Fly high little one, there was only one Icarus and he died...

I am just insanely annoyed at everything around me these days. Can't find any peace of mind. Weird feeling of cement solidifying in my brain. I feel my steps being interrupted unconsciously. Mumbling constantly to myself in moments of discontent. It is so hard to trip and pick myself back up. I abbhor myself for not being able to either. What the fuck, pick up, stand up, walk again. Can't be that fucking hard. That searing voice yelling in my temples: " Stop staying glued to the ground, you loser. Why can't you just inject a good dose of enthusiasm into your veins like everyone around you can? God, just fucking stop cleaning your own face with self-pity saliva " Leading the life of an observer. What I want of myself and what I do with myself are such polar opposite that it's become a tragedy turned into a bad comedy. I might as well be the token vegan called Ivan Bacon, or the chunky kid wearing PHAT tshirts making you question the spelling of it all. BOoo... ha, back to bed...one of those days you wish you choked in your sleep.



Parce que ma bouche s’ancre dans un mensonge qui ne se défait pas
Parce que mes mains sont écarlates d’un sang qui ne m’appartient pas
Tu arraches la chair de ces os pourris
Et Tu épanches ces veines mal nourries
Tu m’offres ma tête hideuse sur un plat doré
Et tu m’enfuies les pieds dans de la merde écorcée

Je n’en veux plus de ton vin amer,
De ton pain moisi
Qui crachent sur mes poumons
Et qui écrasent mes neurones

Mais je sais que tu seras là
À déchirer mon esprit las
À déchiqueter ma peau d’hypocrite
À défaire et refaire le monde

Tu m’étouffes avec la misère humaine
Et tu m’assommes d’invisibles haines
Tu tires sur mes cheveux pour lever ma tête
et que j'hurle mes viscères jusqu’à blanc
Parce que mon sang devrait couler pour salir ces mains si blanches et vides
Parce que ma bouche devrait défaire ces mensonges qui étouffent nos vies


It's spring again!!!! I feel like I should write some elaborate metaphor but I'll save the pedantic thoughts today and most importantly spare blospot from another entry on the importance of renewal and such.


My crazy trip on opium

Hesitation ( Caution: Keep Opium away from children under 45)
Secondary caution: 45 is just an arbitrary age.
Albert, une cigarette à la main, s'abbat sur son fauteuil en une nuit qui brûle encore des traces d'un soleil d'été. Il a devant soi un petit carnet jauni par le temps d'oü il lit: "2 août 1914 : L’Allemagne a déclaré la guerre à la Russie.- Après-midi piscine.". Il se fige un moment et comme si tout d'un coup envoûté d'une idée sublime, il se penche sur un bout de papier déchiré et trace les mots suivants: "Aujourd'hui, maman est morte. Ou peut-être hier, je ne sais pas."

There are always those books that haunt you, that just seem to be at one with your consciousness, tickling you like a finger that slowly trickles down your spine. Ever imagined how the authors started them?


It's weird to have so many bottled up emotions and thoughts that entirely dissipate away once these keys are pressed on, one by one. I have come to the conclusion that it's a cleverly designed mechanism which serves as an automatic suppresor set to restrain me from jutting down "ideas" that seem so novel and splendid in my mind into mediocre words that can be used to prove my extraordinary commonality.

Anyhow, mediocre or not, I've decided to impose my thoughts to the public once again, because I feel that I can't possibly hide from my fears all my life. Eventually, they'd get me and pin me to a wall like a wriggling slimy despicable worm. Since I happen to have a little more dignity than that, I will fess up myself. It's been surprising to see how long I've managed to avoid any kind of confrontation with my issues.
Afraid of my unnatural intensity of emotions, I resorted to absolute numbness. Afraid to be an insignificant piece of flesh, I have raised a wall of aloofness and pretense. Afraid of my ugliness, I have clogged my pores with chemicals each day. And worst of all, afraid of my own stupidity, I have completely avoided putting myself in situations which can put me face to face with criticism (constructive or not).

So maybe it's time. Time to murder that coward and create a human being. I have spent enough of my life being emotionally constipated and mentally paralyzed by an illogical lack of self confidence.