Paulaner.

Like all delicate things, I'm going to just it stew.

Going out now for an alcohol-infused night.

"Are you thinking when you suck your teeth like that?"

I'm browsing perfume reviews. Half the time I don't even know what they're saying when they go on about how the top-notes have peppery, cardamom-cumin, and cedar accord scents and the mid-section smells of leather and how overall it brings to mind a citrus-washed moss, floral notes which turn into vanilla pod scents and 'well-mannered' patchouli along with mellow cedar and sandalwood notes.

But I'm so utterly fascinated.

See, the thing is, I'm not even quite sure what most of those things smell like. Then why have I been reading reviews for the past hour? I figure it's because I love my sense of smell. And touch. And hearing. And taste, too. I'm very in touch with my sense, I suppose. Except the common one. I feel like I -should- know what those things smell like. I -want- to know what they smell like. I WANT to be able to describe how the top-notes fade and blend into the middle.

When I first got my bottle of Calvin Klein's Euphoria for Men on my birthday, everytime I put it on I'd just sniff my clothes all the time. I couldn't get enough of it. It smells great. Thing is, I wouldn't know how to describe it.

This inability to express myself sort of leaves me feeling a bit... impotent.

It used to be a point of personal pride that I could easily describe things and give colour and expression to objects, to give some sort of deeper meaning about what I'm feeling, or thinking. Nowadays, I find that harder. I'm afraid, without it, I feel a bit... well, empty.

Part of me seems somehow disconnected, not entirely there. Like the a piece of headspace in my mind has broken off and is floating off in the grey areas of thought somewhere. An island drifting in a mist of ... whatever.

I stopped trying to say that when I write about I'm thinking, it's hardly because I'm in a state of semi-permanent depression. It's like, it's easier to believe in an extravagant story when the teller is telling it in a way in which he is completely unconcerned with trying to convince you. But, you know, no one really believes that. Not me, neither, I suppose.

Funny thought as I was brushing my teeth, perhaps I should be writing a 'Psalm of Forgiveness' (actual idea for poem title). Wow, bad enough that I'm not exactly a proponent of religion, now I'm trying to sanctify my writings. Or deify a person.

Made me chuckle. A bit.

Anyways, I'm sorry. I know you're reading this.

(at least, I hope so)

Goodnight, people.

Last Night I Dreamt Somebody Loved Me is the title of a Smiths song.

Hold on a sec, going to take a piss.

Alright, done.

Now that I've taken some time to calm down from writing the previous post (about 2 minutes), let us all sit and reflect!

Wow, I'm surprised. I haven't actually been this angry for awhile. I'm the type of person who normally EXPLODES when he loses his temper. Yeah, once I did break the toilet cover. Fucking need to control myself. It's only when I get really, really angry that I feel a kind of quiet, tense calm. It's refreshing, to say the least. I mean, this sort of intense anger is indicative of strong emotion, isn't it?

Then again, it's more of a bitch than anything else.

I could really use a smoke. I mean, I don't smoke, for reals. But I really, really feel like one.

Also, I could use a drink. Now THIS, I can solve. Hold on.

Back. Oh, fine. If you must know. Just shot 3 glasses of whisky. Yes, I am doing a good job nurturing my alcoholism.

LOL EXCUSE ME I'M LIKE TALKING TO A FRIEND LIKE ALL DRUNK ON MSN I WILL COPYPASTE THIS IN A BIT LATER

HELLS YEAH!

SINCE I'M A PRODUCT OF THIS GENERATION AND HENCE AN ATTENTION WHORE

Yench says:

*YOOOOOOOOO

*hey man I'm depressed

*but it's okay, drinking

*You know what's sad

*whene I was a kid I used to feeel better through doing stuff like

*writing pretty poetry and shit like that

*but now that I'm older

*all I ever do

*is drink drink

*and fucking drink

*it worries me sometimes

*name hidden* says:

*lol hello

Yench says:

*that the sum of my life will one day be

*the contents of a glass

*or a bottle

*I'm such a fucking useless human being

*MAYBE IF I TYPE IN PINK EVERYTHING WILL BE BETTER

*name hidden* says:

*trust me..u shud feel good ur able to do that man..how much i wish i could as well..drink my brother

*drink

*till ur satisfied

Yench says:

*yes help me nurture my alcoholism why don'tcha

*what a bro you are

*what a bro

*fuck me I wish I wasn't so wahsed up

*name hidden* says:

*look at me..im watching http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c4ytoKkvmzo&feature=related

Yench says:

*I should have done so many things with my life

*instead I'm a no hope

*I'm a clown

*a fucking loser

*I'm an asshole to everyone I meet

*incapable of forming proper human relationships

*name hidden* says:

*yea pretty similar to me man..i wish id done great things too

Yench says:

*THE only place I actually talk and properly think is in the books I write in and blogs or whatever pussy shit

*since writing is for pussies too apparently

*but even then I lie to myself

*like for example

*woooo i don't care bitch if you don't like me

*fuck you

*i'm gangsta

*name hidden* says:

*who ever said that to u..is the pussy

Yench says:

*but instead inside i'm like fuck, you're real pretty and you're a nice person i'm sure (and hopefully this is not just the whiskey)

*and i'm sad you don't like me

*YEAH WELL FUCK YOU HO

*name hidden* says:

*what sum chic said things to u?

*fck that bitch then

Yench says:

*No bro I'M BEING rhetorical here

*LOL just speaking figuratively man

*yooyoyo

*Fuck, the art of typing properly when drunk

*Thank God I'm okay with it

*shit I'm not even drunk

*I just got so fucking depressed over shit that I drank 3 glasses of whiskey in 30 seconds

*just to ease the fucking pain

*Fuck reality

*name hidden* says:

*ima let u finish my man..but beyonce has got one of the best videos of all time..

Yench says:

*dfuck beyonce

*and fuck Knaye

*Fuck taylor swift too

*All that shit

*fuck

*why are we all so fragile

*so fucking fragile

*god

*I will never be loved again in this life

*THEN AGAIN

*LOVE IS FOR PUSSIES TOO

*the real men make money

*and DIE

*but at least

*they made MONEY

*name hidden* says:

*ding dong bell pussy in the well

Yench says:

*YEAH MAN

*THAT SHIT IS TIGHT

*name hidden* says:

*what r u havin

Yench says:

*It's really too bad man

*'cos I like you

*butyou ain't got shit to say to me when I'm fucking down

*but you know

*fuck that

*None of my friends do!

*Except Mr. Chivas right here

*nooooooo sir

*He doesn't say much

*but he sure makes me feel a whole lot better!

*name hidden* says:

*he speaks thru you

Yench says:

*and Old Man Parr! Weeeeeeeeell he's my uncle's friend but I'm sure he wouldn't mind me taking a bit of his time

*name hidden* says:

*how can u say he doesnt say much

Yench says:

*or liquid volume for that matter!

*HAHAHA fuck

*my life, that is

*fuck my life

*name hidden* says:

*wow u called me a friend..im honored

Yench says:

*don't be sarcastic with me, you

*I can tell when you're being a dick!

*but that's okay

*I'm still a bigger one

*as in dick as in asshole

*Not physica

*l

*since I'm chinese

*hence I have small package

*name hidden* says:

*yea i was juts bout to say

*that

Yench says:

*dick as in asshole

*lol that's hilarious

*it's like

*DICK in asshole

*Yo, don't fuck with me!!!1111111

*name hidden* says:

*wow u can type hlarious so fast

Yench says:

*Man, I wish I was actually drink.

*name hidden*? says:

*i alwis have a problem

Yench says:

*Instead I'm still sober and only slightly high.

*name hidden* says:

*typin that

Yench says:

*Goddamnit

*WILL NOTHING WORK

*my life is shite

*name hidden* says:

*like i said

*i was watching

*http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c4ytoKkvmzo&feature=related

Yench says:

*you know generally I am a happy man

*except when women fuck me up

*Do you know that I am now incapable of anything in my life that is remotely productive

*LIKE WHOA I WORKED AT BORDERS AND I'M NOT GETTING PAID

*name hidden* says:

*woah so sum1 really said sumthg to u?

Yench says:

*Yeah, well, fuck you too manager

*I DUNNO MAN TRYING NOT TO THINK ABOUT IT

*FUCKING WOMEN

*LOLx

*name hidden* says:

*im all ears

Yench says:

*why bro why brooooooo

*name hidden* says:

*:)

Yench says:

*Like every fucking womaaaaaaaaan

*since HER is like oh

*hey

*I like yu and shit

*but i'm not over my ex

*So yeah

*fuck off

*LOL

*name hidden* says:

*lol?

Yench says:

*well fuck you bitch(es)

*gawd I am so hopeless

*I can't get paid

*Can't get pussy

*Can't get anything

*name hidden* says:

*u got me my man u got me

Yench says:

*GOD sometimes I miss WoW

*At least that was fun

*name hidden* says:

*yea with a guy playin a girl

Yench says:

*how the fuck am I supposed to grow up all mature and be a high earning lawyer

*when I am such a dipshit

*name hidden* says:

*hey wen ur earning much..u can open em chivas

Yench says:

*fuck I won't ever be a lawyer

*name hidden* says:

*ill be thr leechin

Yench says:

*I'm probably going to drop out and fail

*and then die

*aged 27

*Clutching a bottle of Malaysian alcohol

*in a drain

*with a packet of nasi lemak

*name hidden* says:

*Cap Kapak

Yench says:

*on my chest

*THAT'S RIGHT BRO

*THAT'S RIGHT

*nobody ever fucking takes me seriously god sometimes I wish someone would listen

*but Nooooooooo whenever you tell the truth they get scared

*or stop listening

*or run

*name hidden* says:

*run?

*lol

Yench says:

*nobody cares

*I'm not wearing underwear

*BECAUSE I AM WEARING BOXERS

*name hidden* says:

*i care lol

Yench says:

*to sleep

*you care 'lol'

*what a joke

*name hidden* says:

*can i see em

Yench says:

*what a joke

*I can see this conversation is where going - to hell

*name hidden*says:

*where is the joke

*oh

*i n hell?

Yench says:

*Like Homer Simpson says,

*I swear to Drunk I'm not God

*AND NOW TO END THIS, A SHOUTOUT TO ALL MY HOMIES

*Glenlivet 15 years

*name hidden* says:

*wooooo

Yench says:

*Glenmorangie Nectar D'or

*Johnnie Walker BLACK LABEL BABY

*CHIVAS! 21 YEAR OLD ROYAL SALUTE

*Glenmorangie 12 year Port WOOD!

*Macallan 12 years!

*Macallan FINE OAK 18 YEARS BROOOOOOO

*my true friends

*They just listen and don't talk back

*they go down my throat

*name hidden* says:

*Seven seas!!!

Yench says:

*and sometimes they come back up

*as vomit

*and disappointment.

*But that's okay, at least they don't judge.

*at least I can't hear them judge...........

Ok done.

Nonbody will read that!

everything she wants costs money!

Anyways, listening to the Smiths on repeat.

I don't care. Whenever I have an excessively long and pointless blog post it is because I am exorcising myself.

I miss having conversations till 5am in the morning. I really do.

BUT I'M HELLBENT ON BEING MISERABLE, RIGHT? WHAT THE FUCK ELSE CAN I DO?

I don't know what to say anymore. my posts are voyeurism of the extreme... stuff.

Lerida, I genuinely liked you as a friend. I miss our conversations but life sees fit to fuck it up now. What do you care? Nought.

Delaney? Oh, it was nice talking to you then you decided not to talk to me. LOL FAMILIAR

Waybe? I love you, man. Seriously. Thanks for letting me stay at your place.

lol Sara Loh is think this blog frighten her WAKAKAKA. k, overdramatisation.

Why am I pleasant person till I get close with people?

Bernice, sorry about me being a jerk.

Cat? Aiya, fuck it you stupid bitch. I'm wrong lor. Say sorry don'twant terima lor.

Sarah, you're too damn nice all the time I cannot tell if you are serious. But anyways, don't matter. I don't write and I suck now. HOW THE FUCK DO YOU RUN 20KM

Kelvin, return my cash and my games you borrowed since standard 5.

In kindergarten I was bullied because I was fat.

In primary school I was bullied because I was fat.

Anyways, despite all things I really wish it could work out.

But you know.

Shit happens.

Good night.

Anyways, I stopped drinking an hour ago.

tongue in cheek, the following by the way.

Good times for a change
see, the luck I've had
can make a good man
turn bad

So please please please
let me, let me, let me
let me get what I want
this time

Haven't had a dream in a long time
see, the life I've had
can make a good man bad

So for once in my life
let me get what I want
Lord knows it would be the first time
Lord knows it would be the first time.

Choice Cuts.

The following is, of course, all true.

Let's see.

I'm a piece of work, ain't I.

I'm an asshole, aren't I.

I don't know how to get over things, do I.

So, it's funny how it's like I seem to be want to be miserable all the time, innit?

Fuck off now, Sunshine.

Brief Summary of 29/10.

5:59pm.

1. Woke up approximately 1.30pm. Eyes unhealthily caked and red as usual.
2. Day kicks off very well, am blown off for lunch.
3. Head downstairs to eat lunch with brother who just came home from school.
4. Head over to Kit's to talk shit about MouseHunt and transfer comics to the external HDD.
5. Went to Queensbay.
6. Did not get paid at Borders.
7. Drive home dejectedly.
8. Enjoy looking in the rear-view mirror at the girl driving the MyVi at the bridge stuck in a jam.
9. Feel the increasing hopelessness of my life.
10. Decide to give up life as a bad joke.

Nope, I have nothing to worry about.

I Am Disappoint.

I wonder if Bernice stalks this blog or has someone that stalks this blog tell her whenever I write the name down.

Anyways, I feel like I need a drink. Badly, in fact. And I'm still sick of alcohol from the binge during my father's birthday.

Last night I had a bad dream involving being deleted off Facebook, being ignored then getting a grim-faced nod as I passed by on a trishaw.

Okay, let's see:

• Still haven't been paid
• Am fat.
• Old friends have nothing to say to me.
• Plagued by one-word replies.
• No replies on text.
• Everything has hit a wall.
• These bullet points are pretty pointless.
• Everyone has feelings to consider, yeah?
• Except mine, apparently.
• Not that I have any.
• Fuck this.

And you wonder why I don't want to talk about anything, eh?

This post is a result of frustration. I refuse to acknowledge any other emotion.

Truth to be told, without this blog I'd go insane.

Then again without this blog I'd probably not be this fucked up, either.

What can you do?

Oh, yes. Forgot to mention. Situation has now well and truly been Bernice-d.

Any last words?

FML.

107 Varieties of Cheese.

Hey, remember Bernice?

I only wrote about her quite a fair bit last year. Considering she was the first girl I actually found myself capable of liking after-

Well, you know.

And we all know how that turned out. Whether it was excess baggage from ex-boyfriend or not liking me I'm still not sure oh who the fuck cares anymore.

I just thought about how funny it was.

And what happened after that, we all know.

Oh, my point?

Oh, nothing. Just basically everything since then always gets Bernice-d. That's all.

VERY FAMILIAR SITUATION AIN'T IT NOW BROTHER

Fuck, never going to make another emotional connection before I die. Oh well.

Oh, yes. What was I saying?

Ah, that's right.

I am willing to fistfight anyone who claims Toxic - Britney Spears is anything but a brilliantly written pop song.

Seriously.

BRING IT.

I'm addicted ta you,

Don'tcha know that'cha toxic!

deee eeeee deeee eee eeeeeeee.

She cries on every tune.

Is it suffocatingly morbid of me to think that was indeed the highest of highs I will ever climb and that the rest of my life will be lived out on the adequate but ultimately mediocre plateaus or, God forbid, downward slopes?

Yes. It really is.

But it's 3:06am and I'm allowed to think bad thoughts. Frankly, the existence of this blog itself is dedicated wholly to my 'bad thoughts'. Well, bad thoughts in between euphoric happiness at football, a place to whore music I love and very occasionally (and usually midyearly) doomed romance (repeat ad nauseam).

I don't blog as frequently as I used to in the previous months. One look at my archive tells all. February (47), January (43), July (37).

I find it hard to figure out what there is to say, if there's anything at all.

I think I've developed a mental block for writing. One I only occasionally overcome when:

a) extremely emotional

or

b) under the influence of alcohol or leftover cough medicine

I used to write, you know.

I (note the repeated usage of the word 'I', hinting towards self-obsession) have this story framed in my head. It occurred to me earlier today when I was barely awake and hung over.

It is, of course, about being hungover.

Moving with the plodding hopelessness of the very hungover.

Nursing his hangover with a glass of wine.

I never try to make my ideas anything other than ideas.

God, there's this hole in my stomach and it feels like hunger but it isn't, really.

No more excuses: exercise.

Okay, confession: Somewhat resentful of the fact that we can't talk with the same casualness closeness we have even after the not-talking. No more in-jokes. No more random bouts of nonsense. Jealous because even my friends have it better than me. But too bad.

It's all in my head, of course. But so is Life.

The Moleskine sits there, no new ink added to the pages. I only ever want to write in it when I think about you. Apt, in a way.

Oh, yes. We lost. Damn football.

The xx don't do much live. They play their songs straight and flawless for most part. All without dynamics. No variation. Leaves you wanting a bit more. Otherwise, a fantastic band.

And they're all just a year older than me.

I suppose as you grow older there excuse that you're still young becomes even more ridiculous than it was when you were 10. Even then it was laughable. All created equal? In the same way all potatoes are shaped the same.

I'm not even a bad enough writer to become infamous.

Again, nobody will comment on this. Since I'm a walking parody of the human condition to everyone.

Bed now. I leave thee with The xx.

Teardrops (Womack & Womack cover)

"And the music don't feel like it did, with you."

Race You To My Bedroom.

Actually, what I really want to say right now is:

"Hey, that grey top looks awfully familiar. *jackass grin*"

But I reckon it'll just get me slapped.

FML.

Fucking blogs never have anything worthwhile to say.

I hate missing.

No Strings Attached, Eh.

You know, complaining isn't really seen as desirable but seems like being handicapped in the writing department sort of stops that too.

If not I could be complaining about

how fucking retarded emotions are (not that I have them)

People

Men

Women

how I can't find a haircut that suits me and one I won't get bored of after one time

fragile nature of friendships

jealousy concerning old friends being able to talk to mutual friends better than to me cos

fuck damnit god fuck

I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO WRITE, I AM IDIOT

Great, at this rate I will never be able to have a meaningful relationship till... when again?

OH, YES MY FUCKING WAISTLINE GOD I'M FAT

Should go back to 360 crunches a day BUT THAT WAS SO LONG AGO WHEN I WAS 16 AND WAS MOTIVATED IN AN ATTEMPT TO LOOK GOOD FOR THE OPPOSITE SEX AND MYSELF NOT THAT IT MATTERS NOW SINCE I

How I feel writing this: BORED

'tis rote, like scratching my bum when it itches

I like how none of my friends read this or at least ignore my constant cries for help, ha haha. Like when a normally adept nacho dip maker suddenly makes nachos lacking in crunch and tangy flavour everyone just thinks the nachos are off, NO MAN THE DUDE IS CRYING OUT

I think I'll just repost old posts for the next few posts because apparently I was brilliant then like when I accidentally scored top in the country for General Paper even though I never attended classes and the highest grade I got was a B 'cos I'm cool like that.

And Yench, learn to fucking swim

you pansy.

Yes, that was a metaphor.

Nicotine.

I was thinking that it would be nice, somewhat, if I actually smoked.

I always find myself thinking of going outside and having a smoke to quiet nerves.

I find myself imagining a gloomy room filled with smoke and scraps of paper with words on it and a pen in one hand, a cigarette in the other.

I am growing increasingly morbid.

But such things are wisps of morning air.

Wow I have completely nothing of interest to say.

No Epiphany.

Of late I have grown increasingly unintelligent and inarticulate (whether this was never the case before is still in doubt)

Although I do not feel a dark overhanging cloud of depression floating above, my mind keeps going over unsavoury thoughts.

The mind goes, 'look at the following and repeat'

You were a mistake.

My left brain knows all love is fleeting.

Fell in love with a girl

I fell in love once and almost completely

She's in love with the world

But sometimes these feelings

Can be so misleading

She turns and said, "Are you alright?"

I said, "I must be fine cause my heart's still beating"

Come and kiss me by the riverside, yeah

Bobby says it's fine he don't consider it cheating now

Red hair with a curl

mellow roll for the flavor

and the eyes for peeping

can't keep away from the girl

these two sides of my brain need to have a meeting

can't think of anything to do yeah

my left brain knows that our love is fleeting

she just looking for something new

and I said it once before but it bears repeating now

can't think of anything to do yeah

my left brain knows that our love is fleeting

she's just looking for something new

and I said it once before but it bears repeating now

Fell in love with a girl

i fell in love once and almost completely

she's in love with the world

but sometimes these feelings can be so misleading

she turns and said "Are you alright?"

I said "I must be fine cause my heart's still beating "

come and kiss me by the riverside, yeah

Bobby says it's fine he don't consider it cheating now

can't think of anything to do yeah

my left brain knows that our love is fleeting

she just looking for something new

and I said it once before but it bears repeating now

wish I had a pizza and a bottle of wine

Strange.

How I

always get this itch to write and this itch travels with me wherever I go sticks to the back of my head and scratches down to my toe(s)

but when i write it either comes out as another post about music with a Youtube embed or

like the previous post random curmudgeon like stuff about hating people in a joking manner or some

half-assed ramble the scrambled eggs poorly cooked and too soggy on a Sunday morning when you wake up and realise you're not going to avoid Monday when it comes and it is all JUST TEMPORARY REALLY

WHO SAYS I CAN WRITE POETRY, YOU'RE WRONG I TELL YOU, WRONG!

I scare myself sometimes

who is reading, anyway?

3rd option is to not write

which I will do now.

NOT THINK DOUBLE SPK

I should condemn all the people who have not replied me today to hell. Whether it be on Facebook, MSN, Skype, SMS or otherwise.

Since this list includes

Lerida
Mun Yee
E-Quine oh wait she just did
Wayne oh wait he replied
JonKit oh wait only on FB
Wencuan oh wait.. no he didn't.

and numerous other people

I have decided to withdraw my previous condemnation and merely visualise smashing their teeth in with my fist.

On second thought, that is also too harsh.

I will content myself with fantasies of writing them strongly-worded letters.

Yes, that's it.

Why, yes. I do exclaim with 5 marks. Therefore I am insane.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!


Such is the laughter of one who makes (with help of infinitely more talented sibling) homemade meatballs and fettucine for dinner! HGAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAH!!!!!


!!!!!

Fall off the table, and get swept under.

Saturday, 10th October 3:07am
--------------------------------------
Couldn't sleep again. So much for having regular sleeping patterns. I managed to fall asleep for awhile in between Weird Fishes/Arpeggi and woke up in the middle of House of Cards. So much for In Rainbows putting me to sleep. Repetition of previously used phrase. Shoddy. Have tried the self-petting method. Once again, the chemicals released post-ejaculation have failed me. Currently turning to a glass of Glenmorangie Nectar D'or. Yes, alcohol. Spent 15 minutes agonising whether to. The need for sleep won out. Yet to feel sleep approaching. Grasping at air, feels like. Thinking. Should do the following things (next page):

1. Serious Gym. Focus on growing belly and increasingly flabby chest.
2. Attempt writing again while sober and without help of substances (alcohol, cough syrup)
3. Cook pasta for self. Last attempt: decent spaghetti aglio e olio circa July.
4. Replace whiskey in glass, now diluted by melting ice.
5. Disregard number 4.
6. Pick up guitar, play.
7. Apologise to someone for events that occured this time last year.
8. Sort out further university matters.
9. Acquire new reading material.
10. Take more interest in current affairs.
11. Ponder life.
12. Talk to Lerida like I used to.

Strange, this page still smells vaguely like you.

3:21am.

Wonder how many brain cells I have destroyed.
At least I do not smoke.
Is murder in general justifiable?
I am sorely lacking in applied intelligence, all brilliance I have conjured so far is purely accidental, coincidental flashes of minute greatness.

I have stopped looking for the same kind of rush I felt when I first laid eyes on her. For most (like me), it is a one-off deal. My friend, if you would just accept it perhaps it would go better.

She does love you, half a world away.

This reference nobody will note.

It is too much to hope for the message to get across.

Wow, what a relief to be physically writing.

For convenience, people touched on in this:

Lerida
Wayne
Catarina
My brother
E-Quine
Jaaidev
Niresh

I mean, if they even know where in here they belong.

Singleton whiskey tasting night, Oct 13.

Might be good.

Should attempt sleep now.

Call her up sometime, Yench.



there is no hidden message... oh wait.



Time is now 3:33am.

PERISHABLE GOODS RETURN IN 2 DAYS

What seems to be disturbing to me is that being in a neutral state of emotion has left me with nothing at all to say. Not that what I used to say was worthwhile but the lack of it leaves a bit discomfited. Worse, it looks like alcohol has effectively become an enabler. It's the key to me saying things. Wow.

Looking back and remembering the kid who used to have so much shit to say about the 3rd period of school on a Thursday, I feel a bit sad.

Mostly, I'm just frustrated.

(end here, nothing to say)

Shit from a Notebook.

First things first.

The last time you wrote in this, you were working in Borders.

Now, you're unemployed, single, alone and somewhat tipsy.

Please explain to this Moleskine notebook how this should make you feel better.

BTW, you have shit handwriting. Crap penmanship.

In a nice, different world, I would be able to

enjoy a night out without lingering on consequences writer properly gorfuck

shuffle. It is awesome, actually.

whoa, I have ugly handwriting.

now I'm hungry

wander around my house aimlessly

writer poetry again

not feel occasionally crippled inside

drink more

loudly proclaim how I miss feeling for

GODDAMN I WISH I COULD MAKE

Hello!

Damn. I have nothing useful to say.

In fact, I am useless.

and NoT not for long for my future

isn't coming along

Maybe if I study / work hard I'll make it as a lawyer and have a nice beautiful beautiful thing to hold onto my arm at nice dinner functions

BUT HELLO MY DEEP SELF-esteem issues prevent me from ever achieving that.

Meh.

goodnight.

yench

complete lack of waffle

I am fucking boring.

Take your armour off, you're not under attack.

So Thom Yorke decided to perform with a backing band with famous other musicians.

This happens.

Thom Yorke has some moves. Fuck.

Nghhh bassline.

Dear Lord, I just came in my pants.

I'M GOING TA FLORIDA

More proof the Flaming Lips are the most epic band ever:

green eggs and ham

Well, besides inebriation fast losing its novelty value... or rather, because it is, I can't help but feel a tad wistful, nostaglic, a faint twist of longing like the tangy taste of lemon in a good Corona beer for

someone that is actually capable of

tempting me to spend just a night at home

doing nowt but talking.

See, the thing is, one of my favourite past times is conversation. Whatever it is.

I'm fast running out of kicks.

Life bores me. Maybe I'm looking for the wrong thrills.

On another note, how does one keep the shine in their silver diamond ear studs? By washing them in hot water with a bit of glass cleaner? Fuck knows.

I could use another drink, or four, but a hangover can't compete with the lust for more conversation the morning after.

Hell, not much can.

Off to bed.

And goddamn, do dry contacts sting.

In short,

People are stupid.