Facial Idiosyncrasies & (Bra)Clasps of the Mind

oo my. there's been a subtle shift in things over this ginormous gap between dates of being completely devoid of any feeling whatsoever. no wait, that ain't true, the feeling is there, it's always fucking there despite new and improved policies that forgive but never-in-a-million-years forget. policies that melt facial idiosyncrasies to neutral aspects of self-hypocrisy. hope hope hope hope hope hope is a terrible, yet an undeniable melting pot of our most ugliest, yet most purest emotions, ironically (or not?) like the choir boy's euphonious stage-call to a grumpy, but cuddly messenger of the Gods.

was this drunken night the same as other drunken nights? superficially it was exactly the same, except perhaps a bit more extreme. nothing more than passing absolutely shit judgment on timing and pace of absolut kurant AND absolut classic in less than NINETY minutes...
but i wonder... in this day and age of delusion and denial.. how would i really know how it really is in my mind? does it even matter? i mean, if you cannot feel it, and the only way you are able to find out is through some psychiatrist who has completely based his life on the study of psychiatry (which although a very noble profession is still very imprecise medically), then maybe what you yourself feel should be given more weight? well it's just a thought.. of course unless i'm irrevocably crazy... don't think so.. not yet anyway.. haha.. drama mama is what people call me.. well u ain't met my mama yet!!
facial idiosyncrasy took on more meaning than ever with bloody cuts on nose and a wound just below my nose which by the way, a stupid pimple decided it would be a good spot to grow on! woo hoo! kinda strange i view pimples as living, breathing things.. oh but they are the little fuckers..! (little my ass)

apart from that, i submit an article to my editor for the on-campus publication.. and going from history alone, my kick-ass article have never been chosen.. instead, the slightly bimbotic, casual comedy ones have.. so i decided that since i was too busy doing my assignment for Human Resource Management for Professor Wu Pei Chuan on Work/Family Conflict: Issues and Implications for Individuals, Firms and Nations, I would take this opportunity to take advantage for the magazines's propensity towards inane stuff (as opposed to gay rights, AIDS and alcoholism) and churn out an article in less than 30 minutes on the highlights (and lowlights: although in retrospect it always looks fucking rosy) of my life and times at NUS. i mean what is the point in trying to write abt issues that matter and stuff that is subversive when you get repeated rejection from the editors (who by the way, get an article in every month, regardless if it is about using the over-using the analogy of a bra to describe the process of 'unclasping' the mind or writing about tampons and how uncomfortable they are)? I take offense to her using the analogy in the first place, but over-using it? and also, hello.. this is not cosmopolitan.. and sometimes she accuses me of not knowing who my readers are..... i mean.. like.. are all the people on campus.. female...? or do all of them use tampons? i mean like...er... fuck off! and to further it all: feedback on my article goes something like, its just a rant. of course it is, ur the queen mother (fucker) of rants..

ahh the fuck-all of life.. so why do i feel all shitty abt it.. this person who is clearly not interested gives me mixed signals.. or do i hope that's what they are? bottomline, just feel like shit.. i mean i know this is a theme that has manifested itself in many many previous postings.. but.. come on.. im tired of being left alone, perpetually left alone. atleast around me people are falling in love, exploring possibilities and here i am, thinking that i should explore but somehow never doing it coz, if my heart (corny sounding word) is somewhere else, i'd rather my dick be there... and not in some random's house (dear publisher: pun definitely NOT intended).. therefore i am clearly putting it down here, to all contrary belief: i am NOT a pervert. i DO NOT think of sex all the time.

ok im kinda tired.. so blog-posting will be continued on a better day.. Sukarno and Ho Chi Minh are waiting.. come out come out wherever you are.......

Hasn't your momma ever told you to finish your food... especially so because of the Somalian orphans?

There is nothing worse than being blocked. I put it across as being lazy but then I tell myself, if I was really passionate about writing, wouldn't I be inspired to write down what goes on in my head?

Ahh well, I'm still blocked so I just decided at this very moment to write SOMETHING purely for the reason of satisfying (feeding) my dream of being a novelist one day. And also in the hope that ideas will flow.

Ok up until this moment i.e. 3rd paragraph in blog, there hasn't been any such inspiring idea.. It's been fucking ages since I updated my blog...

But lemme tell u a secret?

I started this posting about 2 weeks back and I couldn't be bothered to finish it.. so right now.. yes thats right.. im just finishing it up so i can blog a new post... shame to waste this one..
alright then,
see u on the other side, one line up.

cranky symphony

Things... are getting way out of control.
I'm just plodding on with life. This time, no apologies, no thought, no regard for anything. I'm just not caring enough to put my care into action. Does this mean, I don't care at all?

Honestly, I don't think it matters. People have called me selfish all my life (that's like the previous 5 years or so) and ironically, the time it starts really affecting me, I see myself becoming the proof to their long standing accusation.

Is it because I've not been prioritizing? I really don't know and I don't have the energy to go into it because I'm too busy trying to weadle myself into a life I want to have and one that I'm finding extremely strenous and draining to do. The strain is spilling out into my life and fucking things up big time.

Oh but things haven't really changed all that much..

The inadequate guilt remains the same.

crushing realities

i've noticed that the art of clubbing, is very much like love itself. when u love a person, they don't necessarily reciprocate.
my desire to go get hammered tonight, is not reciprocated either.
that is the crushing reality of my life, or, atleast the start of my weekend.
it really is intensely personal, this non-mutuality.

and listening to dhoom dhoom doesn't help. nor does being able to taste the alcohol on my parched tongue. and nor does desiring the acrid burning sensation in my eyes upon entering a club.

walauwe!

mind playing tricks/dead body (quite similar, in fact, to dead leg)

writhing bodies, cat-calls, neo-classical funk-bass alternative dance musik, hand-on-ass, cream-cocktails laced with bourbon.

please let the weekend come soon.

(i hate studying, except i love it when i GET stuff. so how?)

predictions

the oscars are exactly 60 minutes away. unfortunately, i shall be in class at that time and i will be missing 3 hours of the most awaited, most elitist, most important show of the year. sigh. i will, instead, be listening to a lecturer talking about career management. it sucks.

anyway, just to make it a little more fun for me, i'm gonna do a whole prediction thing. i'm gonna list down the 6 categories and give my opinion (rather, i'll just state) on who will win, and my who should win (my personal favorites).

i really don't know what good this will do, or what it will accomplish, except that it'll just be nice to feel as if i contributed more to this event since i can't bloody fucking watch it coz of fucking coma-inducing class.

Best Picture

Who Will Win- Million Dollar Baby (I really want to be proved wrong with the below choice)
Who Should Win- The Aviator (actually, it should be Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind u vile mo fo's.)

Best Director

Who Will Win: Martin Scorcese, The Aviator (mr.oh-so-fucking-old-&-smug Clint might pull off an upset here too)
Who Should Win: Martin Scorcese, The Aviator

Best Actor

Who Will Win: Jamie Foxx, Ray (duh!)
Who Should Win: Don Cheadle, Hotel Rwanda or Leonardo Di Caprio, The Aviator

Best Actress

Who Will Win: Hilary Swank, Million Dollar Baby (I want to hate her. But I can't coz I haven't seen her performance. And it's pretty amazing to have ONLY got good reviews from ALL the critics, so I'm gonna give credit where it's due)
Who Should Win: Kate Winslet, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (or the above, I really really don't mind)

Best Supporting Actor

Who Will Win: Morgan Freeman, Million Dollar Baby
Who Should Win: Clive Owen, Closer

Best Supporting Actress

Ok I'm gonna reserve my comments for this and I'm just gonna make a few comments about every performance in this category. I love all these performances. They were fucking brilliant. Laura Linney in Kinsey was amazing, she portrayed her character with oodles and oodles of intelligence with a little bit of horniness and a lot of repressed hurt masked in subtler overtones of angry repression. Cate Blanchett was brilliant in The Aviator. I've never seen K.Hepburn in action on screen but I could see that what Cate was doing was amazing, i.e. playing a character with seeming effortlessness (and so entertaining). Sophie Okonedo from Hotel Rwanda.. sigh.. i watched this movie and remember thinking why in hell had she been ignored from all the other awards... and i was fucking delighted when i heard she got nominated for this movie. Her performance is heart wrenching, strong and displays everything it should: love, desperation, selfishness. The above two, Linney and Blanchett are two of my favorite actresses, but if Okonedo wins, i will cry.. with joy. Last of all, Natalie Portman from Closer was hilariously good. This girl, the Star Wars girl, was very very very very convincing in this movie. I can't really describe her performance as anything but being the best (along with Owen) in the film and it certainly could be the best of the year. I love her line, 'slap me fucker' at the end of the movie. she says fucker soooo eloquently. i respect her. and she's totally and completely angelic-hot. she definitely is the Blower's Daughter (ha ha, jock-type inspired joke)

Ok, i'm late for class. Let me see if i can rank the above performances, however difficult that might seem.

1. Natalie Portman
2. Cate Blanchett
3. Sophie Okonedo
4. Laura Linney
5. the girl from Sideways

Ok.. ciao. Hopy my predictions are correct. I'm gonna die if Winslet wins.. i hope she looks as gorgeous as ever tonight.. sigh

old people and the MRT

So myself and a friend were at the MRT the other day. That in itself is a big thing: we're snobs even though always running out of money (cabs, hello?). Well yeah, it was really crowded. Not normal crowded like during rush hour but like really really packed. We had to miss 3 trains before we finally got into one, crowded, sweaty, carriage, just to go one further stop to where life, we believe really originates, i.e. Orchard.

Yep, so after enduring roughly 5 minutes of breathing quite uncomfortably through the mouth, we got off (I'm sure some one got off at the rate bodies were pushing against each other) and we were quite surprised to see that the station at Orchard was quite deserted. Chingay (the parade of dreams) was going on, gay is right btw, and everyone, I mean everyone, boys, girls, sexually confused, de-sexed, un-sexed and trannies were out there, with goggled eyes, staring at the pretty decent and even sometimes magnificent floats depicting everything from local food to Sri-Lankan dee-lights. This seems like the ending to a story. It actually is. Coz what I want to tell you actually happened, usually happens on the train.

Speaking of trains, it usually is a train of thought I have in trains when I see old people on trains.
Old people, our venerable aunties and uncles, are supposed to fall into 3 categories
a). the meek kind that hobbles around
b). the tough yet grandmotherly kind who allows you to snuggle into her folds of god-given comfort
and c). the mean, bitchy kind that will go straight to hell coz she ruined her son's, his wife's and her husband's life.

Unfortunately, the first two categorizations go straight to hell when it comes to squeezing into the train at rush hour.

Typical scenario:

Waiting for the train to rush into the station, the screen says the train is two minutes away which means it will be here in less than a minute. So we slowly inch forward towards the yellow line, safely behind it as the kindly announcers have already told us. And we wait patiently and cautiously so that the old lady behind us doesn't go flying into the face of the oncoming train with a clumsy adolescent flick of the wrist.

The train arrives with a whoosh and we resign ourselves to the effort in trying to get onto the damn thing. However, my plans to slowly but surely progress are halted by the bitch behind me, who, even though is around 125 years old has the strength of a damn rhinoceros in heat.

Unfortunately, or fortunately for my detractors (those who want Gautam to go straight into hell), it doesn't end there.

We feel compelled to give our seats to the elderly because they seem to deserve more comfort than we do. Usually I don't have a problem with doing that if they fall into the first category. However, these bitches, and they're mostly women, think that because they've been living longer than us, they've achieved a sense of Nirvana, which entitles them to a plastic seat on the damn thing they're traveling in, which btw, they shouldn't really need, as Nirvana brings with it a sense of content that transcends the primal urges to consume and visit relatives and with that a desire to transport oneself is isolated to a mental process that does not involve the MRT, obviously so, since it is very much a physical phenomenon: a result of the Modern Man's desire to consume.

Yeah, old people slip into all sorts of freaky bouts of bi-polar disease on the trains. The monsters usually don't give up until they get a bloody seat and then they close their eyes, serenely, as if they were the fucking Queen of England.

So what do YOU think?

I'm going straight to hell aren't I?

fags!

cycles...

I put these foul things in my mouth and feel extraordinary bliss.. smoke trailing through my respiratory system, exquisitely assaulting my throat with layer upon layer of nicotine.

The remnants of a binge the previous night still litter my desk like poisonous snowfall, blowing about in circles as I exhale from yet another filter of indulgence..

I must quit. What with the escalating price of cigarettes and the priceless nature of my (compromised) health, I need to quit. My health has certainly taken a backseat over the past few years. I presume it's only waiting to lash back with some great, terminal shit.

Yeah so, anyway, I'm going to quit.

Let's see how that works out.

11:55pm

5 minutes to the next day. A fresh start? Hardly..

My eyes feel parched, my lids leaden.

I should pray as my mum tells me too. Futile words she penned down on hopeful pages.

Things could be better, even if they are good.

Maybe I should pray for that, selfish as that might seem, but really, do I care?

Tomorrow never comes, that's why it's always like today.

mushy cereal

so here I am, up bright and early, (I refer to the state of daylight outside my room and not my 'sense of being' as that is severely compromised by my lack of sleep), eating my weet-bix and milk and thinking about the wonderful things in life.... err right..

I'm actually cursing the taste of such vile stuff and wondering to myself why I actually missed eating this stuff over the last week. Well considering that over the past week, I ran out of the cereal, had a bit of spoilt milk, spent way tooo much money and woke up on two consecutive afternoons with pretty bad hangovers and.. and had a bloody panic attack about some non-existent project which I thought I had to hand in today, I would think that getting up this early and eating a bowl of fibrous cereal for breakfast just before a class, that's three good things there already, is very commendable and therefore deserves to have a blog posting all of its own.

Hmm.. what a mouthful. Pun intended. Ha Ha. NOT. I'm taking very abrupt, very tiny bites of my cereal fervently hoping I am scooping up much more than I actually am. yum.

Alright then, what wonderful thing have I realized over my bowl of pensive cereal a.k.a horrendous poison? Well, nothing really. I've been too busy trying to get 'smelly cat, smelly cat' out of my head.

It's so awful. You know how something can get stuck in your head for ages....oh well, my post ends here, actually I want it to end here. Yep. Ok. Bye.

black

We see so many versions of relationships everyday. Familial, sexual, friendly (asexual) etc. They seem 'normal' in the sense that they have the same tendencies to break apart every once in awhile but do we actually see the bond between them? We see the laughter, the smiles, even the killer look of hatred as evidence of love but what understanding do we have of that feeling these people have within them, inexpressible, mismatched and disguised emotions that never seem to make their full impact on each other, much less the outside world?

Well, what I saw today was extraordinary. It was unsettling and beautiful at the same time. Two people, one oblivious to sight and sound and the other oblivious to memories coming together to really expose that raw bond that exists within us with the people we would kill for. Every nuance, every little heart wrenching plea for help, for relief of touch made me shiver with fear and delight and eventually tears.

Bonding is a dangerous thing. I can say from a safe-enough distance that I would want to love someone like that one day, but what will I do when I cannot handle my partner in sickness like in health? What if he can't? Could we be forced to do the right thing? Do we have to?

Black is very idyllic, which is ironic considering that these are two people suffering from a great mutual need for each other, even if they don't know it themselves. Selfnessless is as rare as it's antonym is common. But what we see onscreen is how things should be and there's no two ways about it.

And do catch the film. It's a class act. Indian cinema has just placed it's icing on the cake.

recurring dream

I've had this nightmare over and over again.

I'm floating about in the deepest, darkest depths of space. It is space because in the distance I see the twinkling of the stars as though I was watching from my balcony itself. I'm feeling this sense of desperation. I think, apparently, I've been abandoned by my space crew. God know's what the fuck I was doing on a space mission anyway.

All of a sudden, the blackness fades away and gallons and gallons of yellow take its place. I know, out of sheer intuition, that I'm in a Mary Poppins painting and I'm terribly happy. However, I'm rushed into a field of daffodils where Mr. Daffodil himself is singing to me. However, Wordsworth does not take on the faded portrait look I've seen a million times. Instead, it's the frighteningly vivid face of my late father. My heart pounds itself into my stomach with such a force that I'm back in space again.

But it's not space, definitely not. I float and I plod along. I hear a familiar noise amplified a million times. The giver of life, suddenly seems to take it away. Loud and disturbingly efficient I view my heart, so large and hideous, beating out life into me. It stops and I wither away.

It really was a nightmare. However, the recurrence of it turned it into a dream. It used to elicit screams, insomnia and once even urination from me and the details stayed with me for days after. I used to lie in bed, almost paralyzed, trying to make sense of it. However, over the years, the vividity has been dulled and I can't remember it that well anymore. So here it is, immortalized and slightly compromised with a touch, just a wee touch, of refinement. After all, it just a dream, right? Right?

Downward Spiral: An Obligatory Post

My downward spiral never came. I'm glad. I am also confused as to why it did not come. In some morbid I was actually looking forward to it. I just wanted to see if I could have felt any worse than I did.

Why did I think I was losing control? Actually, come to think of it, I might be in the midst of completely losing it. I mean, there is such a thing as denial right? And usually, the destructive state of denial usually does occur when you are in the thick of things, because, voila your not in an objective position anymore. Whatever.

Well, to be honest, I conjure up a lot of drama around my 'problems' just to make myself more interesting. I don't know why I do it but how much can I justify to myself that I am an equal? I am as interesting, as smart, as talented, as fucked up as anyone else. But I can't do it anymore because in this case, the veneer I have been nurturing for such a long time has slowly worn down to the magnificent amount of evidence in front of me.

The emotion of an absolute sense of incompetence is not new to me. I've felt it, tasted it almost, for aeons now. But it has caught up with me and why should I not go completely crazy over it? Why should I turn to introspection and correct myself when I know that my resolutions lose their enthusiasm as soon as I face up the disappointing challenge that life is? I just want to go nuts... exhilarating madness.

It's very easy for me to blame a load of people for making me this way, but what good will that bring about? So many questions, and yet too many answers.

Close friends, tighter circles bring me some respite, but why do I feel senseless joy and utter sincerity around these people when I see the eyes of judgment lurking on their faces? That's where the crushing incompetency lies. I yearn to be perfect in their eyes, the same way, they are perfect to me. I hate only when you hate.

It all just hopelessly boils down to great expecations and I can't handle it.

awards season!

As usual, the start of the year brings the beginning of the awards season for the movies. Sigh. I certainly love the movies. And equally as usually (!!?), I have my obsessive favorites for these awards. Never mind that the people who dole out the golden globes and oscars might actually be experts (almost) but sometimes, I swear, they just give out the awards for larger social reasons rather than the actual performance itself (Halle Berry much?).

Anyway, speaking about obsessive favorites, this year, Kate Winslet appeared back on the screen. Since I've been obsessed (must use thesaurus) with her since Titanic came out, I've been looking for excuses to hope she will get nominated for all the major awards. Well, as of last night, I know she has been nominated for one of my favorite films, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. It's a spectacularly original movie with a brilliant cast, which includes Jim Carrey in the lead role. Of the biggest upsets is him being left out in the Leading Actor category. It's an upset because Jim Carrey has ventured out into offbeat roles before and he has never been rewarded at the Oscars with a nomination atleast. So when he gets left out of the race for a role he plays with effortless beauty and conviction there is a reason to be pissed off at the credibility of the awards.

However, credible or not, an Oscar is the most prestigious award in Hollywood and to win it can be the key to many more glorious opportunities. Not that Kate Winslet needs these glorious opportunities (everybody knows she's a brilliant actress) but she's been nominated three times previously and never won, and at age 29, she's the youngest actress to have received four nominations, so come on, give her the award already. I seem to cede into my own criticisms against the Academy by saying this as it is the performance that should be rewarded, not, as I say in my ravings about Kate Winslet, about past snubs and amount of nominations received. However, I reinstate my position and say that she DOES deserve the Oscar this time around because she was lovely and absolutely delicious to watch on screen for this masterpiece of a movie.

I also am pretty damn amazed that Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind did not receive a Best Picture nomination. I am so tired of my rambling now that I will just let out a sigh for this ginormous mistake and move on...

Two other movies that have been nominated and ones that I have watched recently are The Aviator and Finding Neverland.

The Aviator is a big-ass biopic about Howard Hughes. It's awesome in its scale and the actors in the movie play their characters with utmost conviction. Especially Leonardo DiCaprio and Cate Blanchett. I was pretty amazed at Leo's acting but when you see him onscreen you will know that he is doing a magnificent job. Cate Blanchett is very very very good in this film and since I am getting bored of this post and talking about movies that have been on my subconscious for the past week I shall just say The Aviator is a must-see even if it is almost 3 hours long (hey! it's still shorter than Titanic!)

Finding Neverland... was absolutely enchanting. Although I was a bit underwhelmed by this film I still thought it was magnificent because it was just so nice.. and sad.. and so real. I hope Johnny Depp gives Leonardo DiCaprio a good fight at the Oscars for Best Actor. I really don't mind either of these two (underrated) actors winning the little golden man. Why cannot there be a tie?

Ok then... i shall end this totally pointless post now and hope, with fervent, ardous passion that she will win the Oscar... kate winslet that is..

My next post will be titled 'Downward Spiral'
Coming Soon!
Adios

mugged drunken boy

So my friends and I were walking randomly around just a few hours back. We were having quite a lot of fun. We hadn't resorted to having fun by downing drinks. Instead we were talking and just generally, living in the moment and all that jazz.

Enter lost, delirious and bloody ang-moh. Apparently, a gay bashing, or just an acid trip gone wrong. However, what mattered was that he was bleeding from a head wound, his nose a twisted fracture, his money and t-shirt gone. Amidst mumblings of attempted gay rape and empty threats to the people who did this to him the police came.

Exit ang-moh in an ambulance. We will probably never see him again. But I am glad we did'nt turn away from him and ignored him. I'm glad we were good Samiritan-esque to him. I'm so glad we didn't behave atrociously like the cashiers at the 24 hour supermarket. I also really hope the police catch the people who made him go through such a traumatic, physically threatening, humiliating experience. The world is not such a good place with people like them around. But what I wish for most is that I hope no one, my family, my friends and myself never have to go through something like that. Is that selfish?

revelations

Last night I went on my perpetual, untiring but tried and tested routine: the business of clubbing. I walked into the club and spotted my friends through a haze of intoxicating smoke. It had the makings of a great night, me with a buzz that was already rolling (courtesy of 11.5% alcohol content beer, take note alcoholics. I said 11.5%! Yes Shangri-La exists!!!), close friends and promises of good music and alcohol (glinting beautifully in glamorous bottles).

Instead, I got bored. So, in these situations, what must one do? What is the most sensible thing to do? Yes, one must drag a friend away from there and go to a better club. So my friend and I went to China Black. R 'n' B music, loads and loads of eye candy and a free flow of beer, tequila, vodka, bacardi and bourbon: things were looking up.

So, after a couple of hours, my friend and I decided to sit down and take a breather, or as much of a breather you can take in a club with a fag in one hand and a drink in the other. So alcohol took its toll on me and my mind became pretty sluggish. My friend bends over then and whispers in my ear. To my utter horror I recoil completely. Disbelief rocks my drunken system, an ugly crack amidst a veneer of invincibility. I feel rockets of pain travel through my head, in synch with the pulsing music and suddenly I can't stop crying. The words that were whispered, such heavy, important and responsible words explain a lot to me and my crying is a release. A release of energy that is necessary as I reach out there to find something something has never been found before. A reason, some sort of sanity that would put my mind at ease, but it never comes.

the joys of routine

I woke up this morning exhausted beyond belief. I'm sure it was just me being groggy (can blame 5 hour sleep) because after a fantastic shower and a yucky breakfast I was prepared for anything!

So I decide to check out the notes I need to print out before going for my 12pm Services Marketing class and I find out that my lecturer is sick and he has called off the class. Of course my first reaction was an overly loud whoop of delight. Who wouldn't be happy huh? However, after the first 5 glorious minutes, I felt a bit of a let down. Why you ask? Well, I was kinda waiting for class, not because it's particularly good, but because it was a sign that my life had finally settled into a routine. You see, my birthday was yesterday and since it was a Monday, I didn't do much (also coz all the fucking bacteria in the world were invading my throat). So therefore it terms of that date itself, it was a very sedate birthday. I was incredibly thankful.

It's been almost two months of getting up horrendously late, and burning absolutely useless midnight oil for inane things such as watching bad copies of, 'What Dreams May Come' and the incredible (!!) Jet Li in 'The One' and of course drinking my life into a permanent hangover.. (it's true, my headache is still going strong after a full 6 days). Well, so I was looking forward to the mundane-ness but my routine was not meant to be.

It was bought to a heart wrenching halt as I promptly jumped into bed and slept for the next couple of hours. Yay

eye of the hurricane

I met this girl two and a half years ago and I fell in love with her. It was a wild rush of platonic love that I totally understood, a fitting of the cliched and proverbial jigsaw puzzle. I related to her. She related to me. And we laughed like two pseudo-intellectuals on pot... It was nice..

And like any high.. it was shortlived. It was (is) a bittersweet clashing of the souls so to speak. Tempers raged, hearts shuddered, smiles disappeared. And everything went calm again. My paranoia receded. Friendship restored. Dynamic undamaged.

Then it started again. And again. My patience tested. Her patience, lack thereof, very vocal in it's color.

And now every time we meet and have a good time, I think and I hope that it isn't just a respite, it isn't the eye of the hurricane. But it always is.

I hope, I fervently wish, that we can be in love again. But it looks as if love has already taken it's toxic yet inevitable course into indifference.

coming of age

I turned 21 today. I can't believe it. I don't even know why I feel this sense of disbelief. I mean why is it such a big deal anyway?

Anyway, my friends were wonderful. It was so great to feel all the love. I know getting presents is not the only way love can be expressed but it certainly is one of the more unambigious ones... cheers! Anyway, I feel very good today. I'm not feeling elation (although everyone seems to think i'm in the throes of some damn sugar high) but I feel content. At peace. Finally. I guess it's going to be short lived, but how about I just live in the moment right now?

I'm not feeling it these days with the whole blog thing. I'm feeling choaked up. My ideas are not flowing freely. Incompetent. Inadequate. Yet strangely peaceful.

alcohol and going off it..

ok.. so i'm really scared now.. there are a few select friends of mine.. most noticeably the person i was referring to in my previous post.. who are trying to quit drinking forEVER... oh god oh god oh god... if all these people stop drinking what will i do? will i have to quit too?

i would probably have to stop it.. as if i don't, then i am gonna feel pretty left behind and basically someone who has not had a spiritual epiphany.. well sigh... hope i dont feel that way..

why cannot people understand that drinking is a snapshot of what larger life looks like.. i mean.. consider Karma.. u do good things.. u get it right back... vice versa.. drinking is just like that... u enjoy urself... sooo much while drinking... and then u suffer the next morning...

oh wait.. thats exactly the opposite of what a karmic force is.... ahh well.. its fun alright...