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Wednesday, September 28, 2005

Sometimes. All the time.

I hate you, I hate me. I hate the world. I hate my parents, and even though I thought I’d never live out this cliché sometimes I hate you too God. I’m sorry. I hate myself.

Hate is a strong word. “I’ve never hated anything you know? We haven’t felt fucking life. The strongest thing I hate now is that bastard for giving me a A- because he doesn’t like me”.
I have no strong emotions in this diluted grey washed out one-deadline-to-the next life I have. I have no energy, I have no friends, I have no time.

Every morning I lie in bed and half asleep I think if I could only wake up now and go to work early then I’ll get the stuff done. Then theres the haze of existance and then I look up at the clock and damn its seven in the evening and I take work home in the hope that it’ll finish. I eat, and then I can’t bear the thought of staring at a screen so I watch a little TV and then I look at the clock and damn its 12 and its time to sleep. Where did two years go?
I have measured out my life in planner pages.

I stay awake long into the early morning hours. I can’t help it sometimes. I need to feel, I need to live, I need time, and the only way to catch up is to wind myself up till I crash and burn and then finally sleep in exhausted bliss. I need to feel. I need to drink, I need to dope, I need anything that will make me feel. Why do princeples remain behind when everything else has been leached away?

I hate you. sometimes. All the time.
I hate you for making me stay. I wanted to get out, i remember feeling the choking oppression. I don’t notice it anymore. I’ve forgotten what it felt like.
You’ve made me into this corporate whore. You made me a slave to evaluating every decision on the basis of a paycheck, you’ve made me sneer at people who still might have ideals (do people still have them? Yeah right). I hate myself for becoming the person I said I never would.
I hate you for your princeples. I hate you for your self sacrificial goodness and the silent fucking matyr you’ve tortured me with my whole life. I hate you for making me feel inadequate, for not doing the simples things you’ve done for me my whole life.

I hate you. I hate myself.

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

random self involved musings

Why do I look at you, and why can I imagine some perfect woman for you other than me? I can see you and this unknown woman as a pair; see you two have your first baby, see you buy your first house, see you send your first born to school for the first time. Its sad, because I envy that, I want that, and somehow I know its not with me, we’ll never have it together, with me you’ll just end up delaying your destiny, one of us will end up hurting further down a bitter path of resentment and misunderstanding.
I look at you, and I know you don’t see that now. But I’m used to that. You’ll see in time, and we’ll both pay the price, so its better if you to just leave now. Trust me on this one.

I gave in to self doubt once, and it wasn’t good. I didn’t mind the detour, he was so young and he had years and years before he stopped screwing around and actually found out who he was and what he wanted. When he used to talk about marriage and kids, I would just humor him and play along even though I didn’t see anything, deluding myself for just a small while, and it was nice being so uncharacteristic. When he would talk about ‘feelings’ and ‘where we were going’ I would avoid the conversations so blatantly that he started joking about the girl-guy role reversal in our relationship. I convinced myself it was because he was taking things too fast.

Do I, like everyone else, simply shut people out because they have the ability to hurt? To have expectations is only to be let down? Or is it something more perceptive, does it come from an innate knowledge of knowing people, of knowing myself, and knowing the absolute certainity of how it will end?


this is the second time i re-write this so that i don't sound as obnoxious and shallow as last time. worldcall better comply

One of the first pioneers of my blog tagged me. So in the spirit of joie de vivre and fellow bloggership camaraderie I will commence:
(1) 5 years ago: first year college, sleep derived, deranged, derogatory (of life, people, naiveté, men and ideals)
discovered event management, forgot how to draw and write

(2) 1 year ago: first job, hating single digit IQ creep of a boss
still sleep deprived, deranged, and a little less derogatory
discovered retail therapy and decided life was worth living as long as clothes were being sold
forgot how difficult it is to be Alone

(3) 5 songs I know all the words to:
grade 5: ice ice baby
grade 8: Mr vain
o levels: macarena
a levels: bomboleo
college: we didn't start the fire

(4) Snacks I enjoy: strawberries (NO CREAM), dark chocolate, OPTP tangy fries, Tabasco straight from the bottle, carrots

(5) Spend a $100 million dollars on:
Clothes: $1m
shoes: $2.5 m
house: $30m (france, new york, london, italy, spain, pakistan)
cars: $1m (diablo, the yellow supercar, the green little car with the white stripe) :)
investments: $ 98m (microsoft, apple, yahoo, google, anything else my advisors suggest)

(6) 5 places I would run away to:
my bed
in case my bed isn't available: any place my parents are at
in case my parents aren't available: any place with books & a TV
in case books and a TV aren't available: any place with art supplies and a laptop
in case art supplies and a laptop aren't available: any place with a view

(7) 5 things I would never wear: thong, thong, thong, thong, shoulder pads (no connection to thong)

(8) 5 fav TV shows:
it would be easier to mention the TV i would never watch:
the bits in fear factor when they eat gross stuff
soap operas
texas lone ranger
anything with chuck walker

(9) 5 greatest joys: eating, reading, writing/painting, doing math, hugging someone i love

(10) 5 favorite toys: dinkies (sp? the toy cars), the car with the pedals i could sit in and drive, the toy kitchens that actually had running water, the barbie with the cinderella shoes, the hairdryer for barbies

(11) 5 people i'm tagging: hmMm the three people who read this blog have already been tagged. so anyone reading this who thinks they know who i am.. you're tagged :)

Thursday, September 22, 2005

Monday, September 19, 2005


The story of Black and White

Black met White at a party. White was wearing something black and skimpy, and Black was wearing something gangster like in white. They ignored each other most of the evening, but looked up each other on orkut and decided that they were soulmates.
The scrapped each other for a couple of days, and then decided to get married.
Black got a red suit stitched for the occasion. White obviously wore red too.
They ended up living together and going to parties and theatres and plays and operas.

Then White got pregnant and so divorced Black.
Up till now everything had gone according to plan. They had reached all the right steps and done all the right things. They had made all the correct sacrifices to the rituals of the gods of Black and White.
But a terrible tragedy was about to hit the poor Black and White family.
The baby was born, and terribly, the baby was a shade of Grey.
Doctors and Nurses tried to explain to the bereaved divorcee that Grey sometimes happened. That plastic surgery might be able to fix it. White tried everything, but to no avail.
White tried to raise little Grey on her own, but it became too difficult, so she ended up in her White bathtub one evening several harsh years later, and slit her wrists till she sat in a pool of red.

Grey started living with Black, who was a father with a terrible anger management problem.

Finally she grew up one day and while waiting for her laser Whitening appointment met Dark Grey, and fell in love. They married and through genetic engineering had lots of Black babies and White babies, and only wore Black or White. Grey and Dark Grey eventually died, and the Black and White babies continued to live and procreate more Black and White babies who would grow up, fall in love, and wear Red on their weddings.

And so the circle completed, and balance was regained in the Black and White world.

Saturday, September 17, 2005

rockstar INXS

(1) i don't know how Mig gets votes. i really don't. its one more piece of evidence of how mankind should never trust democracy to the masses because masses are stupid. only the intelligent elite should rule the earth.

(2) J.D epitomizes so many cliches. he's hot, and has a "bad boy image" that he first establishes and then feels he can tone down by playing up his family lovin side.
however, because he's so hot, anything he does comes across as phoney and over smooth. J.D. is the asshole you always want to date but maturity and experience teaches you to stamp out any such urges.

(3) Marty is - to put in politically incorrectly - ugly. but that really helps because his talent and brains are then taken to be the real mc coy. (JD might be able to sing (doubtful) but really.. can someone that good looking REALLY have talent?) he's the kind of guy you would never want to date but you would eventually want to marry when you reach a higher level of maturity.

who has my vote? its hard to tell... :) i'm bordering on immaturity and maturity

Monday, September 12, 2005

coffee being

I had coffee with the archangel, and he said he’d try to pencil me in for lunch with God. The liar.
Sucker that I am, I call up my lunch date and postpone. I get his voice mail instead. I leave a message and hope my voice doesn’t betray my two timing. “Hey Satan, I’ll meet you for dinner instead. Got a client”.

I trudge to work to the yogi’s sublet; my first customer. He doesn’t even bother turning off the TV as he goes about his business, happily dropping maply syrup into the whorls of hair matting his chest.
I try not to throw up as I wrestle coconut oil down his chest, but he’s too busy watching Regis and Philbin to bother.

Next stop with the bored rich housewife who enjoys wearing nothng but her diamonds, and treats her servants and me like we’re animated pets. I overcharge her by the minute, and she happily pisses away her husbands checks as he screws his secretary in the building across town. So trite. I decide to take the day off and go wait for God. I’ve been waiting months for this.

I’m walking, when I get a call from an unknown number, “Hello?” I try to keep the eagerness out of my voice. Is it Him? Could it be?

“Hey darling, there is no way you can cancel on me, I’m having the shittiest morning. I’m picking you up immediately. Where the hell are you?”

Satan! husband. lover. demon.

Exasperating man. If only he wasn’t so sexy. “I’m about to go uptown honey, have to cancel. About to cross over in three steps.” And even as I say it, I can hear the roar of an engine pull up behind me.

I turn around, and he’s jumped out of his convertible, suit and all, and grabs me from behind. “Gotcha!” he nuzzles my neck, and I try not to squeal too loudly on a public sidewalk. Damn.

“Got you a present!” he’s holding a House of Graff box. My knees go weak. I’m sure Gabriel can pencil me in some other time.

I get into the car, and try not to think of the aftermath.

Tuesday, September 06, 2005

I Will Never Be With You

James Blunt - You're Beautiful

This ones for you:

My life is brilliant.
I have the worst case of the shits. My hitherto commendable digestive tract has finally been breached by all the crap I stuff myself with regularly (my friends hate me because I’m thin). And then theres the stress and the caffiene and insomnia and the back breaking exhaustion I’m sick of writing about.

My love is pure.I saw an angel.Of that I'm sure.
Ever since I’ve been little, I could always connect the dots faster, catch random patterns in clouds and pea pods and dropped coins. Umbrellas in stars, dragons in clouds, ten dimensions in the air surrounding me with an infinite possibility of ifs. Long before it all became text book in basic level quantum mechanics and cryptography and statistics. Astromony and astrology, chinese leap years and birth years and centuries and after hijrats.
She smiled at me on the subway.She was with another man.But I won't lose no sleep on that,'Cause I've got a plan.
Talked myself into a box. Wrote myself into a trap. Walked into a close ended room, with no space for answers. The haunting familiarity of strangers and the echoing lonliness from best friends long gone till hollow skeletons of friendships remained and rattled cheerily in beach huts not our own and ball gowns long grown out of.
You're beautiful. You're beautiful.You're beautiful, it's true.Her turquoise hoop earrings with a high pony tail, his lean stomach hugging ribs and they lounged on the beach chairs silent, thoughts hidden by sun glasses. Idly playing with bracelets on wrists, watching volleyball and shrieks splashing by and the music starting with the generators in the dark. His younger sister and her guy best friend whispering together giggling at the possibilities. Sun slanting through grey clouds, white gulls cawing in the distance and then dissapearing into the sunset.

I saw your face in a crowded place,And I don't know what to do,'Cause I'll never be with you.She picked up a pebble, remembered writing on a large flat beach stone with fabric paint and mailing it to her best friend oceans away. She tried to make it skip, and as always, failed.
He came and sat beside her, “You know, this is so much more civilized then I ever expected it to be”.
“Because you’re an imbecile. Because you never knew me and never bothered to find out. Because you’re stupid and immature and I feel cheated because you showed such promise and claimed to be the one.”
“I still love you.”
“Fuck off”

Yeah, she caught my eye,As we walked on by.She could see from my face that I was,Fucking high,And I don't think that I'll see her again,But we shared a moment that will last till the end.The hash burns holes in brains, the mochiato sozzles grey matter till time slows and bonfires rise as high as the stars and you blink and think you can see the milky way. But you can’t, its only your retinas that haven’t adjusted from city lights and golden memories.

You're beautiful. You're beautiful.You're beautiful, it's true.I saw you face in a crowded place,And I don't know what to do,'Cause I'll never be with you.
She’ll be younger, she’ll be impressionable, she’ll think you’re the One and be blind to your lack of any morals. She’ll party with you and drink with you and be cool and fun and not tax your little brain with moralities and philosophy. She’ll wax eloquent on your greatness and make pretty little ego pies for your appetite, and you and your white picket fence and weak mediocrity will continue to populate the earth.
You're beautiful. You're beautiful.You're beautiful, it's true.There must be an angel with a smile on her face,When she thought up that I should be with you.But it's time to face the truth,I will never be with you
I slam the car door shut and walk out. I don’t bother saying goodbye. The sand is gone, the music’s over. The ghosts behind every resteraunt and every song and every sandwich have dissapeared. The dots between the cars have been erased and the lines between lonliness yearning and hunger have been washed away.

Friday, September 02, 2005

he scuttled out like a cockroach. i ignored him because he looked a little harmless and weatherbeaten as he apologetically hovered under my chair.
then he suddenly flicked open wings leapt up in one giant repulsive leap that makes your soul shrink with a replusion only insects can make you feel.
and i lifted my heel and smacked it down. green goop stuck to the base of my arch.
i wiped it on the carpet of ashes, and he bothered me no more.
why do you bother? why do i?