[pseudoblog/drabble] somsatang
I write because it's easier to amplify your feelings and put them into someone else like the stuffing in a plushie. If you were to strain my pseudoblog pieces and let them dry on a stick in the sun you might get the essence of what I'm really feeling thinking doing in my daily humdrum life. If someone could act the story of my life i would pick TOP. Except besides acting it, I wish he could just live mine on my behalf so I could turn my face away and never have to see it again. Cease to exist. But in a story you get to write the ending that doesn't happen in real life.
When the 2NE1 girls release their song titled Lonely, you think it's absolutely the anthem of your life. Not that you'd be caught dead singing it, it's just too much of a girly song.
But you're so fucking lonely all the time, it amazes even you that it hasn't turned into a black hole large enough for you to live in, house, car, pool and all. There's nothing quite like lonely to help you understand how big the universe really is - it really gives you an education in perspective. Cos even when you're standing nose to nose, toe to toe, a mere eyelash away from the billion other people on the subway you realise that you're all alone, alone, alone. They can be shoving their newspapers in your face, their bad music taste in your ears and their bad laundry or body odours in your nose, and still it doesn't change anything except to make the little being in your heart cringe and shrink himself smaller still.
It's easy to crave the nearness of another body - just for the warmth, you think to yourself - but when all is said and done you don't feel like anyone is the right person to be touching you, as much as you don't feel like your touching them is right for you. So you end up cradling the cold curves of a wine glass, tasting the dry burn down your throat as you convince yourself yet again that this loneliness is fine, is right.
Like a jacket that's on backwards you wear your life snug round the shoulders but blowing cold in a place you can't quite reach. In your spare time you spin tunes that make no sense, woven with lyrics that mean nothing, so much golden thread spooling from your fingers you don't know what to do with it or what you do it with. The fans lap it up, the haters say you're wanking, but really as you go through the motions you hardly care what either say. There's a lyricality to your life, you're sure, but the tempo's just not matching, you're searching as you go, ear out for the missing beat. At times it even feels like your body is just a shell you inhabit, what you think and do are so at odds-ly disjunctional that you can almost hear the pans clashing together everytime you attempt to fuse what you're really thinking with the most appropriate action your body can deliver. And when the damage is done, you smile awkwardly and back away, a fallout of sheer wonderment in your wake.
"It's Bingu, Bingu," they whisper, louder and louder until nobody bothers to whisper anymore and you smile and add it into a song for their amusement. It doesn't really matter but you wish they wouldn't label cos now you feel like you have a side to you that you haven't yourself seen, and it's yet another possibility to explore that you can't figure for the life of you when you will have the time to. Like a kid in an unfolding cardboard house, you feel like someone tells you there's another room just when you think you've finished exploring it. A more ardent child might have felt excitement, but mostly right now all you feel is exhaustion and a neverending sense of empty.
[and now let's skip to a possible ending cos the inbetween is a bitch to write.]
But when jiyong puts his arms around you, his breath on your neck, the world turns on its axis and begins moving right again.
"I'll buy you cotton candy," he whispers. "Somsatang."
And who would have ever thought that cotton candy would be just the thing, sweet sugar spun on air, filling up all the spaces and sticking in all the right places.
When the 2NE1 girls release their song titled Lonely, you think it's absolutely the anthem of your life. Not that you'd be caught dead singing it, it's just too much of a girly song.
But you're so fucking lonely all the time, it amazes even you that it hasn't turned into a black hole large enough for you to live in, house, car, pool and all. There's nothing quite like lonely to help you understand how big the universe really is - it really gives you an education in perspective. Cos even when you're standing nose to nose, toe to toe, a mere eyelash away from the billion other people on the subway you realise that you're all alone, alone, alone. They can be shoving their newspapers in your face, their bad music taste in your ears and their bad laundry or body odours in your nose, and still it doesn't change anything except to make the little being in your heart cringe and shrink himself smaller still.
It's easy to crave the nearness of another body - just for the warmth, you think to yourself - but when all is said and done you don't feel like anyone is the right person to be touching you, as much as you don't feel like your touching them is right for you. So you end up cradling the cold curves of a wine glass, tasting the dry burn down your throat as you convince yourself yet again that this loneliness is fine, is right.
Like a jacket that's on backwards you wear your life snug round the shoulders but blowing cold in a place you can't quite reach. In your spare time you spin tunes that make no sense, woven with lyrics that mean nothing, so much golden thread spooling from your fingers you don't know what to do with it or what you do it with. The fans lap it up, the haters say you're wanking, but really as you go through the motions you hardly care what either say. There's a lyricality to your life, you're sure, but the tempo's just not matching, you're searching as you go, ear out for the missing beat. At times it even feels like your body is just a shell you inhabit, what you think and do are so at odds-ly disjunctional that you can almost hear the pans clashing together everytime you attempt to fuse what you're really thinking with the most appropriate action your body can deliver. And when the damage is done, you smile awkwardly and back away, a fallout of sheer wonderment in your wake.
"It's Bingu, Bingu," they whisper, louder and louder until nobody bothers to whisper anymore and you smile and add it into a song for their amusement. It doesn't really matter but you wish they wouldn't label cos now you feel like you have a side to you that you haven't yourself seen, and it's yet another possibility to explore that you can't figure for the life of you when you will have the time to. Like a kid in an unfolding cardboard house, you feel like someone tells you there's another room just when you think you've finished exploring it. A more ardent child might have felt excitement, but mostly right now all you feel is exhaustion and a neverending sense of empty.
[and now let's skip to a possible ending cos the inbetween is a bitch to write.]
But when jiyong puts his arms around you, his breath on your neck, the world turns on its axis and begins moving right again.
"I'll buy you cotton candy," he whispers. "Somsatang."
And who would have ever thought that cotton candy would be just the thing, sweet sugar spun on air, filling up all the spaces and sticking in all the right places.