nu-mi place de tine pentru că nu ai fruntea înaltă, pentru că ţi se usucă buzele şi ai gura mică, pentru că esti mai mic decât mine, pentru că pari şi probabil că eşti naiv, pentru că nu ma pui la punct, pentru că nu mă slăbeşti odată, pentru că insişti, pentru ca mă placi, pentru că mie nu îmi place decât de oameni nepotriviţi şi cu care nu am şanse. pentru că nu sunt capabilă să simt ceva. pentru că ar fi prea simplu ca motivele astea să fie adevarate şi de ajuns. pentru că atunci când îmi atingi genunchii nervii mei nu suportă, pentru că în seara asta, când stăteai cu mâna pe piciorul meu, simţeam că ţi-e frică. pentru că deşi te-ai dus sus, a fost ca şi cum m-aş fi lipit de un zid. pentru că ai impresia că dacă mă gâdili e de ajuns. pentru că dacă o să citeşti chestiile astea, şi sunt destule sanse, poate o să treci peste… pentru că o să ştii sigur că e vorba despre tine.
pentru că, de fapt, tot textul ăsta demonstrează că nici eu nu sunt mai presus de banalităţi.
if i did what i wanted, why does it suck so bad. today out of all the days he had to introduce me to his friends, who, and i quote ” accept him the way he is” (like he’s a rebel or smth). i knew he could tell things were wrong, cuz i proposed the meeting (it may have been the 1st time) and i said that i really wanted us to talk. this expression, “we have to talk” always sounds menacing, so of course he could predict my intentions. i had to act natural(faking), so that nobody would note the awkwardness. for a couple of times i even considered dropping the whole thing off, thinking that maybe there’s still smth to save/give/repair/any fucking thing! but i guess i would have only deluded myself. so, when we left, i “declined” his hand and told him he’s gonna hate me. it was unexpected, but he assumed that i was unsure about things yadddaaaaaaa yaddaaa..
then, when i got in the trolley, listening to.. brmc, i think, i really felt like being in a video, imagining how i could easily kiss the guy sitting near me, and then just take off. i was in that nasty depressive state, when i could almost do anything to make it pass. but almost is the key word; i always stop to the thoughts.
so it’s done. it feels like crap. it’s like a reminiscence of another “wise” decision i took quite some time ago and that left me fucked up for a little longer while.
oh, well.. it is what it is.
counting two times the number of my name, subtract the vowels, underline the diphthong and then summarise the results in xcel. or not.
i wanna write the story of the leaps. take the photos of the missed trials; return to the scrip and create the patchwork in which evthing would end up reshaped in triumph.
sinful vindication..if only.
regrets are to be xpected. sleepwalking and walkingout.
it’s true when they say that one has to feel miserable to be able to write (whatever, no matter if it’s just crap). it’s happening now. I cannot keep my fingers still and I carve through my misfortune to spread the slices out…. there. I don’t even care that much if I can be figured out cos, in fact, the situation I’m in is highly overrated. in my mental scenarios I say things I’ve loudly expressed before and that I eventually forgot, or simply erased through the preservation of the “evil”. I’ve grown it for so long that I’ve got the sensation of having to rip five blackened nails by myself and pour some brandy or smth to “disinfect”.
however, it’s quite a considerable distance from must to actually performing.. in fact, I’m thirsty for some revenge, but I’m unable to get to the point where my anger could persist concentrated. I even designed a sort of plan, but I don’t think I’m that cold hearted or if it’s worth it.
last night I dreamt of j. and I was half conscious, cos I was thinking that it was just how things are supposed to be..natural and sugary (but in a non-sickening way). then, a second voice was saying that it’s so different from my ghostly nightmares. I was no longer a spectator of others’ fun, no longer in pain, not looking through the glass…
nothing really changes, nothing turns.. not for me, not unless I throw the key. must be due to my sins at 17
this means nothing, it’s simply fun to watch
Filed under: deceit
i was reading the weekly horoscope and it told me to be patient and to let go…. ain’t that a sort of contradiction? let go of what? even the superficial sowing work? doing it the evening to be broken in the early hours of morning. .. the evil programming might just sabotage itself.
errr, this is conversation intercom, from what i believe to be soulwax’s best album (cuz i don’t really dig that new electro crap)
at least the dreaming stopped and i finally managed to sleep 11 hours in “unconscious of the living” rem.
(well, i didn’t , but this time the nightmare was lighter, it let me dig my head in the ground.)
visualised a table, covered by silver spoons and while i began to chose the one i would use (or maybe just carry) they corroded at my touch and sorta began to make my fingers greenish-gray.. they hurt, but i couldn’t desist from trying, cuz they were so many and i thought i could get lucky
Filed under: deceit
◊ I’ll shut one only;
when I had both fanlights locked
people broke in:
they stole my lashes.
now I’ll leave it opened so that
they’ll grow back.
I chose: sensitivity
and if it gives you pleasure
poke me with a stick,
see if it goes out the other side;
our gramophone will diffuse some moaning.
your’s….
the stick mutters inside.
he begs for air…
who’s the constrictor now?
