365 days of ultimate fagness with this one. You really are the best.
2nd Sep 201401:22

I’ve been so consumed by work that every bit of spare time is as precious as a plump grain of Uruchimai is to a starving Ojiisan. Every bit of wasted free time translates to me gnawing at my knuckles in anxiety as I countdown the hours to Monday. 

So having had nothing planned for today: too much spare time and an overactive brain, I allowed my mind to wander. Illogical thoughts fuelled by boredom and probably PMS, a touch of paranoia and a sprinkle of low self-esteem. Voilà, the perfect vat of cranial poison: serves 1. 

I’ve locked/unlocked my phone + opened/closed Instagram/Twitter/FB/Whatsapp about a zillion times I think the button’s about to fall off. Opened/closed the Titolo.ch tab on Chrome, adding the new Nike AF1 Iridescent Pack (in size 6.5, of course).. (in all its metallic-y glory) into my cart, then refreshing the page and closing the tab then opening it again and repeating the entire psychotic process over and over. 

Unnecessary frustration starts to bubble under threatening to spill - I hate having no money, I hate having nothing to do, I hate being terrible at what I thought I’d like to do, I hate thinking of stupid things, I hate myself, I hate everyone. Mostly I hate myself and I really hate Mondays. More restlessness is kicking in I need to find something else to do besides shaking my legs + typing on this space. 

For this year’s Christmas I hope I get the whole ‘zest for life’ thing.

My mind is my greatest enemy.

23rd Jun 201400:04

"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. 

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 201421:45
18th May 201421:441 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.

I’m so excited for tomorrow.
4th May 201416:13
18th Apr 201416:31
Opaque  by  andbamnan