Damn, that's bright.
This week was a nauseating existential hell - a calculated but chaotic fabrication of loneliness, doubt, despair - all of this sprinkled with a healthy dose of tears. As with all things existential, things can either spiral into nihilism and self destruction or, from the ashes of anguish and despair, things gain renewed clarity and essence.
Loneliness is like getting cut with a razor blade. Introduced with pain, followed with a creeping ooze of adrenaline and endorphins to numb the pain and yet unable to stop the life from dripping down wrecked human flesh. It's at this moment that life and death are wed, with existence as the surrogate child.
Alyssa asks me when I feel the most alive. I tell her I feel most alive when I am sad and lonely. Moments of hurt and death are when I become conscious of my existence through a masochistic realization of my dying. Loneliness is a beautiful thing. I can still feel lonely amongst the company of the most beautiful people in the world. Living is the art of calculated dying. Parts of me die only to make me feel whole again.
Smiling, she nods and says something only to trail off into nothing. I admire her smile - a timid creation smothered by bold appearance.
Romantic feet. That''s what I think of Donna. I've most definitely fallen in love with her feet. Just like how I've come to fall in love with Dorothy's comforting touch. Or Richard's laugh. My love doesn't know monogamy. Richard says monogamy is hard.. to pronounce.
I love notes. They're inanimate conversations of the past bound to the present best written sloppily on hastily torn notebook paper. Precise and calculated chaos. Everything is a precise and calculated chaos.
Loneliness is like getting cut with a razor blade. Introduced with pain, followed with a creeping ooze of adrenaline and endorphins to numb the pain and yet unable to stop the life from dripping down wrecked human flesh. It's at this moment that life and death are wed, with existence as the surrogate child.
Alyssa asks me when I feel the most alive. I tell her I feel most alive when I am sad and lonely. Moments of hurt and death are when I become conscious of my existence through a masochistic realization of my dying. Loneliness is a beautiful thing. I can still feel lonely amongst the company of the most beautiful people in the world. Living is the art of calculated dying. Parts of me die only to make me feel whole again.
Smiling, she nods and says something only to trail off into nothing. I admire her smile - a timid creation smothered by bold appearance.
Romantic feet. That''s what I think of Donna. I've most definitely fallen in love with her feet. Just like how I've come to fall in love with Dorothy's comforting touch. Or Richard's laugh. My love doesn't know monogamy. Richard says monogamy is hard.. to pronounce.
I love notes. They're inanimate conversations of the past bound to the present best written sloppily on hastily torn notebook paper. Precise and calculated chaos. Everything is a precise and calculated chaos.