Kiss and Control

"We all want to die like movie stars" you said as you jumped from the height of our cutting room floor while above us, glowing, exploding, our dreams burst forth in light and death. Hold me and tell me "We'll burn like stars. We'll burn as we fall. Watch as city lights dance for us."

AFI

Cursed ~ Carpathian

The realisation that I still don't know what I'm doing here, put in perspective; I am nothing (we are nothing). It feels like something has been wasted, and I am fading. Time is growing against me as I grow tired of being just another soul spent searching for something inside. I hate my f**king guts, I hate desire, I hate lust, I hate humanity, I hate instinctively, I hate this f**king world for f**king hating me.
The chasm in my chest screams of resounding emptiness. I've never tasted this bitterness, I never felt this solitude, worthlessness.
So what great vision is this to sail amongst the vast indifference; accept a trail to hollow senses, where only tragedy breaks the numbness? So what great epiphany will spell out beneath my feet? Chain my wrists, and admit defeat, imprisoned by 'the clarity'. So is this destiny, a doubtful life, feeling empty? Worst of all to make me guilty, blindest of the blind, telling me to see. I might hate this world, I might hate myself, but I won't be a wasted soul, another ghost like everyone else.

The Romantic

It was a few weeks ago now.

I sat in a stairwell and wrote.

In the middle of the night, I sat in a stairwell and wrote a story.

And it was beautiful, and it was romantic.

I'm a romantic. I see everything so dreamily.

It was romantic, sitting in the stairwell, writing. I think I fell in love with that moment.

Writing in a stairwell, like Street Watching from an 8th floor window sill and reading in a cafe when it is raining, is a part of my being, it is... sustaining.

Outrageous, absurd, unbelievable, dream-destroying

Macdonalds cheeseburger now cost $2.10.

This is outrageous.

I refuse to pay that extra 10 cents on my cheeseburger.

If the $2 macdonalds cheeseburger has gone up in price how can we believe in anything else in this world.

Where is the trust? We loyally go to MacDonalds to get our burgers and they raise the price of the one product I believed would stay constant.

I can't believe this.

-

While talking about Macca's, yesterday was my last shift working there.

Yay!!

If you are jumping to conclusions and assuming I quit based on the cheeseburger then you are wasting your energy. The two instances are not related, but if I had not already quite then I am sure the cheeseburger would have pushed me over.

-

Although I must say, I am happy to see the humble soft serve cone back to 30 cents.

Hello

Well, this is wierd. It looks like I have a follower that isn't my brother.

Strange.

I don't think I know you.

Well. Hello, stranger. Follower.

Welcome to my ramblings.

The Freak in the Bed Sheet

Why is it so absurd to wear a toga to a school sporting event?

I waltz down the street wearing it, waving a two-dollar plastic katana around my head (I don't know why I chose the culture clash, but it seemed to fit) and no one gives me a second glance. But the second I'm in with my peers I'm the freak in the bed-sheet.

The teachers thought I had a cool costume, my friend thought me brave, but to everyone else: the freak in the bed sheet.

But then, most of my friends weren't even there and those who were ranged from an exact Naruto double to a L33T gamer, so they're the type of people who'd find anything bizarre cool. But then again, those are the type of people I tend to befriend.

All the same, if a toga at a sporting event is a strange occurrence, I am still going to be the freak in the bed sheet.

Book Review

I've had some exciting news.

I wrote a review on this awesome book website (yes, trust the resident nerd to think a book website awesome) called inside a dog and they liked it so much they're sending me a free book! (only I would find a free book this exciting)
So, seeming it turns out my incoherent ramblings about a picture book turned out to be something worthwhile, I thought I'd give you the link to check it out.
So here it is:
http://www.insideadog.com.au/books/book_reviews.php/review/0/1/7754
Tell me if it's really worth a book (because I didn't think so) or whether they were just really desperate for a half decent review (because I'm sure I'm capable of half decent).

Thanks

Running with Holden

I remember some words spoken by my beloved Holden Caulfield of J.D. Salinger's Catcher in the Rye:

I don't even know what I was running for - I guess I just felt like it

One day I'll run. One day I'll run so hard and so fast that maybe, just maybe, I'll break free. Like Holden I don't know what I'll be running for - or from - just that I need to run. Run and I'll break free.

Senseless

Do you know what is beautiful?

To sit in complete darkness with your eyes wide open but it is so dark they might as well be closed, and music playing so loud you can think of nothing else.

You feel so...

Senseless

The Great Toothpaste Caper

I will begin by telling you how important it is to me that my teeth are clean. If my teeth aren't clean and I have that awful taste in my mouth I just can't make it through the day.
Late yesterday evening, to the horror of myself and my family we had run completely out of toothpaste. How it had happened, no one knew. Being late in the evening, nowhere in our small town was open and selling toothpaste. Panic erupted.
In an urgent, desperate search, mum eventually unearthed two tiny tubes of aeroplane toothpaste. You may know the ones I refer to; they are made for only one use and even then there is not enough. These two tubes had to get the four of us through that night and the next morning.
I didn't need to guess how old that toothpaste was. I knew. It had come into our possession on a flight home from Perth, at least four years earlier. I wonder how ling toothpaste lasts? But, I suppose, if ten-year-old pasta sauce did no harm than the toothpaste should be fine... Right?
The toothpaste was horrid. It tasted horrid, it left my teeth scummier than before I started, I would have been better off washing my mouth out with dish washing liquid.
I must say, I am thankful to brush my teeth wish proper toothpaste again. you never understand how wonderfully incredible toothpaste is until you've had to go without it.
There is definitely a moral to this story but I'm too tired to figure it out at the moment, although I'm sure you already have.

The Meaning of Life

I don't know. Everything just seems so pointless; like there is no need for anything. I know that's not true - we need food, water and shelter but that's it. Nothing else is exactly necessary,

But then life would be boring.

Why do people think there is a point to life? Why do we think there has to be a meaning?

Once upon a time the universe was created.

And that's it.

There is no meaning to it. It just happened. there is nothing more.

Not the romantic answer I would hope for.

Life blood

Dreams sustain me. Dreams are my life blood.

Why do I dream?
I dream because I long for excitement, for a change in everyday life. I dream because I need to. Because I need something.
I dream of anything. I long for everything.
When I say dream I mean, think, daydream, imagine...
I crave more to life and that is what I dream of...

I'm not sure what I crave. Just something different. But what?

...and how different does it have to be...?

The Orange

The orange was, well, orange and round. It sat unmoving in the centre of the table and I watched it. The inanimate object sat and stayed inanimate and I was disappointed. This orange had such life blooming from its peel yet it could not show it. Could not move or jump about. The orange was frozen in it inanimate state. Inert. Like an un-reactive gas it did not react. Did not react to the exciting sounds or smells, did not smell the air or listen to the music. Or, if it did, it did not react. Un-reactive. Inert.
I could help myself no longer I extended a long, thin finger and prodded the orange gently. It rocked slowly, at once animate. But within seconds it had settled and was once again inert. I prodded the round object again, harder this time, and, this time it rolled. Racing across the table, the only athlete in a great running, rolling, race.
The orange rolled, and rolled until it fell from the table where it bounced. Once. Twice. Before landing motionless on the ground and lying there still. It did not pick itself up, dust of its metaphorical, orange knees. It lay still, as if its pride had been hurt by the fall and it would once again have nothing to do with motion.
Finally, after having watched the spherical orange object for far to long, I pick it up from its landing spot on my kitchen floor and peeled its tough skin from its pulpy flesh. Biting into the object provoked no thoughts of guilt. It was only an inanimate object after all.