Writing and Dreaming and Reading...

What bothers me is the geography of my skin,

Doesn't matter, and yet,

People see and they mumble,

Then I hear and I grumble.

So strange, yet so familiar,

It's the same and yet it changes,

It grows, it irritates me,

And yet it covers me whole.

Then, I feel every touch, every sensation,

I know when I grasp, I hurt, I motion,

I feel the earth and it's rotation,

I touch, you're real, not my imagination.

And I can't help but feel so hurt for him. I can't help but feel sad about how the way he's treated. I can't help but cry at how he hasn't felt love. I could only wish that this would end well.

***

And in those small moments, they forever stay and haunt you. 

***

"If only such sad people could remember: Everyone is naked. Everyone wants to hide. But life is still sweet. Let it go on."

***

I love Ender. I have a crush on Peter. I'd eat my heart out for Beans. I understand Petra. I want Valentine to be my best friend.

The way you move,

The way you do your hair,

Without a word, without even your stolen glance,

I got to know you, I presumed and measured your worth.

I judged the way you speak and if you even laughed.

I probe myself and wondered if you were even worth my time.

Don't blame me, it wasn't your fault.

It was mere virtue of fate, place and time. 

Out of a hundred million songs and more,

One for every emotion but mostly about love,

Of all types, heartache and heartbeaks,

Of pure happiness and happy endings.

There must be something for this moment,

For this emotion, for this predicament,

It's not possible, it's not written, it's not sung,

People preoccupied about the human condition,

Every part peeked, rarely do they miss,

Those poignant, those that hurt the most,

And like habits, there's repetition,

And strains of endless variation of the same theme,

The beat is always your heartbeat,

The old piano, the multitude guitars,

These songs still make me cry,

Make me feel, Make me high,

These songs irritate me like mad.

And gods are made of idols,

Some fake, some real, some overwhelmed.

Art, is pretty. Useless.

What is art but for the soul?

What is the soul? But it's still to be fed.

Full and empty at the same time.

Would I be suicidal without it?

You think too much, you paranoid.

Oh, to be clever is the dream, no?

Don't you want to be that beautiful soul?

And sound, mere waves, tells us so much.

Sync it to the background, the soundtrack of my life.

love songs at 3am.

are slow beats and vocal heavy.

with lyrics soulful, bare truth and dreams.

and if the stars are out tonight. 

fragmented fragments of the night. 

with the phases of the moon.

wistful wishes for the dawn. 

filled with lonely and sleep.

scent of tea at the window sill.

head leaning on cool glass, looking outside.

lights, neon, flashing, distracting.

or head upturned towards the dark blanket called the sky.

and all that haunts in quiet and solitude.

those that visit in the dark.

the turning of the tides seems endless.

can't sleep, here comes tomorrow.

Tell me who you are,

Tell me if you were right about the stars,

Tell me if your dreams came true,

Tell me if true love ever came to you,

Tell me what you saw and made you wonder,

Tell me of pain and if it was worth it,

Tell me what do I have to do,

To get to you, where I would be. 

It wouldn't do, for me to lie to you,

It'll hurt you more than it would keep you cool,

And the last thing I'd do,

Is give you any pain,

But I'm merely callous,

I'm made of sharp spikes,

And if I touch you I'm sorry,

You'd be wounded and scarred for life.

I'd try to stem your blood flow,

I'd try to kill the germs,

But you'd have to face the pain, 

And make sure the wounds won't fester. 

Maybe it's be better,

If you never come near,

But when I see you smile as you cry,

It makes my heart break and fly,

I got addicted to the feeling,

And hope you'll never say you're leaving,

Then living this way, this time, this place,

Suddenly feels like it's so fine,

Because I've got you to walk with through this space,

In the afternoon light.

Maybe that was why I shouldn't have left my room. The moment I did my mp3 player died, I was forced to get a haircut and had to endure a load of insults. 

I get it. I'll stay in my room now. 

All I'm doing is dreaming and listening and dreaming and wondering and thinking and speculating. At this moment, there is nothing more beautiful than the world. At this moment, I miss you but it doesn't matter that you're not here. At this moment there is more to dream and life and stars. Everything looks wonderful from here. A sense of being where I'm supposed to be. Dreaming what I want to dream. Never fear, never worry. That is for tomorrow. What is over here, is magic and amazing. And all I'm really doing is sitting and wondering. Musing. 

- Neil Gaiman in Prisoners of Gravity

I cannot, for the life of me, blog every single detail of my life. Tis petty, tis boring and I don't believe that anyone wants to hear it anyway. 

However, it's just as rare that anyone wants to hear my thoughts anyway. It's not like there's no one else in the world that hasn't come to the same process, the same conclusion. 

One wonders if there is unique thought in the world. For it seems like everything you thought has been thought before, maybe even thought better. Maybe you're just part of a cycle. And in a cycle, it ends as it begins. 

There is then no hope for creativity for creation out of nothing doesn't exist. So then maybe I am better off writing about every single detail of my life. I know that could eternally exist. 

Haha. =)