blind man.

what is genius? a fleeting gift? a destination? a standard?

but then again, what good is a definition when there is no beauty in it.

i say, find me the passion, i'll give you the title. he did.

i just failed to see it.



art is a vice. you don't marry it legitimately, you rape it.
-edgar degas



how is this so? the concept put before my eyes, and yet.. who are you?

what would your biggest torture in your final hours be?

your deepest, darkest secrets in the closet shown to you on a silver screen,
or the happiest moments you could have had?

this green rain.

i don't see why things had to change.
was it your mind or your heart?
maybe i should learn that things like that don't matter anymore.
not to you.

forgive me, i am becoming uncharacteristically sentimental.

thank you, bastard. (not girlfr.)

consistently inconsistent.

how do you see them? those celebrities. are they really that happy all the time?

its curious, but they've become the better sterotype. the better fraction of god's creations. more blessed, more gifted, more beautiful. how do we match up? how do we compare our fantasies to ourselves?

it's become this endless race. this meaningless pursuit of glamour that no one really does have. like i always question all too frequently: who defines? who gives this a name?

we don't have it. celebs don't have it. doctors, lawyers, highflying businessmen don't have it.

why are we always chasing? the senselessness of this hell hole has become too overwhelming to bear. yes, if you're wondering, it does feel like the weight of the world is on my shoulders. it feels as if the eyes of everyone i meet, or even walk pass bore into the corridors of my soul and mind. only i alone, do not see what they do.

what they expect of me, and what they base it on, will it ever be possible to find out? i have a theory that no one on the face of this planet is capable of being completely honest with another being. what keeps us from baring all? what separates us? puts us in different classes?

this darkness is stifling, even to the blind.

aren't we only human? do we not all deserve to be treated the same way? smell the desperation, folks. embrace it.

maybe we're just not simple enough to see the fact that we're all the fucking same.

cry me a river - diana krall

you don't know me, so act like you do.

in my world, there is no place for mistakes, no room for indecision. it's not that i cannot, but because i do not. because i do not want to.

i will not.

i will not apologize for something that i was not responsible for. i will not bow to your so-called fame and whatever else. it's really too unimportant.

besides, who's to say what's right and what not, in or out?

these standards are created by man. an opinion of one man, a decree issued by another. just because you think i am immoral does not mean i am.

i cried a river for you.

but then i stopped, realizing how futile it was, trying living in your world.

coma black.

it's strange, how things work out sometimes. maybe i will be a child for the rest of my life, the way i wanted it, but not because i want to, but because i have no choice.

naive thoughts of the darkest persons and their actions, being too nice, too forgiving, too agreeable. these things that mold me, shape and define me, things that frame me, am i supposed to be picture perfect? because i'm really not. i am. maybe.

this isn't the way people told me my life would turn out to be. yet that strange semse of satisfaction that i harbour in the deepest corridors of my soul, lights me. it's what i begin my day with, you know. hope. (cheesy as it is.)

oh the beautiful randomness of life.

"dude, be a poster girl!"

dr neil and mr style.

i just finished reading possibly the most diabolical book printed in this century. it is the most insulting, immature creation i have ever seen to be put in print.

every fucking person on this planet should own a copy.

but then the material would be so regurgitated that it would eventually turn every living specimen of the male population in to a total dickweed and the effect would be devastatingly shit eating.

so i will NOT post the title and name of the author. you can all go on your individual treasure hunt because it's so much more fun.

the book, i will say, has sadly had not much effect on me. however, it would be truthful to admit it has, more than anything else, rekindled my love for the game.

THE game.
seduction.

cat-and-mouse, hide-and-seek, push-and-pull. oh the countless tactics women, and in my experiences of execution, men, have fallen prey to.

yes. in fact, the very reason i started this blog in the very first place.

outwit, outsmart and outlive. it amazes me that the author (who is still anon.) manages to managed to break this art down into a bite-sized gold nugget of precise science.

i miss it. i miss practicing it. sure, i still get to sharpen my claws every once in a while now, but it's different, due to obvious reasons. the extent to which i can go. thrills, as i hate them, only come to me now, short lived.

although i do not entirely regret giving up the game (or to whatever extent i have, and also subject to context of the words giving up.), i do, or rather did, enjoy it.

ahh life. the beauty of it all. and the inevitable self-destruction that comes in the end.

isn't it all just so bittersweet?

which is precisely what make it
so dangerous
so lethal
and so devilfuckingly spectacular,
no?