY would he ever be a player. He would wake up every day, look in the mirror, and tell himself that it’s too far-fetched for him to be that man who dogged out women. He's way too emotional. He cared about people’s feelings. Then he started noticing that not all players are cut throat. Not all willfully disrespect woman.

But most importantly, the biggest ones were the most affectionate and emotional. Generally, they were mama’s boys, like him, who desired nothing more than the attention of a woman in search of the affection and pampering they received growing up. And since no one can live up to mama, options expand, and the roster grows. Now he listens to tracks from R. Kelly, and he relates to every line from Playas Get Lonely as “I let my drinks decide who’s the next chick.”

By some twist of fate, he had become a...*drumroll*...

Yep! That's it. Right there.

A womanizer.

He remembers, when he was 10 his godbrother told him you need to have game to get a female. Godbrother had all the women, and (let's call him Kanye :D) Kanye, had none. So he went to his room, took out a composition book, wrote “Game” at the top. He remembers being laughed at for the clothes he wore. So he started watching music videos, and dressed just like them. He was teased because of his round lining on his hair, so he made sure that his lining never took away from his wavy hair.

He learned that laughter was the easiest way to stay on a girl’s mind and keep them thinking of you, so he perfected his silliness and went from annoying to comical. But most importantly, he learned the pattern to Pac Man. OH yeah. EVERYone knows every level on Pac Man has a pattern ;)

And as long as you follow it, you can’t lose. For women, it’s their ego. Take what they love the most about themselves, and pretend to not notice it. Take what they are the most subconscious about, and embrace them for it. Suddenly, they can’t get enough of you. By the time Kanye reached high school, he was a true student of “the game”, but his transformation was not complete.

He learned the 11th man theory, and never looked back. Take the most beautiful woman, and surround her with 10 men who constantly tell her how beautiful she is and worship her. She doesn’t want them. But the 11th man comes in, acknowledges her, and proceeds to ignore her. That’s the man she wants, the one who could care less.

So Kanye perfected acting as if he didn’t notice them, and as expected, he became highly sought after. And he'd intend to fall in love, but didn’t realize he was subconsciously manipulating multiple women.

He desired them all. No intentions to hurt them or lead them on, but enjoy their attention and to let them know he noticed them noticing him, and he thought of them.

He told himself it was harmless because he was single, and when he does make the commitment, it would all cease. He now laughs at that logic, the bachelor’s contradiction. Because somehow or another, the commitment never came.

He would ask himself every day, why don’t I have just one? Why is it no one will ever be my one and only? I have so much love to give, but no single person to share it with. But that’s because he was unknowingly sharing love with ALL of them. Now to be honest, he genuinely loved every woman he has ever been with, even if it was just for the moment. He never meant to deceive or lead anyone on. At times he even felt they were taking advantage of him.

How easy it is to blame everyone else than to acknowledge your own shortcomings.

His heart was telling him he wanted just one, but his ego had hold of his actions. He needed this girl for this, didn’t want to hurt this girl with that, and saw so much potential in them all. He was slowly gaining the love he wanted in pieces, instead of finding the whole.

What gets lost with both men and women is that some of the worst players, aren’t outright dogs. They were the ones who didn’t have what it took to originally get who they wanted, so they transformed to be more desirable. And somewhere in that transformation they lost sight of their original dream. They saw the potential of love, and as they grew, so did their grandiose.

They tried to stay neutral, but the affection was too addictive and they succumbed to temptation. In their hearts, they are being sincere; they just want a mother’s love, attention, and affection. And since no woman can equal up to that great woman, they accept the best qualities from all. They are still a work in progress, it just takes them time to realize that they have become the man they never wanted to be. But don’t pity them…oh believe me they are enjoying the ride the entire way, but they do intend to get back on track.

Take a minute, think about it

You're (boy) friend may not be just a heartless manwhore.

Dig deeper.

bed and sleep await my humble arrival,

*sighs in pleasure*

have a lovely night, lovely people :)

hugs & kisses.

Friends, Foes? Love, Lust?

So funny story.
I was told today that I don't practise what I preach.
True story, haha.
No but for real, about a 3 months ago tharindu and clementine asked me how I pro advise but my own "love life" as we like to call it, runs down the sewage.
At the time, I honestly didn't have an answer.
I knew its obviously cause I just didnt follow the shit I tell all you people, now I realize though its because in any relationship, power lies in the hand of the person who cares less (that's a quote I stole by the way).
I never had the upper hand. It was always me bending over for him. Me breaking my rules.
I guess love makes you stupid like that.
We all know what we SHOULD do, what is RIGHT, how we SHOULD BE TREATED, what we DESERVE, we just choose not to, in fear we might loose our "better half".
So we insist on being puppets.
That's just the way it is.
We can't help it.
Yes finally, revelation hits! Lol .Oh well.

I find it hard to swallow that strangers make me happier than friends
The minute you let someone into your life
Like a hurricane they destroy and conquer
Its not too much to ask for love unconditionally
But thats only for family not friends apparently
Now I know there are bigots thinking ''maybe you have the wrong friends''
Sadly friendship has got to a point where getting hurt is a norm
And if you dont feel that hurt then you have a stranger in your life
Which might not be so bad if you are also a stranger to them
Telling eachother nice words in passing

A friend as described by the english
is a person who you trust and care about
not someone you just say hi too or have drinks with
not your sex partner or your drug dealer
the paradigm of humanity is in its need to put on a facade

so much goes down the gutters in the souls of people
oh let me say what i want because its who i am, i am blunt
no you moron you are self centered and will never find real happiness
acting like a player, douche and slut is not the way to never get hurt
its the way to cause pain in the life of others
and when they express their dismay dont call them ''dramatic'' or ''emotional'
'because you flushed your emotions away in the dark abyss of your life
doesnt mean I want to be sucked in with you
do what I want because I dont owe you an explanation
its different if you tell me what I do wrong
but seating on a horse and expecting me to read minds
after you blatantly formulate a plan to rid me from your life
because I decided to ''care'' a little more than you

BURN in the HELL of your greed
Chained to the crutches of your insecurity
Remember. What goes around comes back around

loves,
x

Craigslist.

"What Happened to All the Nice Girls?"

I see this question posted with some regularity in the personals section, so I thought I'd take a minute to explain things to the men out there that haven't figured it out.

What happened to all the nice girls?

The answer is simple: you did.

See, if you think back, really hard, you might vaguely remember a Platonic gal pal who always seemed to want to spend time with you. She'd tag along with you when you went shopping for the nights "smokin' date", stop by your place for a movie when you were lonely but didn't feel like going out, or even sit there and listen to you while you droned on about how horribly the (other) girl that you were fucking treated you.

At the time, you probably joked with your guyfriends about how she was a little puppy dog, always following you around, trying to do things to get you to pay attention to her. They probably teased you because they thought she had a crush on you. Given that her behavior was, admittedly, a little pathetic, you vehemently denied having any romantic feelings for her, and buttressed your position by claiming that you were "just friends." Besides, she totally wasn't your type. I mean, she was a little too short, or too bald, or too fat, or too poor, or didn't know how to dress herself, or basically be or do any of the things that your tall, good-looking, sexy, rich, stylish girlfriend at the time pulled off with such ease.

Eventually, your Platonic buddy drifted away, as your relationship with the girlfriend got more serious and spending time with this other girl was, admittedly, a little weird, if you werent dating her. More time passed, and the girlfriend eventually cheated on you, or became boring, or you realized that the things that attracted you to her weren't the kinds of things that make for a good, long-term relationship. So, now, you're single again, and after having tried the bar scene for several months having only encountered whores blondes and douche bags, you wonder, "What happened to all the nice girls?"

Well, once again, you did.

You ignored the nice girl. You used her for emotional intimacy without reciprocating, in kind, with physical intimacy. You laughed at her consideration and resented her devotion. You valued the aloof girlfriend more than the attentive "just-a-" friend. Eventually, she took the hint and moved on with her life. She probably came to realize, one day, that men aren't really attracted to girls who hold doors open; think you smell great when you wearing the same shirt for 4 days; or make dinners just because; or buy you a Christmas gift that you mentioned, in passing, that you really wanted five months ago; or listen when you're upset; or hold you when you cry. She came to realize that, if she wanted a man like you, she'd have to act more like the girlfriend that you had. She probably cleaned up her look, started making some money, hid behind a mask of make up, and generally acted like more of an bitch than she ever wanted to be.

Fact is, now, she's probably getting laid, and in a way, your ultimate rejection of her is to thank for that. And I'm sorry that it took the complete absence of "nice girls" in your life for you to realize that you missed them and wanted them. Most men will only have a handful of faithful girls stumble into their lives, if that.

So, if you're looking for a nice girl, here's what you do:

1.) Build a time machine.

2.) Go back a few years and pull your head out of your ass.

3.) Take a look at what's right in front of you and grab ahold of it.

I suppose the other possibility is that you STILL don't really want a nice girl, but you feel the social pressure to at least appear to have matured beyond your infantile taste in women. In which case, you might be in luck, because the nice girl you claim to want has, in reality, shed her nice girl mantle and is out there looking to unleash her cynicism and resentment onto someone JUST LIKE YOU.

If you were five years younger.

So, please: either stop misrepresenting what you want, or own up to the fact that you've fucked yourself over. You're getting older, after all. It's time to excise the bullshit and deal with reality. You didn't want a nice gril then, and she certainly doesn't fucking want you, now.

Sincerely,

A Recovering Nice Girl.

Solo

So i just listening to kid cudi yesterday

and after recent events, its like i could hear just the words

rather than the beat, and this man was made to rap

his words lined my eardrums with honey

sounds kinda sticky and nasty

but still you get the point, sweet stuff :D

He got me thinking on two songs

''man on the moon '' and ''mr solo dolo''

what stuck out for me was loneliness

it is a state of being that many humans face

a fear that no one understands their real worth

it is not just enough to be friends these days

its almost like people want you to leech onto them

this is why pets are becoming increasingly popular

because they can take your abuse and still come cuddle

guess what mr. and mrs. lack of self confidence

being alone is essential to self growth

dont count on anyone if you dont have to

for every friend you make you make an enemy

Even your parents are not excluded from bringing you down

no matter how much being social is important

what really matter is you loving you before expecting anyone else to

because on those lonely nights you cry, it is only you that hurts

when you should be smiling and enjoying your own company

i mean think about it

ever fall down and hurt yourself

but look around and no one noticed

what do you, just pick yourself up

but the minute poeple notice, its almost like the pain is more

the human mind loves attention and it is quite disgusting to admit

there is no worse state of mind than always wanting to be noticed

it causes greed and jealousy, two terrible demons

For example, I threw up half my stomach contents last night

not sure why but no one was there to pat my back

when it was over, i did what i had to and went to bed

didnt even waste time calling and crying out to my parents

would have been great if they brought me ginger but i got it my self

it would have been great if they tucked me in but cmon i am 19 years old

grow out of your primordial need to be loved by others

and learn that you were most likely born alone and you will be buried alone

and the next time you feel betrayed

look at the situation and ask

who betrayed me? did i trust them for the wrong reasons

ignoring the people who actually care for you flaws and all

On the Wire

Damn. 3 days, no i didnt forget!

so caught up with work by the time I get home its a bee-line to the sack. *yawn*

had a great couple of days though, met up with a bunch of long lost friends, good times in the making :)

anyhow, back to the point of this post,

so time to lay down some quick advice and relate some life lessons ;)

addressing how to handle a break up / fight properly

am not just referring to people, this also applies to friendship

who is to say my way is best

but it sure is better than some stupid things i see people do

first rule of break up is never ''announce'' the relationship to begin with

the world would honestly be so much better without facebook

i mean it is so personal these days

and we allow it by posting our fights, family drama and ''love''

i remember when people had problems you would know because they told you

not on a long status airing out your lack of intelligence

using curse words constantly shows a low IQ and lack of self esteem

second rule is a decent break up environment

DONT text, email or tweet(see what i mean) your decision

look for a nice open space and talk gently

stating out your reason with reason

now if it starts to get heated

remember to always keep a low tone for civility

and if you cant help up it, just up and walk away

give space to clear your thoughts but DONT run away

it will only agitate feelings of resentment from the other party

third rule, never forget what it was like

the good are great but we always remember the bad more

not sure why but its human folly to hold on to past crimes

we always want justice and penance

it was good at some point

you probably threw out some words like ''i love you''

or ''best i ever had'' you know the regular corny crap

use that hold the friendship side of things

romantic involvements are bad to begin with if you are doing it without reason

but what is done is done, so salvaging a bond helps

i hate more than anything people who throw away relationships

i mean come one, we are not children out growing dolls

treat people the way you want to be treated

and people wonder why they are called ''whores''

fourth rule, don't jump into a re bound

biggest mistake is thinking the next nice who comes your way is MR RIGHT

NO he is exploiting you on the 11th man rule

sure he is cute but is that a real reason of attraction

what about you ACTUALLY get to know a person

one month is not enough, even after years of marriage couples still dont know

coming in to act the exact opposite of what you think you have

he will seem great but it will end because you have started an idiotic pattern

a pattern of dating and dumping, then moving ''on to the next one''

don't let your insecurities

cage down you morality

so what if all your friends have a cuddle buddy

man's need for affection is over rated, it never ends well 90% of the time

look around you, how many did you know that were dating that are still together?

years of ''dating'' can end any day but it doesn't have to end

because a real relationship isn't based on fb status changes and kissing

look up the real definition of romance

remove from your head the warped ideology of modern lust

i'm out for the night

much love

xoxo

Testing the Waters.

Blogsville! I'm back ;)

So yes, i've decided to give into this blogging fever too...yet again.

After having many failed attempts at blogging. All ending with either me giving up after the first post or just forgetting that I even have a blog site. This time it WILL be different. (or so she says)

haha. Oh well. Thought i'd might as well give it another shot you know. Alot on my mind and this just so happens to be the only safe way to vent. :)

Soo, unto more important things,

its hard to be in a good mood 24hrs

notice how you start off thinking TODAY will be great

you wake on time for class, your shower seems to make you sing

and the girl/guy you have a crush on comes up to hug you

SNAP OUT OF IT someone steps on your new shoes

the guy next to you in class smells like hot armpit

i mean what happened to the simple days

when your worries were the well being of your teddy bear and dolls

the world is so caught up in unnecessary activities

the more you do, the more you have to fix

notice how you get a new friend and somehow make a new enemy

it is the inevitable in today's society

you know what i say, break free

how many things and people do you need in your life

on face-book i have over 1000, what the duck-sauce!

that is obviously 99% fake ones and 1% real ones

i am serious here, i actually believe in a small percent of humanity

what is up with all this hoarding

accumulation of cars, women, wealth

i feel like no one really has purpose

sure you say you want success but there is more to life than that

why must you always want to make a point or be seen and heard

i am guilty of it and i know who to blame

i am just tired of being told about the afterlife

and also being pushed to pursue material possessions

let that marinate

are you doing too much

is your stress your fault

stop blaming humans, YOU ARE ONE TOO

i'll be back soon

kisses

xoxo