You’re the only person I wouldn’t mind spending an unhealthy amount of time with. I’ll let you lick my arms gnaw on my fists and thighs wrestle me into a chokehold just because you can. I’ll let you roll on my bed with your sweaty T-shirt then plead with you to take it off. I’ll let you lie on my lap at 8am in the morning while we’re in the car on our way to work, on a Sunday. Kick back and talk about any/everything - going over the same conversation topics about how we can be better at what we do how we’re not that bad how we can make things better how different (you) are from everyone around. Soak in the jacuzzi till we’re red and wrinkled then towel walk to the bathroom.
My mind is my greatest enemy.
|8th Jul 2014✧19:392 notes
|23rd Jun 2014✧00:04|
"This is your life, and it’s ending one minute at a time."
of immortalising yourself on social media could possibly become a ‘thing’.
Channeling some Palahniuk-style of thought here; but what if this is modern day’s solution to a Tussauds’ wax figure?
I’m talking… lengthy blog post/Instagram caption, cryptic tweet, unusual song choice (think ‘Mad World’, ‘Everybody Hurts’, or a random Nirvana number) on Facebook and then the police/folks finds your body somewhere - hanging from a noose, face down at the bottom of a block of flats, cold and blue in a car in a random carpark/park/dumpster/industrial area.
Amidst the morbidity of this thought I do suppose there is a certain beauty to being immortalised at the tender age of 16, 18, 21, 22 - whatever the significance. You’ll be remembered by that tragic blog post/cryptic tweet/the very last picture you’ve ever Instagram-ed instead of your mangled body from when you plunged 13 storeys down. Conversations about your death might go like “I always knew he/she had some deep-seated daddy issues.”, “I never knew she had insecurities about her looks I mean she’s so pretty what a waste.”, “Was it because of her/his bf/gf/ex?”, “I suspected something wasn’t right when she started re-blogging B&W posts about death and suicide on her Tumblr.”, and the best yet… ”eh what’s the link to her blog ah?” You’ll be #insta-famous!
With the ease that this fad is taking over our lives, or rather taking our lives, I suppose in a way then - God is like the kid at the claw machine. Only thing, he’s the kid that’s been camping out at the arcade day after day, getting seasoned with the device.
Dollar after dollar, gripping the joy stick, other hand on the button - grip and un-grip cheap and fat plushies (made in Bangalore, no less) as he picks out whose time is it .. to go. Having spent almost all the dollars his rich daddy gave him, he’s probably so good with the claw that no toy ever slips out. He chooses you and you’re gone - disease, suicide, accidents, misadventure (insert other unnatural causes here), organised religion/malfunctioned cult practices. With this kid, even half-assed suicides rarely go wrong - the claw grips you and you’re gone.
I cannot fathom the reason for this inconclusive post, either. It’s just one of those things that’s been at the back of my head for a while now - and that I’ve finally got the patience to sit down and get it out. (What? No, this is not procrastination from starting on my upcoming 1k-word feature pffft..)
Really hope this Newsroom module teaches me a thing or two about syntax and/or story flow.
how my posts have become nothing but shallow reflections of my mood - which has been rather melancholic with a tinge of self-loathing. Throw in some vexation for dramatics.
Or maybe I never did go deeper than ‘how I feel’ and/or ‘what I did’. I do wish I was better able to produce less frivolous content and more perceptive ones - it’s time I took a stand on things; sitting my boney ass on the fence is so typical and not to mention, safe, which is what I try hard not to be.
Unfortunately all I can think about now is me. Me me me. Me and my emotions. Oh sorry, My emotions and I. Because fuck, that’s what being a woman is about, right? Feelings. Emotions. Sensitivities. I guess I am then allowed to wallow in this deep ocean of negative thoughts and feels and hopefully drown in it. (It’s wonderful how I completely forgot how to swim when I needed it most.)
Don’t tell me to sleep. Don’t tell me to go home. Don’t tell me to stop doing things on a whim - because these are the things that start the spiral. The swift plunge into the bad place that I painstakingly pulled myself out of. I can’t stay home and sleep. My thoughts will take over my head faster and stronger than anything and I will wreck myself again.
It’s so perfectly twisted how the harder you try for something the more it doesn’t work out. The more you try to make something happen a certain way the more it goes in the opposite direction.
The more sugar you add to this coffee the more bitter it tastes.
|18th May 2014✧21:45|
|18th May 2014✧21:441 note
So I guess I don’t deserve anything nice since I’ll ruin it again. That, and God and the entire universe really hates me and they’ve made it their priority to make my life a living shit.
|4th May 2014✧16:13|