3.14.2012

maybe closures with clusterfuck mania is black like a banana


  1. I am smoking the third cigarette of my second constipated day. It tastes like a dream, in the most harrowing sense. Like you are a young man looking at a plastic bodied porn star in a wet dream, where you get turned on but just can't make it to the end. No matter how much you yank the monkey, ever. 
  2. Recently I changed my conditioner. The new product, slightly expensive yet 'organically' superior, makes my hair shine like it's shoe polish I have rubbed on my locks. I find my fingers sexually seeking its way to brush through the hair. That is easier said than done since the hair is always tied up in a bun, frigidly (according to my mother). But when I am in the confinements of my private space, mirror time has turned into a not so self-effacing hair worship ritual. At times I even pull at it, pretending how hard it would be for the boyfriend to pull at it now. These are the few things you don't tell your lover or anyone per se, I surmise... but I wonder if this would be 'cute' or 'vain' though? 
  3. The reality of the matter that you must yourself create an environment for your interest is terribly true. This I infer due to the audio books and the walking I do these days. There used to be absolutely no time to indulge in books for pleasure due to obvious educational reasons that final semester student faces. But thanks to the boyfriend, I have audio books and headphones as my latest fashion accessory. Now, shopping for groceries or walking from any point A to B is equivalent to reading Bryson or poetry. Amazingly enough, I find myself taking the longer routes home. Last week, I walked home thrice for 50 minutes rather than taking the tram which would cut my way home by 40 minutes just so I could do more reading done. Funny though, I bought 4 new books (on sale, yay) while taking the walk. I wonder when I will find time to finish those new books.. ah, well- the false promises of summer is always there.
  4. Can misgivings caused by materialistic anger be intellectually killed? I am going away for the weekend, slightly excited about the first vacation of the year. However, it is the annoying matter of the bloody air-tickets (not even the hotel prices) puncturing a slight hole that is the cause of spasmodic anger. Makes one confer if three nights of constant urinal seeking in an icy island famous for northern lights and huskies pulling on sledge was a good idea after all. 
  5. Having the sex drive back on track like a winning race horse but not having the boyfriend around to pester for a quickie is the paradoxical fate of my life right now. It is so darn unholy of the Pristine Gods of Karma to take away the Casanova itch, while physically distancing my love/lust interest. I guess, I will be taking more walks, longer ones at that.





2 comments:

Firefly said...

I love your style of writing...<3

nothingness said...

The occult that falls on the dark side of the moon ..