Tuesday, 25 August 2009
my 5 year plan...
year one.... finish my licensure exams
year two.... come back to the maldives just for the sake of leasure!!
year three.. start my masteral in conservation and restoration architecture!
year four... smoke toke! like a crazy preson trough the whole masteral course!
year five.... become an archeologist!
this is my 5 year plan....
Monday, 20 July 2009
COCKNEY SEAGULLS
...those damn COCKNEY SEAGULLS!!!
...their... like winged creatures of the night! made of boils and puss and banshee ticketing agents who have no future in the ebbing depths of the corporate whirlpool..
... and they reside inside your pillow, the bridge between the real world and your dreams, at night they crawl inside your duodenum and "paranizes" your brain for eons, as you watch their painted fingernails grow behind your eyelids...
... they bore in to your eye, the window to your soul! and secrete a montage of gases between your retina and your iris
...these damned seagulls are the creature fore told that taints your soul.. NEIGH! your very existence, with an aquamarine haze of dewdrops and phlegm, with the oozing remnants of your being slumping to the floor and ravaged upon by these so called carrion devouring has-beens of the "empyrean regions" who's wings were clipped and epithet labels torn upon those crimson brown rags...
...a banshee of a pretentious COCKNEY!!!
i have left this as a warning to you all, please do believe the slow, sorry deterioration of this specie tho harmful as it may be... the seagull is slowly withering in strength,power,respectability, loosing its hope and dreams and slowly vanishing from our world and shall be forgotten like a speckle of bread crumbs eaten by the very cockroaches they have loathe in their lifetime, masticated and excreted like excrement of cockroaches... dreaded as they may be...
the ever elusive cockney seagull...beware thou its cunning...
artist rendition of the cockney seagull's first deterioration, has not been seen in actuality but once thought to be sighted though turned out it was a rotten tuna casserole. a common mistake for they both share a similar scent and repulsive nature...
an amateur photo, the cockney seagull caught once hiding behind a blue wall in italy trying to blend in its over powering shades of yellow and covering up its gaseous body emanation of fungus and fungi with 3 bottles of perfume. studies on this menace has been arguably decided upon, that... it has lost all account of a mind of its own. rather it siphons up the memories of dogs that are in heat...
and the total deterioration of all hopes and dreams where in the once feared and ferocious banshee turns in to a mindless slave of the society... its dreams and aspirations are but a memory that flashes in its epididymis. once every 11 months... sadly enough its life wont last more than 10 months, 3 weeks, 6 days and 23 hours... and its brain can no longer distinguish the memory of what it had hoped to be...
Tuesday, 14 July 2009
desire
but whats there to live for if you dont have any desire?
is desire the only thing people live for?
probably not...but i bet its one of those things
people can live with out a leg or an arm i im sure they can live with out desire too...
atleast you need a desire to live, dont u?
its about desires n needs aadhu... unless they're one n the same then jo's philosophy'll work... but otherwise ur in sum deep shit dude
ah see the desire to live takes us away from the idea that living should not be desired but enjoyed, ergo liberating our selves of that desire leaves us with the essential. the enjoyment of life...
but how can you enjoy something without having the desire to enjoy it?
one good example is sex... you desire women..you desire sex.. you ejoy women and sex... but you enjoy it because you quench your desires... what if you didnt desire sex? what if u didint desire women. when you find a girl it will be pure... and ull find that all the essentials are what you need. love cheezy as it may be.
which means we desire love! cheesy as it is.
we desire the illusion of love take away the desire u take away the illusion... and what is left is the purity of love... tacky as it may sound.
and you think love will keep u alive?...oh man, i think u r listening to eagles too much
and are you saying desire keeps us alive? id rather choose love to keep us alive than desire.
its not a question of choosing...u cant choose to breathe nitrogen instead of oxygen...and u cant choose to live without desire...its just not possible
to hell possibility...to hell with nitrogen! desire is a well! a well where in you fall... fall deep in to an endless void...a void that you can never float above from... a black hole where nothing exists... desire is the rust that eats away your inner core desire is a cancer that lives on despite your death... desire is a whim, a fashion, thatmundane people hang on to, to acknowledge their existence. the loss of desire to some people comprises the loss of the will to survive... that doo doo i can never agree with weather i am right or wrong... desire is a virus that eats up humanity... it makes humanity believe that without "desire" we don't have the will, neigh! the reason to leave on. desire is a placebo that makes us believe that we have to find value in this world....
Saturday, 30 May 2009
Red
2 am can’t quite fall asleep… I hear the humming of the motor of the fan… drenched in sweat lying on this desolate room…I see a beam of moonlight fall angular to the floor from my window… a grayish white beam of light…I hear the clock ticking tick… tick… tick… the monotony hypnotizes me…In this isolated room - all that is- I and my beating heart…I placed my arm on my forehead like I always did staring at the ceiling I have come to know so well…a spider dangling on its web… its been here for days just like me…
The shadow of the fan cuts the beam of light…one after another a steady flicker comes out of it… just enough to insist this lucidity in my head... is this a dream or am I really here did my head create this places to escape the torture of the existent world. It don’t matter I’m numb here; in a different plane of peace and tranquility in the lucidity of my mind I am safe.
The colors of this room send a morbid chill…one that cuts trough my bones… grays, black, and -a dull almost rust shade of- yellow surround me…its so blank so plane that my deadness seem to go in tune with this world.
It’s been years since I’ve needed someone… I can’t even remember the last instant I felt the necessity of human touch. It appears all foreign to me now… the longing for contact it feels like a distant memory that I am unsure occurred. The clock ticks along with my thumping heart…the beats seem to follow the rhythm of the second hand as it counts the seconds away…tick…tick…tick… that steady… rhythm that, droning anguish…
A fly hovers across the room; I stare at it and consider her as my friend in my world all I have is a clock, my spider my fan and her… she drifted too closely to the fan blowing her of course be careful my little fly watch out for the wind…her tiny wings carrying her copping to stable her self out…I’m proud of you little fly…I have a spider here in my ceiling watch out my voice whispered to her; listen to my caution little fly he’s here lurking in the dark…flies are hard headed creatures they have a mind of their own. She flew too closely to the web and found herself ensnared in its pinions your dead my little fly… he’ll poison you and rot your flesh from the inside out while your still alive he’ll keep you moving just for spite and when you’ve decayed inside he’ll drink you and leave a shell of what you once were…my poor little fly I hate to loose you; I won’t say “I told you so…”
I squished the spider with my hand, opened my palm and stood there gazing at the twitching legs and juicy guts of what use to be a spider… I’m alone again just like before. I have my own world here the dull colors calm me keep me safe in my uniformity… tick…tick…tick… the batteries of my clock are dying…my heart has gone so accustomed to its cadence tick...... tick...... tick...... does it mean the beats of my heart will come to its end? I’m lying here looking at my ceiling with the shell of my fly and the spider at my hand… finally the clock is winding down…my time has come to pass…the sweet serenity of death’s finger in my head… tick…… tick……tic……ti……
GGGHHAAAsssspppp…. My last breath….. I lay here waiting for death to lay his hand on me. but what is this? She taps on my window; forcing her way in to my solitude a red butterfly? How odd? How bleak? A touch of color on this dreary sight…does death embody himself in the image you least expect?! A butterfly red and brilliant in its subtlety… lands on me; lands on my chest… tick…tick…tick…the timepiece runs?! The room brightens the clock strikes 3…
Friday, 17 April 2009
The Raven
Edgar Allan Poe
[First published in 1845]
 | Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. `'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door - Only this, and nothing more.' Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore - For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore - Nameless here for evermore. And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating `'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door - Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; - This it is, and nothing more,' Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, `Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; - Darkness there, and nothing more. Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!' This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!' Merely this and nothing more. Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. `Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice; Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore - Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; - 'Tis the wind and nothing more!' Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore. Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door - Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door - Perched, and sat, and nothing more. Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, `Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven. Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore - Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!' Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.' Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door - Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as `Nevermore.' But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only, That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered - Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before - On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.' Then the bird said, `Nevermore.' Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, `Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store, Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore - Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore Of "Never-nevermore."' But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door; Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore - What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking `Nevermore.' This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er, But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er, She shall press, ah, nevermore! Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. `Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore! Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!' Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.' `Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! - Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted - On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore - Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!' Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.' `Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore - Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore - Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?' Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.' `Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting - `Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!' Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.' And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted - nevermore! -one of my most favoriet poems! |
memory...
Memory is a wonderful thing...if u don't have to deal with the past...
Sam was a quiet reserved man...Lost in his reverie most of the time...He rarely talked about himself or about others. He had the habit of smoking in bed and fantasizing about a life he had never had. 4 years ago the love of his life died on a freak plane accident everyone else survived except her and maybe Sam as well..
"...and now... here i am. a lost soul looking over his dead love's tombstone alone in the cemetery with the cats, bats and rats...
marion... i dont know if you can hear me but i'll speak despite...i used to romanticize things so much, yet now I'm only happy when I'm truly alone...Its seems better then to be with someone and still feel lonely, i hate the idea that i appear numb, numb to the point where i don't sense pain or excitement i feel stagnant. its just like when you loose the tactile sense in your legs or your arms but you still use them because you have to walk or carry things around, but you don't come across the warmth of touch anymore or the pain of heat. Even if you're holding out your arm to an open flame you don't take it out because you're not aware of the pain. I know, I just had too many mundane relationships and there wasn't really any conscious perception of connection. I got so drawn to the idea of what we had possessed, it might have not been the person specifically, but the idea, the feeling that i had when i was with you...
I think i look too much on the details...the details are what draw me to people, certain quirks that had never really left me. The deep breath in your sleep and whenever i hear someone with it,memory draws me back to the time when I had you. Then I wake up...wake up beside someone different who made the similar deep breath and then I am alone...Alone again because its not you.. And it doesn't make me miss you more, it makes me angry, angry that i can never have that feeling back. a feeling that you stole from me... a feeling we had together and its all vanished, wasted, gone... that imaginary piano you play on my arm each time you stare in to space and hear the music in your mind. I felt that music so much even I started to hear it too...that music had faded away now you brought it with you, and all you left me are the soft touches of your fingertips that i still feel in my arm after all these years.
And its just that! just that... from time to time I'm reminded that i had this starry eyed notion of love! a romanticized picture of how my life was going to be and i truly believed in it you made me believe in it. but You have taken that too away from me... i don't believe in love anymore as much as i used to or maybe we just all grow out of it when the time comes, or maybe you were the one that slapped me into reality a slap in the face... I don't feel what i felt before... i hate people now and it was you who introduced me to the world that I live in today. I reckon i had put all that love I had to offer in a lifetime into those years and i will never feel all these again. I had lived my life in that moment in time and its forever gone..
I always have these dreams of you since you left a month hasn't gone by without a dream of you... and still after all these years these dreams of you torment me plague my very being. it is of us in this garage this old 1920's garage with a vintage cadillac and your leaning off of the bumper in your jeans and baby tees endlessly narrating your life... the look of joy in your face some times sorrow tho often in remorse then i want to touch you badly to hold you close to me but I know I cant and I don't. I just stand there on the cobble stone pavers and stare at you longingly and thats enough for me. I wake up in cold sweat still longing for you even if only for that moment. in dreams emotions are overwhelming and in that point where in you know your dreaming and your still halfway in the dream that you believe to be true,those are the worst, there are times that I hope I'm just in that state as long as i can hold on, as long as i can bear not to be pulled away from it, then I wake up in this world and people around me suffer, they suffer my apathy, my loss of my emotion, a cold shell that they only have the ability to stare at but never touch for fear of getting hurt. an abrasive nature that you helped create when you left.
You can never really replace anyone... I have long envied the resiliency of people who move forward to be with one then change to another like they change their slippers. in fact i think its more intimate for them to change their underwear than to replace someone.. I had never had that with you. i could never achieve the freedom that comes with forgetting. i am cursed to keep the details. i am bound to keep you and its destroying me from within.
In a way i guess I'm talking to you and sending off my voice into nowhere. it will never reach you. Somehow, i guess I'm talking just for my self and how i realize that its never going to change and I'm never going to meet you again.."
Sam walks the graveyard alone... he heads home, lights his cigarette and lies on his bed... wondering about a life he never had....
Wednesday, 8 April 2009
you really got a hold on me...
do check out her links...
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