A Delicious Nirvana

Hello, you undeserving little girl.

How you doing? Did you miss me? 

I'm guessing you remember how I work don't you, Emma? 

I see that you're tired, and as a gift I know exactly how to blow your fears and insecurities out of proportion. That's what I'm here for. 

A rather slithering void into your subconscious and believe me, I worked hard to get in that easily. 

Years and years of cigarettes and alcohol and careless fun, and I'm what you'll get. Kisses from undeserving men made their way into your naive head, didn't they? 

You won't exactly need to call me karmic balance, but I'll always be the one that tips the scale. The one that fucks you in the head, most of the time. I think it's fun, cause I get to know just how weak you are. And I feast on it, bury my face in your big, fat fears and I'm having a ball! 

Now, Emma. I sigh.

I've long forgotten those days when you walked the paths of independence and damn weren't you good at that. 

But now you are a soddy mess. 

A puddle of sickening mess. 

I exist because of people like you, now people like you is an ocean of misery and I have nothing more to ask for. 

There's no fairytale for you darling, and its not even as if you've believed in them in the first place. No, no one will save you from your misery. It's a game you have to finish yourself. 

You are alone. 

I know you fuck up, fuck everything up. And you, you undeserving girl. You have no place in happiness. 

Death is the answer. 

I am the answer. 

Now, I wish of you to take me. Slowly into your mundane life. Take me in lethal dosages and I'll finally give you the Nirvana you've been craving. 

Cause it's only I who can make you happy. 

And happiness is me. 

We Bleed. But That's Okay.

The weight of the afternoon reduced me into a bag of confusion, confused of my own selfishness. Like a door slowly opening.

I dream none of it. 

However every bone that dare exist in my framework says I'm to blame for this self-centeredness.

I'm lucky.

Like a dog who sees his master but failed to see its anger. Getting kicked and ignored for the night, the dog knows that it'll get its next meal tomorrow.

Like hope.

A tiny, disconcerting feeling of possible illusions surrounding the frailties of your heart.

And you bleed.

But that's okay.

You never really knew how it ever was to live down the drain to being high up in the literal mountains of your own capacities.

In solitude.

Your fears eat you and in turn you become rude and incapable, I can't understand cause it was just yesterday when you said "Carpe Diem" and fucking that word up like a 4 yr old kid murdering freshly expensive colouring books for children under age of 16.

Like a sick fuck, stick your tongue out.

I was never yours or you were never mine. Never mind.

sick sick sickening and when i regurgitate i expect myself a new man. Or a woman, with permission I turn myself into a woman. No kid ever has to question something so obviously admired and hated all at the same time in the same century.

In the same fuckingness of our physical distributions, even if it meant you having a vagina but seeing it as a dick instead.

We cum.

From up to down.

Til dawn.

(oh alcohol, remedies for the selfish available after office hours.)

from your afternoon, a portal and a time warp in your nakedness in a dimly lit room.

You filthy little.

You little.

More alcohol please.

Reaching A Rather Uncomfortable, Disconcerting Limit

Ive reached a certain part wherein I'm most likely to succeed without any deterrent external factors such as being kin. As of this moment, I am weighing the possibility of getting outta there without having all the drama and focusing on other endeavours. I feel that I will be ok on my own. And I think that might be somehow a little better. Then I'd come to the point of asking myself 'what am i living for?'

I never thought it was going to happen to me. Being subjected to unnecessary pressure from all my family can really drive anyone to the edge. All of this I think are opportune times that necessitates a kind of creativity in making your way out of the mess. The rubble. Like a test or a puzzle forcing young adulthood into remarkable discoveries of life and choices. Never did it come to mind that I was in for a thrill. Mind games and how to play with it though require a witty balance of it all. Such are times of gaiety and unfairness but its really worth the ride. I'm looking into things that can be of maximum enlightenment to me. It's just really hella fun. Im enjoying the drag, the imbalance. Then a sunny day mimicking the desires of your heart to find and pick up the pieces of yourself after a disastrous turn of events. It's as exciting as drenching a body in the mud, even if it's yours.

The Apathetic Medical Squad's Take On Brain: Label X2BV112

Describing the Conditions of a Brain labeled “X2BV112” Under Observation Financed by the Hikarobe Uxcranial Foundations

     Circumstances are usually the one to blame for a certain brain to process fucked up information, however many doctors would ineffably suggest that these memories filled with smoke, torment and the arrivals of men in liquid form are hormonal. In relation to this, citizens of a regime that allow themselves the benefits of a passively disinterested, non-curious mind would undoubtedly relish in the moment of bullying the brain with baseless rumors. In a rare case, a certain brain labeled as X2BV112, submerged into a concoction that mimics the nutrition a normal body would provide it at least a considerable amount of life for research purposes. Rumors notoriously spread by the citizens against this brain under observation gave the morbidly, Apathetic Medical Squad the idea of what this fucked up brain really went through.

      Morbid as they are, they provided the utmost care, in an obsessive manner even, to prolong the life of X2BV112. A squad with a common goal, to ultimately deconstruct the brain of one of the greatest lovers of their remorseless boss, the founder of the Hikarobe Uxcranial Foundations. Their notoriously secretive workings are not only protected by the Government, but permitted to acquire specimen from rundown mental facilities in Sarajevo to the illegally funded human labs in Jaffna, Sri Lanka. Where disposal of human remains are nobody’s business except for the H.U.F, which is the result of non-cooperation of the hundreds of those trafficked. One quick fucked up blow to the head by a man under the influence of Crystal Meth was directed to the leader of the Trafficked. The Sri Lankan man was fond of his baseball bat and was very eager to have used it so meaningfully that day, only to please the remorseless boss at all costs. 

     Now, X2BV112 has undergone a series of staggeringly expensive tests in hopes of revealing the mysteries of its slow decay. Decay, by which I mean before it was extracted out of the body that had apparently nourished it. The Squad is eager to get at least the essence of its very surface. They knew that this particular brain was subjected into some kind of trance making it untouchable from the people that has haunted her ever since her involvement in the H.U.F. In particular, the confines of the brain of the one and only founder, into which she so effortlessly had entered. Finding the man’s state of mind as fragile as she expected for it was a brain in a hopeless wasteland lost in the confusions of love. She found him.

 [# 1 Test Reveals:

That for some time, in a span of 5-6 years, X2BV112 had an increase in its brain activity paralleling to its physical activities. This test has shown an immature yet a prolific past of the brain. Physical activities include fucking around with considerable amount of alcohol, having coital remembrances from people in her distant past, acing the examinations whilst being under the influence of so many artificial highs, and one they find funny, a staggering inclination of the brain to perform household chores in consistent precision.]

     But wheels turn as the shit collides with the ever forceful fate making her brain a subject in view. So fantastically displayed in a cylindrical glass submerged in potions that pulsate in its crevices. H.U.F felt no remorse in its retrieval. A death so exquisitely designed to pain even the numbest parts of her body yet making the body capable of preserving the brain in a span of 20 days. The Apathetic Medical Squad received the recognition for its death. Security and wealth that will last for decades. The remorseless boss need not remind anybody that he was capable.

To be continued.

.

      

The World Is the Answer to that Very Wrecking Kind-Of BreakUp.

                                          

(Trust me, its okay to try that black lipstick at your favorite department store.

 And 6 more paragraphs of seizing adventures. cheers ;) . )

        It's a standstill at the airport, fatigue is present but the caffeine in the air is intimidatingly evident. A squeal from a woman that was clearly a mixed type, with the hint of asian and a little caucasian. She seems to be in her forties and was running away from a man, with a smile on her face. She was playing tag with her white lover. A scene so sweet I became obliged to be jealous at this wonderful couple who played like kids, and damn they played with passion. 

       And at that exact moment, I knew that the world has opened up for her. And believe me, it will also open up for you. When you let it. When you work hard in finding it. And the world is the answer to that break-up. 

       It's definitely gonna give something back to you, when you just let it, and it's gonna be a hundred times better. 

       Tough love. Soft voices. Hushed tones. Sugary drinks and I'm fucking inlove with literature. It submerges the soul into icy waters and dries your body in the warmth of the desert sun. You become a part of a thousand experiences and allowing that hard-headed, grit-loving masterpiece that you are make adventures on your own. This was a direct effect of an airport to me.

      Yes, the world is the answer to your break-up. Aren't a few hikes therapeutic to a wounded soul? Aren't travels in foreign lands a reliable source for meeting people entirely unlike you, yet you still find them amazing?  Are the greeneries, the purples of the sky, the hundred varying tones of the complexions of the people you meet not an evidence that the world is still largely unexplored by your own beautiful eyes?

      I wonder how it feels to see or live from airport to airport. I definitely need to get going towards something so liberating as that. Traveling with no reservations. Find the best things, the funny ones, and the see the bad ones. All in a backpack, some money to help  you last, good camera skills. To work and to live. To love and to hold, with a fit and a sound body and mind. It's a hella good plan, don't you think?


(diary entry dated: 04-23-2015)

Love: we are human, after all.

     In the time of territorial chaos somewhere far out in the disputed seas, I would often ponder on how easily it is for us to entertain a fleeting feeling such as the presence of a potential partner for life. Such as love, like the trespassing ships on the horizon, it fills you with dread and uncertainties. 

   Or Love, as they call it. An unselfish  act partnered with bursts of innocent libido and heavy doses of excited sleepless nights.

   Up until now I doubt if these criteria really depict love. A word as vague as windshields with a collection of water spots and dried soap suds from a carwash session last year. Some do get you through the rough road, some just confuse the screws out of you. Like forks on the road, you just sometimes wish there was none. 

  But it seems that in children, love is as easy as an attachment to "Bobo," an elephant stuffed toy that joins a child to sleep. Love, in tenderly calling your mother's name. An attachment to a person, no matter how far, how unrequited, how impossible and even one that exists beyond death, can also be love. 

  It seems evident to older people the concept of love, of staying through the long haul, a history, or a journey of pushing through a mythical end (of there's end in love.) You see old couples holding hands, making breakfasts for each other like topnotch carpe diem, it's a lovely view, a visual inspiration. They see each other everyday like it's their first time to meet 40 years ago. Both lovely and young, full of vigor with an understandable stubbornness and excitement with every breath. 

  Love is recklessly inhaled and exhaled, and is consumed in critical amounts. And we fall, fall, fall. 

  Personal experiences have painfully taught us a few things. We fall in love with people who care/cared so much about us til they burst like supernovas into the galaxy of love, and we fall inlove with people that ignore, disrespect and leave us in the crevices of the world we built together.

  And they're gone. Like the scent of cheap cologne. They linger and persist into your consciousness. Slips and slowly dies in the hands of your resiliency. Love springs anytime, sometimes with no permission. As long as there are people willing to fight for it. Love survives war and famine, so it must definitely survive a lesser chaotic setting. Dozens of images appear in my mind as I think about this phenomenal transcendence that is love. Inherited, discovered, fulfilled and universal. Fragments of movies and the hugs and the kisses we share and witness in our environment, in our imaginations, love thrives and survives. 

  In children, it's easy to interpret love. It is as easy for them as a smile. It is as if without doing anything, children can make adults feel that all things and all selves are capable of love.  

  When you see children, you ultimately see an innocence and lightness so rare in adults. For they bring nothing else. And I wonder how it is to be a mother, rumour has it that it pulls you to a nirvana like nothing else does. It must be love. 

- end

(the title for this article is inspired by the french electronic duo album: Daft Punk's Human After All.

Session Road Fiction.

   There must  be some force behind all that angst you got. Im srsly head over heels now. I think im free fallin but you still aint there to catch my drift. Dont tell me im still lost in my own world. This, this plateau im standing on, is one not just made by me. It was made for us. So let's fall, lets fall together. I can hold your hand. And I promise ill never let it go. Let's get uncomfortable. Let that comfort slide away as we feel danger engulf our senses for this piece of emotion called love. Can you dive with me? Just like how you dangerously met me in one of the coldest places here and stayed with me until morning, seriously we have not played but it was just so surreal that your good smelling jacket wrapped my body like how i wanted you to hug me. Hints are like daggers that you're seriously able to deflect. I just stared at you and I felt warmth rush through me, when you handed them beggars your change as if its the most natural thing to do. Session road, Ang Pulang Leon now meant something to me because i can see your lovely face in those fragments of my memory. Imagine walking at the park, looking for a 24hour mcdonalds, seeing you frustrated is really cute. I wish you could've let me hold your hand as if we owned the damn night, sir. Your height is to die for. Seriously sexy. hahaha. Im sorry i get butterflies again. I can remember your mannerisms well, like how you'd suddenly speak with a ghetto accent and tell a joke and do a facepalm.  you are seriously tattoed with some mushrooms and i felt like i wanted a taste of them. damn this is twisted.


At the cabin with you was glorious. You proved that youre smarter for your age. I wished Id known bits of you earlier. Im really lucky to have met you. The way you laughed and the way you ate. Man, id really like to dive with you into the depths of discomfort and i promise ill never let you fall alone :)


Rap in the shower for me honey. haha