I've never felt so goddamn angry in my life because I never realised that I was and when I did, I never admitted it. The blues can go away, but anger doesn't dissipate that easy. I've had it with making excuses for you, keeping my anger in check, prioritising your feelings over mine. My silence in the face of a barrage of recriminations and ( Read more... )

Winter and spring (Winter and spring)
Summer and fall(Summer and fall)
You're the wind surfer crossing the ocean
on the boat behind
Skiffle and ride (Skiffle and ride)
shuffle and walk (shuffle and walk)
You're the up tip toe ballerina
In the chorus line

Whoah, whoah whoah, whoah whoah
I could never belong to you

Sorry for being so plebian, but as I was trying to find out who the fuck Daul Kim was, I stumbled upon this hilarious ad campaign for MaxMara, Fall 2008/Winter 2009, that I find somewhat... I stop short of calling it racist, but seriously, just look at how the Asian model is totally shoved to the background:


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Holy Mother of God, I just found The Greatest Archive of Literature Designed To Elicit The Greatest Reactions of Pain: my stash of original poetry written by yours truly, during my formative teenage pubescent years of Pain and Depression. I can forgive myself for the blues during that period, legitimate or not, but I just can't forgive the fiction ( Read more... )

I can give so much life on a piece of paper, but I can't resurrect a near-dead man.

"As I recall now my impressions of that episode I find that it was only during my moments of self-forgetfulness that my grief was wholehearted. True, both before and after the funeral I never ceased to cry and to look miserable, yet I feel conscience-stricken when I recall that grief of mine, seeing that always present in it there was an element of ( Read more... )

Written a few weeks ago: "Papa, I don’t want to live for you. Stop being such a lazy ass, get up and start living for yourself, start living for me, like you always do as a father ( Read more... )

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Interior Portrait

you don't survive in me
because of memories;
nor are you mine because
of a lovely longing's strength.

what does make you present
is the ardent detour
that a slow tenderness
traces in my blood.

i do not need
to see you appear;
being born sufficed for me
to lose you a little less.

"Streets that I chanced upon,-- you had just walked down them and ( Read more... )