"If my mind was seen as an artist, every brush stroke is like a scrape to the heart"
The clearer the picture formed, the thinner my heart gets. In a way it is an escape, the heart when broken, is an unmended wound. A cancer that breeds and grows. To either let it consume itself or to scrape it away altogether.

"Do you control headGod? u think u do..... but do you?... you are not god. God in you controls you."
how crappy can i get. somehow when you are inside a sphere, you cannot see it for what it is. You are a part of the sphere.
Experience and observation. Two sides of a coin. probably there are things that you can never understand while those who understands can never comprehend your ignorance and mockery.

At a beach, the swimmers can never comeprehend why the suntanners can bake in the sun all day and not want to take a cool dip.
The suntanners can never understand why the swimmers would be willing to get wet and dirty, ruin their hair and make up while they can enjoy the breeze in their hair and watch sand slip through their fingers like sand through and hourglass. On the other hand, people who belongs to both groups will never get to experience and appreciate the complete beauty of either.


Sponk stares into the big open sky in front of him. The song of the birds lifts his spirits. As a child, the clouds always appeared in familiar shapes. mostly faces. expressive faces. faces of agony, faces of pain, faces of joy, faces of death. but now, he can't see them anymore.

He always believed that one day he would jump out of a plane and land on the clouds. soft and bouncy. cool and fresh. this was even though daddy told him that clouds were water and he would fall right through it. Water. Then as he grew and daddy's words grewed onto him, his belief changed. It was disappointing. He now thought that if he jumped from the plane, he would splash through the clouds. Get himself all wet, fall to earth and die. splat. like egg. splattercow. Then there was this bugging question. How wet would he get? He just learnt a new word. "damp" and another " moist". would he be soaking wet or damp and moisty, with pretty tiny gleaming droplets of water caught in his hair? would his pyjamas be stuck to his skin so that they become transparent and his nipples will show or will they just be cooling and airy. Eventually he decided on the latter because however he tried to visualize, he couldn't picture clouds as buckets of water. Then again, there was rain. This really confused sponk. Furthermore, if clouds were buckets of water, how come they don't pour down in one hole swoop like a cascading waterfall, but instead they spray down like the shower head. The child's world was full of mysteries.

Sponk then stares at the empty can of budweiser for an ashtray. budweiser's a cool name for beer. white and blue with a classic feel. Those modern day cowboy saloons would probably be serving these. and loads of whiskey. yeah those saloons with the half-fucked wooden swinging doors that swing away and towards each other but never really collide.

"To smoke or not to smoke. The day is young, I could probably push ahead a few hours without them as long as i don't get the first going so soon."




Moist. moist is a sexy word. Prince's "soft and wet" reminds me of this word. Nirvana has a b-side named "moist vagina"
there's a band named Moist with the hit single "push" from the album "silver"

moist and juicy. A nice pair of words.
like fresh fruits. delicious.

I kill myself further with every feeble attempt to make myself better.
Life's vicious cycle. The more pain i feel the more i hurt myself, the more i hurt, the greater the pain.
Every thought is a thought wasted. If my mind was seen as an artist, every brush stroke is like scrape to the heart. The heart wears and tears and i almost get used to pain. It becomes a drug where i feel uncomfortable without it. Each scrape has to be deeper and harder or i will become desensitized to it. Unaware. Yes. Probably i am numb. Nerves have probably been scraped out and i am ignorant as my soul wears thinner. Ignorance is bliss. Perhaps. I do not know. I am ignorant.

Today Kelvin talks about procrastination. Yes, i am a guilty party. It's become a pattern of life.
The lazybone, the fear. Fear is the greatest demon. I cannot really fathom the concept of getting things done. My will is weak and ...
I'm bored now... bored about talking about all these shit. Worse, i'm starting to talk about myself.

Yes, myself! lets see... today, my fringe reaches my chin. Too bad i'm shaven or i probably could knot my fringe to my goatee.
Tomorrow is snipping day..... she loves me, she loves me not, she loves me, she loves me not.... and the bulb will be bald!
No more hiding behind curtains and taking mischievous peeps like a kid playing hide and seek. The world will stare at me blankly in the face. And i will see it eye to eye, man to man........ or maybe i'll get a cap.

Let me introduce a character. Sponk.
Sponk awakes one day. It's morning. Sponk is normal. He wakes up in the morning.
His bed is placed nicely beside the window. He sits up and leans against the window and stares out. That's right, no window grilles to bear him in. He can lean out all he wants and even fall down 28 storeys and die if he wants to.
It would have an excellent view but 28 storeys is sort of damn high. so anything below would be small. Because when you are high up or far away, things tend to look small. It is actually a funny theory. I wonder if there is a formula for distance and size. Don't we take these things for granted? It's like we are programmed to accept things as they are. Why can't things get bigger the further they get? This would be cool coz tits would look damn big from a distance. And let's say you are burglarising a guitar shop. If you can see the security guards nice and clear to every detail, you know you are safe and you have lots of time to make your escape.
Yes as i was saying, since Sponk lived so high up, there wasn't much life to observe because the creator made it this way and i cannot explain any further.
But who needs to see things we cannot see. We have our mind's eye. Our mind has many things. We have God in our mind. creator. the one. He creates things that exist for the mind's eye to see and he can just make them dis-exist in a snap. So if the mind's eye has sinned,
the mind police can arrest it, or not. It is entirely up to God in our head to decide. Nothing is consequential. Or they may be. Do you control headGod? u think u do..... but do you?... you are not god. God in you controls you.

Pierced a needle into my thumb
Watched how the second hand moves round the face of the clock.
It moves clockwise. I cannot hear the ticking but i'm sure i would if i placed it close enough to my ear.
There i go again. Lost in the present world, out of touch with the real.
My couch turns red. soaked in the same blood that flows through the veins of my arse that is sitting on it.
I couldn't tell. I am colourblind. The couch was brown in the first place anyway. who's to blame? A staedler 6 colour pencil set gives me enough problems. Why would they want to come up with a faber-castell 52 colour? who cares about vermillion or cyan or indigo or rose. At least i know a rose has different colours. White, Yellow, Pink, pink roses pink roses pink roses.... i will not forget those pink roses.
Roses also comes in red. red as the floor now.... wet and thick, pasty and sticky... yes i feel it between my toes like mud, yet not like mud. mudskippers are fishes.... mangrove swamps to jungles to a wildlife park in the middle of the big city. I never knew they had glass prisons in the wild...

The entire floor is now red. my room has parquet flooring... i would have missed the blood. but i'm in the hall... my hall has tiles for flooring.... blue or cyan or something... who cares.... My father used to tell me 3 squares approximates a metre. we had to sit 9 squares away from the TV... 3 metres is the safe distance from radiation.... the world has changed. nobody bothers about such trivial stuff these days...
.. even my father has stopped speaking. even if he did, i wouldn't know....

does blood defy gravity?... it creeps up my walls.... like creepers. morning glory is a creeper... what's the story morning glory? need a little time to wake up. i can't wake up. wake up from what? i need to be awake to be able to know i am not. if i am not awake, how can i wake up. i'm trapped in this cycle of confusion. The little waves of blood are stretching and reaching towards the ceiling. They are almost there.... will they drip down when they join at the eeiling?... rain rain on my face, haven't stopped raining for days.... blind christians a blind faith. Just a means to an end so who cares? End? end.
... this is the end..my friend ... i wanna be jim morrison... not me... thom yorke, thomas the radiohead guy..
.... radiohead t-shirts... up for grabs.... hail to the thief.... hail hail the lucky one, it is copy-control... can't steal the music steal the disc... all hail the lucky thief.

It's hypnosis... it draws you in... round the spiral... the spiral the web... my mind is a web... webs up and
gets me tangled and confused. everything is everything and is a link to everything.
and yes i forgot about the engulfing blood .... it probably has consumed me. i forget things... just like i forgot my thumb. didn't realise the pain, didn't notice it go numb, go white. Funny how a needle wound can bleed so much.

Funny how a tiny hole can emit so much......