Epilogue of You

I don't know.

Sat, 19 Jan 2008 06:37:15 GMT

**Disclaimer: Me = Worst person to dish out relationship advices. Read with caution.**

What happens when loving someone feels like the complete opposite of what loving someone should feel?

What happens then?

Do you leave the doubts unclear, sacrifices unworthy? We're all fighting for something, or someone who's going to be there at the 'end of the day' bit. What happens when he or she isn't? Who do we blame, who's going to hurt? And most important of it all, who's going to justify the wreckage and make everything right, again?

KUNG HEI FAT CHOI.

Tue, 15 Jan 2008 16:29:21 GMT

To the girl whom I've barely know for a month.
To the same girl who has the mannerisms of a prehistoric ape-man
and arms to match -

Happy 19th!

I'll keep your puberty in my prayers.

- Princess Daniel

Oh my god.

Sat, 12 Jan 2008 20:06:28 GMT

I've just watched the most excruciating movie in my entire 18 years of life - and this, is coming from the guy who watched A Cinderella Story 4 times, Freaky Friday 3 times and Bratz: The Movie 2 times. In fact, I've never believed in a terrible movie until I came across High School Musical 3: Punjabi Pride a.k.a Bride and Prejudice. In more literal terms, watching the movie is like receiving a blowjob from a bucktoothed 70 year old man who salivates like a faulty water faucet... or worse yet - a girl.

Shudder.

Drowning on the shoulder of a crying sky

Fri, 11 Jan 2008 17:33:53 GMT

I badly need an escapade - from you, you and you - one which involves me being surrounded by strangers, rubbing shoulders with strangers and exchanging glances as I judge the strangers who judge me back. There would be a bizarre statue of a pair of siamese twin penguins for the sake of conversation starters, flowers would blossom in shades of blue and the white, fluffy clouds would be accompanied by an allaying breeze in the sky. True love would exist, friendships would abide. People are generally happy there, for the lack of grievances in the air.

Gravity is optional and beauty is not hassled upon. Cotton adorns the frame of plenty, children frolic wooden slides and swings. Pollens dance across the air, invigorating the senses we’ve impaired. Lies are frowned upon and the truth yields answers to doubts we share.

It seems, almost as if.. I'm back. You're back, and everything else I once swore to put behind me - they're all back. Like a second offence, you're as bitter as they're made to be.

Walt Disney, suck on this.

Wed, 09 Jan 2008 21:25:25 GMT

7 eyes-squinting hours, 2 strawberry yoghurt, a few hundred smoke breaks and 1 macintosh - it’s finally done. I feel like a proud momma watching her 6 year old son act as a tree in the school play.

Flick, flick.

Tue, 08 Jan 2008 17:52:43 GMT

There's something about the musk of rainy nights that makes me want to force my lethargic eyes wide open and enjoy every last waking moment of it. Like a flame twisting itself around a candle wick, I am enticed into a daze. I peer into the trance of a view before me and I am contented.

Truly, honestly contented.

Britney and bed-rest.

Mon, 07 Jan 2008 06:58:46 GMT

I am currently on a self-proclaimed bed rest, sans MC because when you have a pimple the size of your thumb nesting on the most vital body part of any self-loving bottom gay man, otherwise known as the ass cheeks, you don't exactly need a doctor to tell you that you're lethally unfit for anything that requires you to leave your bed.

That doesn't mean I've been lying flat on my stomach sipping cranberry juice and lighting up fags all weekend long. That's merely half true. I have, however, converted my bed into a mini work station but I spend most of the time watching old, campy movies on my notebook and applying 3 different brands of pimple cream on my tuhtut every 3 hours.

I've been youtubing a lot as well and Jesus Christ the crap people put up on the internet these days is unbelievable. Watching certain youtube videos is like watching an oil tank run over my head over and over again. And to all the people who write gossip news, here's a question that it's about time you search deep down into that long-lost conscience of yours and ask:

Do we really need to read another article about Britney Spears?

No seriously. There's this point in our lives where we just have to sit ourselves down and start to ponder if there's anything more to life other than Britney Spears. I mean, look at yourselves go. She's fat! She's not wearing make-up! She's hideous! Paris' her BFF again! She's pregnant! Oh no wait she isn't! But hey, guess what? Her sister is! Her sister is a whore, just like her, yak yak yak. I'd go on but I gave up reading. Seriously. Are there no other pressing issues in our global-warming, 3-years-to-end-of-the-world, terrorists-and-their-exploding-gadgets world in 2008?

So god help me, give the next person who writes another article on Britney Spears genital herpes. And while you're at that, you might as well give it to Britney and call it a day.

Ok I'm officially hungry.

To my pimple.

Sat, 05 Jan 2008 15:19:39 GMT

You are suffocating me. Sometimes, literally.

It's as if you exist for the sole purpose of sourcing out every last strain of pain that can be found on my body, quenching on my suffering. I have made no effort in hiding my displease for you, yet you keep happening. Undeserving tantrums have been thrown, sacrifices have been made - and your intent to stay reeks like aged cheese in humid air.

When are you planning to stop happening and infect yourself on someone else? Because I'm honestly, all-my-cards-on-the-table tired. Of you, of the bitch of a hindrance you are, and of the disorder you erupt in my life. The last time you happened, I fainted twice. The second one literally inches away from the first. That's how much grief you have invited into my life, so pardon me if I'm still not a big fan of yours.

But then again, maybe you're just the pastel-sketched man, draped in a dull trench coat - a passer-by among many others shaded into the backdrop of a bigger picture.

Maybe, just maybe.

Grief and cocktail napkins.

Thu, 03 Jan 2008 14:59:54 GMT

It was her, a cocktail napkin and the world.

So it seemed then, sat across a table of self-conscious ladies, grazing on their salad like the horses they'd grow old to become. The glass of cola sat obediently on it's coaster, warm from the hours it was left untouched. Condensation long condensed, fizzle all fizzled out - exactly the way she likes it. Liked.

Because tomorrow, 4 minutes later to be exact, she'd cease to happen. The warm and gas-less coke would be of somebody else's preference. Everything she knew to exist - they were spared from this single, luckless massacre. They'd live on, they'd understand.

Everyone she came to love - they would hurt.

They'd hurt because all they have left of her would then be memories and solemn mentions of her name. People would associate her with the past tense, because by then she'd have become part of their past. And with the grains of time, she'd be buried into a corner, along with high-school sweethearts and the names of mediocre one night stands.

Bleak, it was. That's all her future as a married woman summed up to be.

Bleak and forgotten.

New space, new space.

Fri, 28 Dec 2007 09:47:41 GMT

Title says it all.

www.theotherbeautiful.wordpress.com

Go, like, now. I'll still be here. Somedays.

Louder, louder.

Mon, 23 Jul 2007 17:37:57 GMT

Love or lust?

It's hard to make a decision based on mere facts concluded by hypothetical people in hypothetical situations. It's not something a book can provide an answer for. It's a choice that should never be judged, a decision that brings shame to moral, a decision that what's right and what's wrong becomes an entire jumbled mess.

There's no line to draw, no boundaries to fence. It's picking one out of two, yet at the same time there are so many questions you have to answer, and at the end of the day when you're down to choosing, you find yourself undoubtably back at square one.

There is no cheat code, neither is there an easier way out. Either one pushes you into totally different worlds, answering different calls and living different lives. There's no conformity of a middle, there's no second chance.

This is it, this is life.

Hello, you.

Tue, 17 Jul 2007 08:56:38 GMT

The corridor was narrow - that's my only defence. I found myself somehow tricked into backing into the wall as he took a step into my space and penetrated a stare right into my eyes. As if the glare from the cheap fluorescent wasn't harsh enough, I had to be subjected to his.

I stared straight back at him, intently but hardly intensely.

Oh right, some background info before I continue. I got acquainted with him over the net when I was 14, we met, fucked and somehow I lost his number and changed mine so we never contacted each other until a few days back. He arranged to hook up and.. there I was.

"I need to take a cab to school. Can I get $20 from you?" My fingers were crossed. Unless my school was slapped right at the end of the Causeway, $20 would be obviously a scam. My school was a $5 cab ride away, I was just trying out the whole profit theory. Nobody must be THAT stupid, you might argue.

Exhibit A almost immediately dug his hands into his pockets and handed me two crumped $10 bills.

"Will I get to see you again?" That, obviously wasn't me. He was a stumbling disappointment, I suppose years have taken his youth and blessed him with all the stupidty and beer belly a man hitting his 30s would need. "Or do you not want to meet me again?"

Oh wow, now he reads minds. Will wonders never cease.

I crushed the $10 bills a little in my palm, gritted my teeth, looked away and nodded.

"Really?" The jerk was pushing it. Definitely.

I mentally rolled my eyes and thrusted my attention right back into his eyes. Pulling his head towards mine, I smacked him a kiss, slipped my tongue in for half a second, shoved him to the other wall and walked out of the door.

Mon, 16 Jul 2007 16:47:06 GMT

You cut me out in little stars
and place me in the sky.
I lose my sense of time

You know me
How troubled I can be
but through your kaleidoscope
I let go.

Cuz you show me
the world as it could be
through your kaleidoscope
it's beautiful

A tingle travels up my spine
a cluster of colors and twine
as we melt into wine

You know me

Watch me through your kaleidoscope and tell me the colours you see. Tell me how beautifully distorted I look, tell me the world is all but a shade of magenta, green and ivory. Tell me the stories you see within, tell me this is life and all I'm missing is a kaleidoscope. Tell me it's all going to be alright, tell me.

CC THIS TO DD, ASSHOLES.

Thu, 12 Jul 2007 18:34:53 GMT

Conclusion

The sample group is too small to let their decision standalone for the entire population. Furthermore, all of them being marketing students would have the prior knowledge of advertisements which is beyond control and thus using advertisements as samples for their surveys might lead to inaccurate results. The level of control can be considered moderate as there are more than 2 groups but there is no control group. There isn't much sampling error, contributing to that could be the fact that the sample group was picked from a homogeneous population.

There were too many intervening factors thus I can hereby conclude this research paper stinks and so does BMR and everything that follows the acronym of B, M and R so up yours, you stinking motherfuckers.

Mon, 09 Jul 2007 14:28:33 GMT

I just got struck by a very.. laughable thought.

My mom always told me to never go out with strangers when I was a kid. Never follow them home, never get into their car, never take that lollipop, she'd warn with such conviction.

Funny how she never mentioned anything about sleeping with them. Look how that turned out.

Pick up.

Sun, 08 Jul 2007 08:53:53 GMT

It was an innocent second of a glance, and nothing more.

She felt her cheeks evoke a crimson blush as she turned away and stared hard for her reflection in her cosmo. The sugar rimmed glass sat calmly on the table, unaware of its predicament. The corner of her eye couldn't help but strayed back to the target of her dilated clit, only to be disappointed by the sight of an empty seat. She returned her utmost attention to the drink and decided getting laid wasn't going to be an option tonight.

She gave it a couple of minutes, 'it', in hope that like every other stereotypical bar scene on television shows, he'd appear next to her and sweep her off her feet to his bed and they'd fuck like jackrabbits all night long.

That didn't happen.

Hello, stranger.

Wed, 04 Jul 2007 19:11:28 GMT

If I shackled your feet
so you couldn't leave
would you try and run?

Because your facade is no ordinary feat to break. Because just as he thought he'd uncovered the final layer, you build another one. Because you refuse to admit yourself to love as you're afraid of exposing yourself to hurt. Because you've never looked beyond those layers, you don't know how to react to anything beyond. Because people generally hurt one another. Because love is such a painful game to play, you'd rather sit by the benches and root for otherwise. Because you're guarded by the very fact that people come and go.

Because at the end of the day, you're going to get off the ride alone anyway.

I'm Daniel, and this is my livejournal.