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Gone to start life anew. [02 Apr 2011|01:17pm]
Goodbye, Baktron.
RIP, Inane Ramblings.
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Hey Skidmarks, [23 Feb 2011|09:29pm]
I miss you.

I miss waiting for you to arrive at my doorstep and pretending like I wasn't expecting you when actually I've been clearing the mess in my room like a maniac all night.

I miss the rough of your moustache and beard on my skin when we kiss and the way your arms encircle me and how the cavity seems like it was invented for the sole purpose of my filling it.

I miss the way you creep up from behind and hold me when I'm standing at the sink doing the dishes.

I miss our late-night driving sessions to nowhere.

I miss just wasting time at the lookout, sitting in the passenger seat looking at you smoke your pipe.

I miss how when we go skating you're always twenty yards ahead of me.

I miss how we go skating by the beach front.

I miss how you carry me when we go swimming.

I miss your smell.

I miss the smell of fresh clothes you pack in your bag when you stay the weekend.

I miss listening to you strum the same tune on the guitar over and over and over again.

I miss how we eat so irregularly and how you don't mind going for a Kangaroo burger.

I miss how you're not a breakfast person.

I miss being asked to get you your beer.

I miss the invasions in the bathroom while I'm in the shower or taking a leak.

I miss how you run your toothbrush under the tap right after you've put the toothpaste on.

I miss watching you come up the stairs with only your jeans on after your morning cigarette.

I miss sitting at the café, playing drafts and letting my coffee go cold.

I miss you and it is eating me up inside.

I wonder if you miss me though I know it is highly unlikely. I kill myself thinking you're out there doing all these things with somebody else and they don't even notice how your eyes are aquamarine.

I miss your laughter lines and I miss how you make me laugh.

I miss you and it kills me.
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Bored shitless Friday night [28 Jan 2011|08:14pm]

It's reached the point where the only things about "us" that make me smile are the memories long gone from our first date. I can't smile anymore, not even when I'm looking at your face. Your voice has lost its ring and we hardly even speak anymore. We've stopped holding hands and you don't want to cuddle at night. You're getting boring and no amount of roses will make me want you more. Well, maybe a good sized bouquet would but only enough to forgive you for bludging my cigarettes and being perpetually stoned. We used to feed off each other's insanity but now I'm choking on the insane amount of boredom you excrete. Fuck you, K. Just, fuck you.

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YARGH [24 Dec 2010|06:11pm]
I need to get off my soapbox.

It's Friday and I need to get out to buy smokes and new underwear.

Mmmm, new underwear makes me smile.

And Vincent Cassel in La Haine. Trop chaud, aïe!
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One-week Buffer [24 Dec 2010|06:03am]
one week and i'll be alright.
ever thought you've met your soulmate? the other half of the same incomplete citrus fruit?
i have.
i've many a time past mindlessly talked about better halves.
i've never loosely used the word «soulmate».
here he is, within my grasp.
he is so near and yet so far.
it kills me not knowing where he takes himself to in his head.
but it kills me more learning that
you never always end up with The One.

i miss you, sourly.
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Let Go [23 Dec 2010|12:53pm]
It's only been two days and I am already itching to leave this place. I've packed another 17 kilograms of my life into this suitcase and I am ready to get up and out the door. I want to return to the country where I lost and concurrently found my self. I want to breathe her clear air and lovingly tread on her soft sands. I want to sink into the arms of the man I am in love with.

But it is not any fun, getting off a flight and being welcomed by ghosts. I am dying to go back to Sydney but I am not looking forward to it. I dread making my way back to the new place all alone, and having to spend the night outside because I do not have the keys to the door. And what I dread most is sinking into the arms of the man I am in love with for his soul has died and his eyes are hollow and his wrinkles have grown deeper and his cheeks have been sucked dry of their youth.

Angus Stone, I am here waiting for you to take me for a ride on a big jet plane. And bring a bottle with you, I need a shot of Salvation and two of Sanity. Cheers.
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[12 Dec 2010|10:21pm]

I'm sorry I can't be Xanthe.

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untitled [23 Nov 2010|10:10am]
in retrospect, it wasn't that i was never good enough for them. it was more the case i was never good enough for myself. and never good to myself. and i can't place a finger on when all this self-loathing had begun materializing itself. it could possibly stem from the break-up with Sophie when i was 14. but i'd been harming myself before we'd even gotten together. but her dumping me, in a letter, heightened it; the self-hatred. and thinking about it, i've never let myself recover. instead i played on it, to the point of madness. it drove the consecutive partners mad, and myself beyond madness; and i don't know which is worse.

i say horrid things. and i scare myself not knowing if i genuinely mean them. i lose myself and i let it ride. and it brings me to dark places where my subconscious inadmittedly wants to go to and dwell in. i say horrid things to drive the ones i love (or think i do) away and i succeed. i want to make the relationship fail. and i succeed. i succeed in failing. do i really succeed? or do i fail because i am crying for attention with the wrong words and the eminent comes too soon. i don't know anymore. and this bottle of merlot isn't exactly helping, or is it?

i tell myself i will change; and change i do but not holistically. this jealousy is imprinted in my bones and it runs through my veins ever-growing and one day it will manifest itself and i will drown in it. the only way to be rid of it is to be sucked dry of it. i will go in timeless fashion; lying in a pool of bright red jealousy.

this time i've outdone myself. i've constructed the most intricate web of stories yet. i play them in my head and they repeat themselves; re-writing their plots as they go along, the colours desaturating as more villains start to appear. but this is the only story where the victim is the villain. where the villain turns into the victim of his own actions. i am a victim of my own psyche. it is consent to the cognizance of a downfall. it is the raising of a white flag. there is no cure, no help to receive - when you are your own victim.

i guess i will leave it at that. there is no point in saying anything anymore. the damage is done and the situation is beyond repair. i take my hat off to myself, for another well-performed elaborate play. the stage is in an unholy mess and i am too tired to get my act together and clean up the remains of this emotional massacre so i will leave and wander, bringing my troupe of sadist theories with its lone dying star, until i find a new stage, pure of debauchery, to put up a show again. but this story has been played too many times and it is losing its novelty with every performance. it is nearing its end and it's had a good run, too long a run in fact.

this could be the end, but only if i allow it. though i think there's still room for more hurt to be inflicted.
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[22 Nov 2010|09:02pm]
it hurts.
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[18 Nov 2010|11:52pm]
"hang on one second, can we still be friends if not lovers"

well, uhm, gee, how should i put this?

go fuck yourself.
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good luck [18 Nov 2010|11:39pm]
you'd better play your cards right.

but you don't even know what you're playing for.
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Helplessness isn't just a state of mind [27 Oct 2010|03:49am]
I am not damaged. I am not damaged. I am not damaged. The more I say it, the less convinced I become. But still I say it, and I will keep saying it until the day comes when I truly believe it; whether I am sane or have completely lost all my bearings and all form of sensible reasoning.

I'm afraid of growing old alone.

I'm picking up the pieces. And it's proving to be quite the task. Nothing is missing but it isn't easy ignoring the fissures in the glass. I am a piece of work. But I know that I do not want to be perfect.

If you're reading this, I want you to know that you mean the world to me. I have found myself in you. I see in you all the mistakes I've made in the past and the wrongs I have to make right. I see in you the beauty of existence and the need to keep existing. I want you to know that I will not change myself for you and neither will I subject you to conformities. I want you to know that I respect you. I want you to know that I love you for all that you are and expect from you the same. That is all that I will ever ask of you. I want you to know that I am scared. I am scared of what will be. But I am scared more of not trying to be. If either of us disappeared, we will not go in search for the other but instead be grateful for having crossed paths. I have shared my soul with you and I am afraid I have nothing more to offer.

Take me for what I am, or take none of me at all.

We are damaged but there is nothing that pure love and time cannot mend.
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[21 Oct 2010|04:57am]
i will feed you in the mornings.
and devour you at the strokes of midnight.

if to love you is to sin,
then i am an infidel and never want to see heaven.
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[19 Oct 2010|05:47pm]
"i want to help you recover. if not from yourself then at least from your past."

curiosity killed the cat. and this cat is living on borrowed time.
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Serendipity and The Start of a Series of Sleepless Nights [12 Oct 2010|04:50am]
[ mood | calm ]

Here I sit, finding myself smiling for no particular reason; for multiple reasons. I can't sleep because I've been looking up good music, reading about the Golden Spiral, subconsciously falling in deep like (or maybe consciously). It's a quarter past and I'm wide awake. I have a class at 9am and I know I should get some rest. I want to shoot a text but I know I shouldn't wake him.

Every call is a breath of fresh air. I wish I had the capacity for aural memory because I love the sound of his voice through the receiver and God knows I hate the Australian accent with fiery passion but this is an exception. There's something about it, a ring to it, a warmth in it. I could listen for hours - and that's exactly what I've been doing. I cannot remember the last time I was engaged in a long telephone conversation with substance. Actually, I can and that was with Jeremy but that was a good month ago and it lasted a whole/mere hour. But with K, even 4 hours isn't enough. I can almost hear his voice but like I said, I lack in the ability to retain human voices in my aural capacity. I wonder if he's asleep and if not, whether he is thinking about my voice and if he is thinking about ringing me up at this ungodly hour.

Life is good. I am constantly surrounded by great conversationalists. Aini is there for me at uni (which takes up a lot of time and thank God for that) and Pearl is there for me when we're both at home. Jeremy entertains for the occasional event when I feel lavish and decide to treat myself to a long-distance phonecall. And now I have K. For when I am walking home, for when I am in the kitchen cooking the next day's lunch, for n'importe quoi. And I hope that this will be the case for many more days to come. Or maybe years, if I may be brave enough to say so. And especially so with Aini, because she is my happy pill. My many problems fall out the window when I think about the company I surround myself with.

I have it good and yet I whinge about life. But I can foresee that that will all change in the coming days. If Lady Luck is on my side. And I pray for my sanity that she will be kind and giving this time around.

I am happy. And I think this could be the first time I've said that with truth.

I am happy.

Yes, I truly am happy.

I see a change and Change is truly coming.

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[11 Oct 2010|02:43am]
i have found him.
he listens to the dandy warhols and air.
and watches jean-pierre jeunet movies.
he likes making things with his hands
especially model airplanes.
he's into arthouse and Art Nouveau
and watches the news in different languages on SBS even though he doesn't understand a word they're saying.
he's on meds, but that's okay
because everyone we know is on something
or should be.
he's got two younger sisters;
one of whom just came back from europe.
i've got two younger sisters;
one of whom just returned from europe.
he owns a print of Rodolphe Salis' Le Chat Noir.
and calls happiness a double edged sword.
he's got a tunnel,
an industrial and a navel piercing too.
he says he likes cigars.
and he likes it short black or ristretto.
he loves 1. licorice, 2. olives 3. anchovies
4. me. well he said "i'm sorry but i think i love you".
which is so funny because
i think i love him too.

i have found the perfect man.

come on, life, work some magic. i really need this.
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[08 Oct 2010|03:26am]
Cyclic changes; out with the old and in with the exciting new foreign playthings. daylight savings; 7.33pm and the sun is still setting. it feels like reuniting with a former flame; sweet and inviting, knowing that better weather is ahead of us.

there are so many changes at home; some worthy of mention, some better swept under the rug. and here is not the best place to air dirty laundry; yes, i do realize.

sometimes i feel like i live in a hotel. it saddens me. i haven't left my scent here. it's become this convenient plot of space where i simply park my body. and for 170 a week, jesus.

73 days to go. deportation? yes. of the mind.

god, abstract is not a nice colour on me.
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I have grown into a sappy old hag. [06 Oct 2010|11:05pm]
today i denounce love and all its associates.

and to love i say,

"fuck that, shit".
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Next flight out of Tullamarine [04 Oct 2010|11:05am]

i can still smell you in the coffee cup lids;
under my nails,
on the pillow on your side of the bed,
on my cardigan,
in the still air
the moment i open the door
though you are no longer there

see you on the front page one day, baby. i wanted to tell you that i'd fallen; but your head is way too high up in the clouds to notice the mere mortal that i am.


Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.

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Long-distance (Self-)Loving [01 Oct 2010|12:17am]
I bought plane tickets for this weekend to see a boy whose last name I don't even know. I don't even know if Chris is his real name. And he thinks my name is Zara. He's been texting Zara these past few days and I'm thinking, maybe I really do want to be Zara. Just for now. That's the thing with having a million middle names. You're automatically born into the world with multiple personality disorder. And I have a million personalities; some if not most of which intersect and I find myself drifting between the webs these personalities have created among themselves subconsciously. Or so, I think.

He's from Newcastle, or so he says. And he's been in the Navy for four years, or so he says. We're the same age, although I am a month and a day older than he is.

We met Saturday night in the club and exchanged numbers, which is highly unlike me, but I figured it wouldn't do any harm since I'd only be in Victoria for another three days. But see, that's where I faulted. Because I was only physically in Victoria for three days, but I left something behind when I got on the plane back to Sydney and it happened to be my (figurative) heart. Yes, again. I fall in love too easily. This time I didn't fall too madly; but mad enough to want to take a plane back to see this Boy who has been occupying my emotional capacity.

He's a keeper, this Boy, I can tell. Just to put it out there, I was the one who made the first (sexual) move. For fuck's sake, I went out at 10.30pm on a Monday night to get a bottle of Chardonnay (which we didn't open because we didn't even need to get ourselves inebriated to feel the slightest sense of attraction) and a pack of condoms while he was making his way on the train, yet aware of my advances.

It wasn't love at first sight; that doesn't exist anymore, now that we've grown older. But it was love at first text-message-conversation. I prematurely invited him for dinner Sunday night but bastardly took it back because I wasn't sure of him, of the situation; of my self. But as the hours pressed on, I felt more and more attracted to him (yes, via SMS) and I knew that I had to see him one last time before the opportunity saw itself to the door and walked away into this concrete abysmal mess.

I waited an hour in the cold, well past midnight; almost certain he was going to stand me up. Toorak, VIC; literally in the middle of nowhere - he finally got there and we decided to take the last train back into the city because there was nothing open and we'd both only been in Melbourne a mere two nights.

We sat by the river, beside the docked boats; talked and laughed til my cheeks ached, kissed like we'd both never kissed other mouths before that night. It was still freezing out and we pulled our hoods up, cuddling on the wooden benches. I invited him back to the hotel room, but we could only go after my roommate had fallen asleep. We held hands while walking; I felt like I'd known him only just and forever at the same time.

We did it on the bathroom floor and it was the first time I orgasmed from penetration without having to try so hard; with a Boy I'd only done it the first time with. It was cute in a sense; he was so awkwardly shy and polite about everything. He let the tap run so the roommate couldn't hear anything.

We stood outside the hotel, laughing and hugging. He said he was happy for me, I don't understand why. But at the same time, I felt serene; knowing I wouldn't have done anything differently, knowing that I knew what and how it felt to be with him. He left at 3 in the morning and didn't text until the next night, after I'd reached home, after I'd waited by the phone for a message, with my will to live half diminished.

We've been texting since and he tells me I'm beautiful every night. I tell him about my mundane Sydney life to which he laughs at. He thinks I won't actually meet him this weekend so I gave him the flight number and he says he will pick me up at the airport. Truths and lies, lies and truths. But one thing is for sure and that is, we're both gambling.

I'm gambling with an empty heart. Or am I gambling with an empty heart?

This is me, putting my heart on my sleeve. My life is for rent; it comes unfurnished save for the ghosts that wander through the walls. Sometimes the rain drips down the holes in the roof. But come morning, the sunlight streams in between the blinds, rekindling life.
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