only nineteen
a quarter to death.
white shoes black
from dusty Seth.
is it him
or are they stones?
that thing inside
inside her bones.

She had to know. She had to find out. She found her legs needing to move towards the box. Her hands needing to open the lid. And her eyes thus needing to peer into the darkness.

only nineteen
a lifetime to breathe.
red heart black
from dusty wreath.
it is Pa
it is no stone,
that thing now missing
missing from her bones.

She closed the lid. She pushed the man aside. She took up the shovel like how her soldier Pa had once done. She shoved it into the dirt, and she heaved it into the hole. She buried her Pa, all alone.

Wow.
It just hit me that.
I don't know what the fuck I've been doing with my life the past few weeks.

Clicking on the refresh button while on the Facebook page can be amazingly therapeutic.
Until a red icon pops up at the bottom right of the screen that is.
Then the heart skips a tiny bit faster.
The breath held just a tad bit longer.
And the world momentarily- just for that short fragment of a second- seemed to exist for you.
The dullness of your batting lids is washed away.
Your mind zaps awake as if cold lemon had been squeezed directly onto your brain to send those neuronal impulses on its way.
Could it be real?
So you move your cursor ever so eagerly over the notification and click it.
Only to find some stupid quiz awaiting your precious attention.
You do not have time to waste on such idle rubbish, you have better things to do, like your world-altering law assignment.
So you ignore the notification, and continue the therapeutic motion of left-clicking the refresh button.

*click*



*click*



*click*

I have been having disturbingly vivid dreams the past few days.
Last night's was the last straw, and I am contemplating tackling the dream fairies on my own.

You see, I saw a cat got knocked over by a motorcyclist who sped away.
Next thing I knew, I was holding the cat and getting it to the vet's.
For some reason, the vet took me to some place, he could not tend to the cat then.
We got into the lift, but the cat was not in my hands anymore.
That did not seem like a problem to me, for some reason.

Now here's a thing about the vet.
I remember him being Chinese, fat, slightly shorter than me. With glasses.
That fucker was not pretty at all.
And the worst part was, there we were in the lift, right?
He then took a few steps closer to me, and gave me a sly smile.
And next thing I knew, he put his pudgy paw on my butt and attempted a squeeze.
And he then asked if I wanted some "happy time".
The lift doors opened and I ran out, to find myself in an abondoned construction site, somewhere in the middle of a forest of some sort.

For a fat person, that horny vet sure can run.
I decided to stop running away and face him.
He got nearer and nearer.
As he approached, I smashed my elbow into his face.
He fell over.
I started kicking him in his gut and nuts.
He somehow got to his feet, and I started punching his face as hard as I can.
Next thing I knew, he was on the floor, and I had a knife in my hand.
I went on to cut off an ear, and smashed the butt of the knife into one of his eyeballs.
The poor fucker was still trying to grab my butt.
I stomped and stomped on his leg until it was but pulp.
And then I went on a craze punching his face in.

When I finally grew conscious of the surroundings, I was by some railway tracks, near the city now.
I had a sudden urge to hunt down a priest, whom I somehow knew was a paedophile.

I awoke shortly, needing to take a piss.

Shit. That was horrible.
Horrible!!

I swear tonite, I am going to fart so bad till the messed up dream fairies will think twice about fucking my dreams up again.

Come on!! I have not seen Liv Tyler in ages!!!

Cold autumn morning.
The duvet just barely there.
The alarm buzzed, I turned to switch it off.
Message from mum: "Uncle Ray died this am."

So simple, so sterile.
Reminds me of hospital corridors.
Where the doctors will shake their heads.
Stare gravely into your eyes.
And say: We did all we can.
Which translates into "he's fucking in hell now".
And off they go to bang nurses in the closet.

Death's sweet, sweet scent.
It hangs at every turn of our heads.
In our limbs, in our eyes, on our tongue.
Decay's beautiful legacy.
So why fear the gorgeous?
Because it kills.

A sparrow came to me the other day.
She kissed me on my cheek.
Landed on my shoulder.
And whispered.
"You're dying.
That's what makes you so beautiful."

We are dying.
Every minute that we are not living.
It will work out into an even equilibrium one day.
Whence the heart no longer knows how to beat.
The lungs know not how to speak.
And then the brain.
It'll die of loneliness for the departure of its beating love.

Where will we go when we're dead?
Why bother really?
When we don't even know why we're living.
So breathe.
So Love.

Come with me.
I see the sparrow.
She's just there, waiting for me.
In the far horizon where the Sun lives.