Can't.

I mustn't.

Fuck you; hold.

I can't trust anyone. And sometimes it hurts.

It's by part the fault of a world that has dished disappointment and regret on every opportunity, but mostly a pathological, psychological disorder of mine, I guess.

Sometimes I try. I've tried to believe in the best, believe that the world is a nice place, believe in the people that can make a difference.

But I cannot.

Doubt creeps like a virus, feeding on the fertile plains of happiness, leaving in its wake naught but scorched earth, after which it grips my heart, hurtfully squeezing out the words:

"I cannot trust."

I've already lost so much, but I cannot.


..whoever's this heart is to break. Is one f**king lucky bitch.

i can't even find a place to start.
how do i choose between my head and heart?
till it ceases i'll never know:

how do you get up from an all-time low

I'm sorry, but I just cannot revive my optimism for the human condition. I mean, we're such a horrid mess. Self-deceiving. Selfishly motivated. Consumed by emotion. What promise have we? How can we advance? We're just this sorry lump of organisms leeching and feeding on Life itself, addicted to our emotions, then expiring in nothing more than a whisper.

That's why last night (while waiting for the non-visible eclipse), I sat for an eternity on a chair facing the gate with Nick and Liyu, feeling the twilight thunderstorm.

I remember I used to be so naive. I trusted hope. Trusted love. Trusted the world.

I remember sitting in that rain years ago, telling myself with a smile that the world was a nice place, that people were good inside.

I remember feeling the raindrops touch my skin, the fresh wind kiss my face, and knowing that tomorrow will be brighter, that there is still much to live for.

Well.

Now the weight of each drop brings only sorrow. Sorrow. And despair.

Disappointment. Regret. Misuse. Abuse. Betrayal. Pain. Sadness. Futility. Hopelessness.

I swear, among the droplets on my face, there was one salty tear mourning the death of a child.

What a wonderful child too.


On a side note, otherwise pretty awesome study session with the guys and gals, except at one point Louis got quite hopelessly drunk on Jack Daniels. Hehe. And started trying to explain microeconomics. And other stuff. But it's fine!

What the sheep are you doing?

No, seriously.

What the sheep?

Since when did you allow yourself to be wound around someone else's finger like that? Since when did you grow to be so sheeping weak?

You're a sheeping Scorpian man. Get a sheeping grip over yourself.

You would never have sheeping expected yourself to be like this right now. You're strong. You've been through Hell. Nothing's supposed to daunt you now. So why the sheep you crumbling apart?

This kinda desire isn't supposed to get you down. You're supposed to be above all this shit. You're supposed to be watchin' it, sheepin' owning it. You ain't Desire's bitch man.

You're a sheeping Ace of Spades. No player sheeping deserves you man.

Quit wallowing in your pit of sheep and shit. Get the sheep out and do something with your life while you still can. There are many sheep ing copies of these people in the world if you need 'em.

But you don't.

You gonna make 'em sheepin' regret not knowing you. So you better sheepin' start working towards that.

..

Thanks blog. Needed that.



Side note: After a rather cathartic blogging session, decided to replace the F word with sheep for the more squeamish readers. It sounds quite funny after doing that, frankly.

Pangs of futility and hopelessness like cannonballs to my stomach.

Simply being has become an excuse.

Language, Mathematics, Art, Theology, all but cyclical, self-indulged concepts invented by Man to preoccupy his mental state, a selfish reassurance that not everything fades with one's own life, to legitimize the cathartic criticism or comprehension of everything unimportant out of the fear and apprehension of uncovering oneSelf.

Pursuit, Achievement, War, Wealth; all-too-successful distractions, the manipulation and artificial acquisition of positive emotion to give the superficial illusion of purpose, the self-propagation of superiority that potently prevents one from appreciating the equalizing power of Death.

The very creation of Society is an excuse, like the huddling of animals for warmth in an infinitely vast, infinitely dark landscape.



All is Despair.

Only with Pride can one experience true Freedom.

Perhaps that is why Pride is the Original Sin.

Cogito ergo sum.

Quis sum? Adqui, quid sum?

Monstrum sum.

Lies.

There comes a point when lying to yourself is the only way to get along. When self-comfort becomes second-nature.

And then there comes a point when you're so good at lying to yourself that every reappearance of reality is a denial.

My very existence is a lie. The purpose of all living is an excuse.


" Embrace your destruction, it is the fate of all things!
I will destroy everything, I will create a monument to non-existence! "

-----

On a side note, I SWEAR, SCHOOL IS FREAKING SCARY AT NIGHT. Left my bag in the humans canteen to go dinner with shao, louis and such (joel left early) but forgot about the fact that y'know. I can't get back in without anyone in school. So after CRINGING IN FEAR over shao's EVER-SCARY ghost stories (LOL-ipop), went back to school and I must say,

THE MARYMOUNT WALKWAY IS A FREAKING NIGHTMARE.

I swear, I could've pissed my pants if I decided to walk on the pavement instead of the wider road. Especially if some dude walked in the opposite direction. Or even worse, was behind me. OH GOD I'm never going back there again. At night, at least.

EVEN BETTER; walkway from general office to humans canteen had a NICE, CLEAR VIEW OF THE SCIENCE BLOCK WITH THE FLOATING FOETUS and THAT DAMN GRIFFLES STANDEE IN THE CANTEEN (I swear, I never heard my voice go so high). I'm gonna punch the standee. When it's brighter.

So that's me whimpering to the manna café pickup point where there was (not-so-but-still-present) lighting. URGH.

Have to bathe AGAIN.

Rained really heavily today. Hmm.

Everything always seems to be clearer after a storm doesn't it? One reason is coz the rain kinda shoots down the dust particles hanging around in the air so our vision becomes much clearer as the light can travel straight from objects to your eye without being nom'd by the particles.

How boring!

I prefer to believe that the rain gives colour, each drop like poster paint, vivid green and brick red smashing onto and spreading across the paper canvas that is Nature. That it gives Life, like splashing two handfuls of water onto the beautiful, smiling face of the Earth on a fresh morning.

Hmm.

But it's true isn't it?

We do see a lot clearer after a storm.


On a side note, tomorrow is my speak-in-a-brit-accent day :3 YAY YAY YAY

I see now;
This is why I cannot
With mine own eyes, even glance
Yours

"I must. I want you to explain to me why you won't exhibit Dorian Gray's picture. I want the real reason."

"I told you the real reason."

"No, you did not. You said it was because there was too much of yourself in it. Now, that is childish."

"Harry," said Basil Hallward, looking him straight in the face, "every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter. The sitter is merely the accident, the occasion. It is not he who is revealed by the painter; it is rather the painter who, on the coloured canvas, reveals himself. The reason I will not exhibit this picture is that I am afraid that I have shown with it the secret of my own soul."

Lord Harry laughed. "And what is that?" he asked.

"I will tell you,"

<333



//my heart just can't

trust is a mistake people learn from

and cannot afford to make twice.

Azazyl

Stench of humanity,
The rot of those fair.
Despair!
Of lost sanity and
Dreams never there.