Tuesday, April 28, 2015


The lounge was elegantly sinister. 

We sat across eachother on separate leather seats; the glimmer of deep red from the half full, half empty wine glasses kissing the corner of my eyes; reflections of the fire hitting the crystals and gold. Darkness in here was like a warm hug and his eyes were so inviting. 

I smiled to myself, leaning forward to pick up my wine glass. I took a sip, looked up, and spoke, "you know, everything has its time and place." 

He was cautious, but still generous enough to show me he wanted me. He leaned his elbows on his knees and diverted his gaze, smiling to himself, "you know, you're persistent."

"You give me reason to be."

He got up, placing his glass on the table again before sitting next to me. He leaned back, and so did I. I offered him a sip from my wine glass and he grinned, letting me; I watched as the glass touched his lips. I wanted to tell him he was so beautiful in that moment, but I didn't. I put the glass down on the table and leaned back, resting my head on his shoulder. I placed my hand on his thigh and he took it into his. 

For the first time in forever, there we sat. A decade of communications, miscommunications and craziness led to this: telling eachother everything, with no words at all. 

It was the best conversation I had in my life. 

Thursday, April 23, 2015

Wynter Gordon - Stimela

Lady Gaga - Marry The Night

--- In a not-so nutshell ---

I'm not sure why I think I am always so full of great ideas. I've relapsed. And it's not something I've been fighting with, it's slowly creeped to become a reality. I'm not sure how viable success and happiness for me is anymore. They will say use your pain as fuel to your fire but inside me there's this thing that wishes bigotry and pigheadedness be wiped off the face of the Earth. But it's not the case. So what am I going to do about it? If I could rewind I wouldn't have done a lot of the things I did, or given up anything I had passions in. I'm 25 and everyday I am reminded of how much of a disappointment I am to myself. But from the same mouth, words shouldn't matter. Don't tell that to a poet.

I've accepted this thing about me that I've tried to fight against for years and that is my heart. I am not sure if I've become deluded in that - in spirit and heart, soul. Because in philosophy they only cover mind/body theorem. That means who I am is pretty irrelevant right? To the functioning world of today.

I was okay. I was more than okay, I was doing myself proud with help and encouragement from people I trust. That was fine. Tell me why everytime I am almost there I decide to add an extra step thinking it'll get me further. 

To most people they wouldn't even bat an eyelid at the thought and just shrug it off. I am not sure why everything weighs on me; why I can't just be thick skinned or a little more selfish. Because I get there's a narcissism in feeling sorry for yourself; but it extends a little further.

I've first hand experience with the worst kind of people there can be. Maybe not the worst; maybe I'm lucky. But what I've seen and what I experience makes me wonder how it is people like this exist. So okay, there's nothing you can do about it. The world is good/bad all working in unison somehow - so just go out and get what you want; when I've been so exposed to people with the highest sense of entitlement. Where am I going with this. 

I keep waiting for someone to fight for me. I'm not sure why. When I am alone this doesn't happen -- when I'm in company I can't understand why it does. I want to go running daily. Running daily isn't even allowed here. This was my proudest achievement in years - 9km in 35 minutes or whatever alien record I held. Who even does that? Well it's frowned upon here. Why am I so sensitive? And I do it for myself - if I do it for myself why do I care for other's feedback? Is it because it comes from the person who never offered me shelter when I was being abused? I'm not really sure why I give a shit.

And then there are the people that are so set on truth. Who's truth? Theirs? Most likely not the actual truth and most probably the most slimey, misinformed opinion of you. Because some posts ago I wrote big about someone who I thought spoke truth like Truth. Turns out the someone was a phoney and what the fuck else do you expect? I'm a sick romantic who loves ideology. 

Do you know that relapsing has opened my eyes to too much. I've thought for days on this but I am pretty sure I can empathise with those cases you hear who have completely lost it. Or when you see those homeless people on the streets, addicts, talking to themselves with no concept of reality anymore-- cos I can easily, easily ask myself: what is real? And come up with nothing. That's where im at.

There's a lot of fluff. The other day I was thinking to myself how we fill water jugs, then pour water into glasses, before drinking it. Who thinks of these things? Point being, why? Also-- why is there so much need for hype. I watched the trailer for the Avengers sequel and I was half looking forward to seeing Hemsworth, and then he let off into some great chorus, and I sat there thinking, okay then. And then I thought, why? 

I'm tired. I have a friend who is like a big brother to me and been through similar circumstance, with same heart and same love in him. He brings me back. I can break my face laughing at the dialogue we have. I'm lucky like that. 

The world is passing me by and I am on a stand still. It's almost May -- what have I accomplished? Feels like I've gone back to years to square one; minus the panic, which can't be a good thing. 

I still want what I want, and that I've always dreamed of its no coping mechanism. It's lasted forever. If I'm happy I know I'll only want to share that.

What is love?

I've learnt that most people who claim to love, actually don't. I was talking to brother about it; a lot say it for personal gain, or as some kind of way to feel okay about themselves, or some way to control someone or power trip. And that's all okay for some people -- but if you do that to me I see that, and I'm gonna call you out until you either a. admit it yourself or b. fuck off. And let's be honest, majority of those people haven't the balls to admit shit. But that's love to them; honey don't even try to save them, it will only ruin you.

I've tried countless times, with four people in my existence; and I don't say life cos 3 aren't in my life anymore. Whatever. Anyway, last speech I had on love was ill received to say the least. I'm done trying to love broken people. Loving broken people breaks you 10 fold. Don't do it. And I'm using the word broken because as much as I want to say; oh people are just different because of circumstance and jaded because of experience, I won't. Because to me there's two types of people in this world:

1. The kind that ask why, look inside themselves, better themselves, encourage others -- the Kings and queens I call them. Gold people. and,
2. those not. 

I'm keeping quiet til I have something to say for myself. Because as much as its tiring for you to believe in me and my dreams, I'm starting to get sick of it too. Also shamed. and just general uselessness. Until I'm walking my talk. 6am -- it's bed time. I hope I can look back on this post and laugh my ass off one day. 

To the few that read my blog: I love you and I'm sorry I'm like this. Just don't want to miss all the best bits. I'm spoiling yall rotten when the time comes. I know you worry. Don't wait for me, but don't forget me when I've arrived. X

Saturday, April 4, 2015

The stars are in my head

I hang my wrist from balcony rail, tapping silently while I sway. Clear skies and not a cloud in sight. I'm playing a song by Stromae, Tous Les Mêmes, blurring my vision to make the Earth like starry-night, feeding my whims of independence and glamour days from now. I'm a creature, freed, filled with memories of ecstasy and enchantment, breathing in darkness, breathing out gold dust. I can't sing into the night but I still remember how it feels. 

Inspiration of the Day: Peter Draws