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fodder

the pebbles you've arranged,
in the sand they're strange.
they speak to me like constellations,
as we lie here.

archives

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  • January 2007


    • Tuesday, September 12, 2006

    Mourn for That 15 Minutes of Pain

    I vaguely remember my chinese teacher in primary school talking to my class about this idiom which describes a mute person being unable to express his displeasure in swallowing some bitter medicine (or herbs, I think...).

    Yeah, its the same bitterness caught in my mouth and I just can't fucking spit it out.

    HELP.

    There has to be a way out of this, right?

    So, what is it about looks? Worshipping an ideal set of looks makes you and me superficial people? Then again, we are all allowed a certain amount of room for this thing called fantasy to frolic around in? Is this it? Is this what it's supposed to be or everyone is just doing it wrong? You see something you like and the logical thing is to reach for it, however far it may seem? Otherwise, anything you settle in between for will be not just a compromise for yourself, but also to the "second (or third, forth, blah) best"?

    Now, I'm truly convinced that discontentment is the result of the sum of the 7 deadly sins.

    When this world leaves me, I wish to be obtain contentment.

    22:18

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