hhhmmmmmmmmmmm.......

had to "create a new google account" in accordance with the new blogger.com arrangement in user log-in just to post that one line...

Midnight Delight

At twelve this ends
Our midnight delight
Where we flirt with getting caught
And danger
And each other.

We’re
Much too old for this
But
Much too fond of this
To let Time grab our wrists
Pull us away from the
Chain-smoking, binge-drinking
Secret-talking.
Our validated bliss.

He is inconsequential;
She is not enough.
We
Are always needing something else.
We wait for our midnight delight
Each night
Before guilt sets in
And we head home
With someone else.

Then longing comes.

ok its supposed to be bakar CF.. my bad..

Ok khai i tried my hand at it... this is the very first "draft".. also any ideas you might wanna suggest... up to you with the change(s) in color scheme bay-beee..

I'm going straight. I've made a decision. No more Jake Gyllenhaal romance of epic Brokeback Mountain proportions for me and Ridzal anymore. Although I miss Ridzal dressing up as a cowboy before and playing out our very wild wild we(s)t fantasies,the negative social pressure is getting to me.
and all i have left of our romance is a picture of Ridzal in cowboy gear(got autograph somemore leh!)





Girls that match swinging bachelor profile


Isobel Campbell



The girls from Azure Ray



The girls from Camera Obscura






excuse moi,
i need to prepare for a menage a trois

so while i ponder over the catalogue of suitable girls to help me get back to being a swinging heterosexual again( courtesy of the Social Development Unit),i'll leave you sad bastards with a today's feature presentation :


THE LONG OVERDUE ARTICLE ON MY MIXTAPE THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DONE
2(MAYBE 3) MONTHS AGO


A glorious day for a teenage love parade
sweaty palms clasped together,
public snogs in fast food restaurants
matching tees,
kodak moments under shady trees
an endless summer of rain and fun
i don't ever want to turn 21

In the arsenic-contaminated coffin that is my room,i suck on an endless clove cigarrette fulfilling a Wong Kar Wai-esque polaroid fantasy of the struggling literary type that i've dreamt of throughout the whole week while stuck in military confinement. Moping around plucking basic chords from a badly-tuned guitar is probably going to make me more depressed than a truckload of antibiotics taken after morning hangovers and scripted reality porn just reminds me that i will probably never enjoy the carnal pleasure of screwing leggy blondes. And so,with a heavy head and a heavier heart, i do what most music geeks do in the wee hours of the morning; compile a mixtape.

Jocks,babes,guitarists,geeks,goths. The librarian that would have been the perfect wife if only i'd muster up the balls and asked for her number. Life as an adolescent is a fucking mess. And so here you have it. My Top 10 odes to teenage love and underage heavy petting.



1. Belle & Sebastian : We Rule The School

On a bus stop in the town
'We Rule The School'
Written for everyone to see and read


This indie pop gem is an understated song with a precious melody that evokes memories of shy smiles at bus stops and girls with pinafores and ponytails. At least thats what came up in my lecherous mind. There was always the group of smart-asses at school that makes wisecracks during classes and they probably carved self-congratulatory " We kick ass,you sad fucks!!" all over the canteen's tables before being threatened with expulsion from school by the relevant authorities. This group of assholes would no doubt connect very well with this song given the reference to vandalism and arrogant showmanship.


2. Big Star : Thirteen

Won't you let me walk you home from school
Won't you let me meet you at the pool
Maybe Friday I can
Get tickets for the dance
And I'll take you


You knew this was coming didn't you? With effortless breeze,this song just waltz its way through your heart and tiptoes on the fragile heartstrings that you buried deep inside to collect dust. His fatal road accident only serves to remind us that Chris Bell's little folk ballad will remain a classic pop gem that will break your heart on every fresh listen. (Elliot Smith's version is more than worth checking out)

3. Bright Eyes : Perfect Sonnet

Hate him or love him. Cursed with melodramatic tendencies that rivals an entire season of Days Of Our Lives, Conor Oberst's shaky uncertain voice stuck in post-puberty limbo perfectly complements the lyrics that swings from bitter and morbid to precious and sweet in one furious mess of guitars and crashing cymbals. Highly recommended for those contemplating suicide in the morning after a horrible break-up.

I believe that lovers should be chained together
And thrown into a fire with their songs and letters
And left there to burn in their arrogance
But as for me i'm coming to my final failure
I've killed myself with changes trying to make things better
But i still ended up becoming something other than what i had planned to be

Now i believe that lovers should be draped in flowers
And layed entwined together on a bed of clover
And left there to sleep
Left there to dream of their happiness


4. Death Cab For Cutie : Technicolor Girls

What top 10 list of teenage love songs will be complete without the earnest anthems of Ben Gibbard and friends? The gentle weeping of Chris Walla's guitar serves as the lilting melodic canvas for Gibbard to paint a picture of high school melancholy and doe-eyed innocence for the broken hearted to sing along to. Take this song with you on a night walk with your hands tucked in your favourite jacket.

Patiently you waited for a courting boy's embrace
And then everyone would know,
But the letter jacket wasn't yours to own
And it proves to be on the temporary loan.

And as they all grow older the truth will be understood
Because we never turn out the way we thought we would.


5. Tilly And The Wall : In Bed All Day

Beautiful people with beautiful voices. What's not to hate?Almost everything. Tilly And The Wall are the group of people that you used to hate at school for their pampered Abercrombie & Fitch existence. They probably make out after school in the backseat of their parent's car right before crashing it into a tree.Fuck them. But the song's damn cute anyway with "i want to stay-ay-ay-ay in bed-ed-ed-ed all day" chorus ,which in "mat-mat street lingo',is "confirmed chop plus guarantee dok!" to stick in your head for at least 2 weeks before she finds somebody else.

So dark and pills
On a grain of sand for you
Like birds all around you
I'm confused and amazed
By the way the room sits still for you
And how I'm drawn away
I love the way you talk
So adoringly about all the things i love
I remember when we kissed
I sat at the edges and I helped you undress


6. The Kinks : Waterloo Sunset

It took immaculate planning and the perfect timing for me to get her to take a romantic sunset walk with me at Pandan reservoir when unexpectedly i bumped into a group of rag tag delinquents all geared up with fishing equipment. These delinquents,however, were the same bunch of bummed out dorks i grew up with throughout primary and secondary school and they were loaded with cigarettes and alcohol that they got from whoknowswhere. The year was 2001so it was not yet fashionable to act the sensitive new age guy role and with an 8 seconds flat shuttle run,i left her behind with dust and sand in her face to join my friends on the fishing trip. The year is now 2005 and i'm still a virgin. Oh,the song. Its good if you like to listen to songs that reminds you of how you probably blew your only chance at mind-blowing sex if you had the discipline to act like a bloody pansy. Fuck.



7.Feist: Let It Die

How can you listen to this and not be reminded of the bitter taste of tears brought about by a broken heart. Damn. I can be a tad too dramatic but by the time you reach the second chorus,you'll probably be nodding your head in agreement to to the lyrics and suddenly you'll think of your secondary school life's episode of unrequited love and this song will play like a tragic symphony to that moment in time.I cant go on anymore.(sob....)


The saddest part of a broken heart
Isn't the ending so much as the start
The tragedy starts from the very first spark
Losing your mind for the sake of your heart
The saddest part of a broken heart
Isn't the ending so much as the start


8. Rilo Kiley: Teenage Love Song


If revenge is a dish best served cold,this Rilo Kiley song is an exquisite delicacy derived from polar bear's toenails and dropping from penguins,served with a slurpee on top.
There was always this one guy at school with permanently Brylcreem-styled hair who gets all the chicks worshipping the ground he treads upon,before popping their cherry and breaking their hearts. Jenny Lewis turns the tables on this self-styled casanova a few years down the road when he's down and out after being release from rehab. At least music geeks can take pleasure in the fact that girls havent got around to writing a song highlighting our failures in life. At least,not yet.


So now we're standin' so damn close
You've been in rehab, you think I don't know
I just remind you yesterday
Places forgotten, and friends passed away

But if you want me please won't you say
So I can diss you, diss you, diss you, diss you, diss you
Oh, away


9. Elliot Smith:I Didn't Understand

With a web of mystery and half-truths surrounding his demise,Elliot Smith has more than cemented his status as one of the greatest pop tragedies of his time. As this track plays and the angels whispers into your ears,you are rendered immobile and helpless as he confides in you his sorrow. You will be affected and you will be uplifetd by the immense sadness of this track. And its all acapella.(Fuck you,Budak Pantai)



I waited for a bus to separate the both of us and take me off far away
From you 'cos my feelings never change a bit i always feel like shit i
Don't know why i guess that i "just do"
You once talked to me about love and you painted pictures of
A never-neverland and i could've gone to that place
But i didn't understand

10. Camera Obscura : A Sister's Social Agony

Glockenspiels and sweet saccharine female vocals. You dont deserve to have a heart if you dont fall in love with this track at once. Being labelled Belle & Sebastian clones hasn't stopped these Scots from carving out their own brand of earnest indie pop while namechecking Mike Leigh and captivating ears at the same time.With tongue fully in cheek and eyelashes soaked with mascara,they're set to conquer the world with their sunday-morning-breakfast-in-bed pop.


Don’t apologise
Try your best not to disguise
To get misty eyed at times is fine
Sometimes it feels like you’re the only one
A freckle appeared on your lip from the sun
Those kids that you run with, they put you down
Make no sound







so there you have it morose melacholic mopes. go download them.

A day in the life of Pink Puffball Hero!


Pink Puffball Hero says hello! He says it with a giggle!


Pink Puffball Hero smiles because he sees a rainbow in the sky


Pink Puffball Hero is beaming because we both believe pink is a cute colour


Pink Puffball Hero says "talk to the hand bee-yatch!" then turns away


Pink Puffball Hero is tired because he spent the whole day watching premium teen drama in a whole season's worth of O.C dvds


Pink Puffball Hero is dreaming of cookies and strawberry ice cream


ZZZZzzzzz ZZZZzzzzz


Pink Puffball Hero says Dont Tell Anyone! cos he has morning wood!


Awww.. Mister Pink Puffball! We can't get enough of you!

Recent events have unfortunately led me into a depressive state more commonly known as “emo”.The past few weeks have become worrisome for me as I have found that Zainal has totally disappeared. I sulked and pouted while going about my daily chores for the past few weeks as he failed to reply to the many SMSes that i have sent. Ive checked up on his alternate blog, http://qinboi.blogspot.com/ but it reveals nothing except odd pictures of topless guys.


why god why?


In more happier times, I partake in secret, sweaty dancing behind the safety and privacy of locked doors. In happier times too have I practiced “clown faces” in front of the mirror for hours on end and in happier times, I would have been contented on my own secret world of masturbatory collages in the imaginative constraints of pre-R.E.M. Those happy times exist no more, as smeared eyeshadow is wiped away, drenched cheeks are blotted with Kleenex and long, brooding faces become staple. No I have not turned to being a goth, but here it goes…. I have an impressive record of writing bad poems and yet I am going to have another try at it, or at least something close. A nostalgic trip back to the times of teenage infatuation, where we were looking at clouds that looked like bunnies, passing love notes around in class and when holding hands were a big deal.

Dark mornings, somber faces and coffee as sleep-serums used to rule most of the trudge to school, each hazy step required titular effort, sapping the fading battery life that caffeine granted. But then, for every burdensome task, a positive state of mind kept things peachy. So, i timed every journey to catch glimpses, to hope to charm, to fantasise, to pretend to sleep, to get erections, in all, to grin widely at the moment i stepped off of the train ride.


Remember the days when we kissed till our lips hurt,
When movie theatres were a big part of our lives,
We strained to hear each other above the crackling of the popcorn machine,
To tell ourselves how great it was to be together

The nightly rings
Our minds racing with every fresh breath
To come up with something so it can all last longer
The less-than-jaded times of 4 hour phone conversations
Made up of baby sounds and needless details of each other’s lives
It all seemed okay then…
The mental imprint of your smile the day we sat together
Scribbling proof of our love on paper
Like it mattered, like we needed it…

Then remember the days when it crumbled
And in the muddle of impaired teenage decision-making, sore, teary eyes, the constant ringing of a few regrettable words, we really thought suicide was the only answer.

Then we all fucking wrote bad poems about love and the like.
Hehe…

in response to the question 'Duuuhhh... What was i here for?' I'd just like to say that I have absolutely no clue. but I wanna try come up with something smart just to cover the fact that I am only a girl who doesn't know much about Vikings, has no firm political standing (PAP? what PAP?) and pretty much has an opinion on everything that doesn't concern her. oh but before I begin, many thanks to Ridzal Bitch Overload for inviting me to this little piece of heaven, haha. for this you have earned yourself another Fish Date! unfortunately tonight's not the night for any mind-blowing entries from me. just treat this as a pre-lude to Something Big. *inserts jengjengjeng here*

uuhhh yeah. bye all.

p.s: this isn't a joke- nobody created the name Fariza for fun, just so this blog has a chick writing in it. I actually do exist.

I didnt know how to update.. So i googled "rubber blow up dolls" and found 'er.. The latest addition to this lifeless blog's member section.. Hopefully she'll light things up with her trippy dance and bobbing hair... Welcome Fariza...

My exciting report

If getting posted to infantry and the sort was hell in its assorted nine levels, then being a clerk would be seemingly torment-less limbo, sullenly beckoning you to the pits of mental deterioration. Vocational responsibility is admittedly limited and unworthy of reasonable mention, normal walking strides threaten to turn into what resembles lethargic sweeping of the floor and conversations verges on dronning, glass-eyed interaction. If the omnipresent condescendence doesn't hold you by the throat in a silent death grip, boredom will gracefully sweep in and knock your head clear off your shoulders.

All it grants is a whole lot of free time to daydream and make frequent trips to the canteen with. I swear sometimes our minds just float away as we sit staring at the cubicle walls when we could be healthily interacting with each other. Oh and the copious amounts of leisure time does wonders for the politics in the office, its one gripe away from being an episode of Dilbert.

The character archetypes sprinkled around range from the harmlessly annoying to the dangerous Janus-like hemorrhoid. Enough about that, this Pes E byatch has brought home the bacon. Zai, behold....

Kate Bush – Hounds of Love

A piece of sci-fi narrative kicks the song off, warily leading us to back-up-vocals-falsettos alternating between “doo doo doos” and “ooh ooh oohs”, then lyrical references to a great deal of horror “coming thru the trees!” cruxify the listener in unexplainable suspense as fear and/or apprehension is presented in vague personification as a pursuer of doom. All this while, the synth beats penetrates you and steals your soul away as you lay inert in your own little dream world of maimed foxes and glass slippers lying at the bottom of a lake.


The Verve – The Drugs Don’t Work

The resignation of the first verses sets the mood , what with the eternal bodily struggle against time getting ‘em old folks down. When you close your eyes, you find yourself beach-strolling wearily, toes licked by the backwash surf of bereavement, ever desperate and bothered by a determined willingness to jump in to chase a belief that may not be true. A romanticized notion of death and the destinations it promises. Oh the consolatory balladry of the measured proximity to a lost loved one you would newly acquire once you depart the now-withered, near-expiry,drug-desensitised flesh vessel. Hey, whats the harm in trusting this own little leap of faith.


Postal Service – Nothing Better

A confrontation has never sounded this good, Electronic beats rhythm-ise the heated conversation between a conflicting couple as a frantic boyfriend hits a wall consecutively in his repeated bids to halt the imminent departure of his preferred bride-to-be for “better company”. The catchy, light electronic tune captures the “idealistic future” painted desperately in his promises for a renewed chance yet also does not betray the tender rejection she sentences him with. Its the brink of a break up and the song actually makes it beautiful.


The Strokes – Reptilia

A common argument in justifying their distancing from a refreshing genre entry, following the saturation of the market with Radiohead-esque bands is that there is no technical complexity in their playing, hence the unwillingness to support a more-pop, catchy, marketable tune. This song picks up that elitist rationale, stuffs it into a brown grocery bag and stomps it flat until the juices of defeat stain the pavement. Then we dance trance-like to this super-song.

New Order – Bizarre Love Triangle

Sample lyric:“Everytime I see you falling, I get down on my knees and pray..” Synth-pop cool enough to quote, also, irrisistably charming, the acoustic cover by Frente stole even the hearts of Simple-Plan-loving teenagers everywhere..

The Shins - Kissing The Lipless

The conscious struggle to shed the weight of a past relationship turns into a pretty, verbal probe of the possibility that it can be mended. Past regrets hit hard, current situation obstructs, and general unwillingness to let go makes it all infinitely haunting. In a place where “grass grows on the corners of her bed sheets”, where “tinsel crowns” frame her “ailing heart and criminal eyes”, he reluctantly leaves, sadly knowing he had a big hand in her testing her “mettle, of doe's skin and petals, while kissing the lipless, who bleed all the sweetness away...” Once you recover from being slack-jawed by the brilliance of the lyrics, you will hit repeat.

Mocca - What If

A whole collection of deeply-thought through “what ifs” does its job in teasing our otherwise lukewarm imaginations.
“What if I give you my smile?
Are you gonna stay for a while?
What if I put you in my dreams tonight?
Are you gonna stay until it's bright?”
None of the screaming cacophonies, none of the noisome sounds that drown us on radio nowadays, its all mellow and probably very girlish pink.But I'm not complaining though.

Death From Above 1979 – Turn It Out

Nothing to do with horror-ful retro science fiction, this very male way of meeting relationship problems(by running away) is actually made cool and terribly, terribly fierce.
“Be there for you someday soon.... I know you have so much to say to me, But i'm on the move!” Roar! Oh and bonus points on the merit of the absolutely cool pick for a name.

Mando Diao - Sheepdog

Powerful, pacy and a rockstar way of ensuring unrequited love, a winning formula. This lyrical shunning of a seratonin-charged female groupie(or what comes close) can be forgiven ultimately because as good-looking, young scandinavian rockstars who get all the sex they want, its standard fare and the song is undeniably good.

Clap Your Hands and Say Yeah - In This Home on Ice

“Confusion becomes a philosophy” as we mull over a creeping distrust of “the rust thats on TV”, while a “ravaged cabbage” pretties up “the dark red skies”, above a “startled crowd” who ,fueled by a “fattened cow”,are probably confusedly-intent on lynch-mobbing “unknown enemies”. Such pretty imagery, all to be “just taken in slow, in this home on ice”.

Franz Ferdinand - Fabulously Lazy

“What a singer,
What a dancer,
What a sinner”
What a song... It had me floored at the chorus, and by the end of the song, it had bitch-slapped me to non-consciousness with its utter awesomeness. A splash of beatles brings about the dash of nostalgia while the sheer ingenuity of the whole just brings you impulsively shuffling your feet to the beat, retro riffs, vocals and all.

The Go! Team - LadyFlash

We grinned as we skip-rope, chanting you-go-girl cheers, our hairs bobbing and our hearts racing. That was the story of my childhood. Where adults were relegated to spectators as we make them envy us with our corridor neverland, collectively shouting “2-4-6-8-10!”. The Go team just reminds me of that, even if my childhood was actually spent in the bamboo forests of the Tokugawa era, hunting down traitorous emissaries then cutting them down with the fury and force of my No-Dachi Sword, stylishly.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

ok that "mixed tape" was for the giggly co-editors of prosaic, zainal should be posting his too, that is if he can overcome his dry spell in performing arts as the enigmatic Zai Kuning. Oh, and hello Hakim!

Ruth’s Story

Dried blood stained my wrists, tears left that sticky sensation on my cheeks and my throat was parched as I woke up from my failed suicide attempt. The lacerations were mostly superficial, I know it was more, a cry of attention than a genuine try at my own euthanasia. Everybody was crowding around me as I came to, concerned with my own state of health. My mother cried as she hugged me, my aunt reprimanded me for trying to take my own life, she was stopped soon enough by my uncle who got into a quarrel with her for not consoling me instead. Bah.. they did not understand my anger, I hated everyone, I hated my parents, I hated my siblings, I hated everybody in school, I only liked Avril Lavigne and her music, oh and Adam Lazarra from Taking Back Sunday.

I was kept in a ward for observation, the doctor’s diagnosis revealed “stress” and “depression” after a quick psychiatric evaluation. The time alone allowed me quiet moments to write some goth poetry.

<>A razor is unlike a scythe
Turning into my crimson reaper
A midnight soiree
A morning release
Remnants of last night’s disease
Nobody loves me anymore, Nobody… Nobody…

That was my ode to self-mutilation, it belonged to my personal diary where I scribbled paragraphs of angst and hatred. I was discharged the next day as I had to grudgingly make my way to school. Nobody knew where I had been the past few days, they thought I was down with chicken pox, obviously covered up by my mother. A classmate, Joshua, said hi cheerfully to me, unaware that I found him disgusting. He was such a poser, he yearned for acceptance by the more popular crowd in school and everybody knew of the torch he held for Farah, that bitch. She thinks she’s “more Avril Lavigne” than me, she’s such a goth poser and what I would give to drag her face a few hundred metres in gravel until is is cut up beyond recognition. Everybody hates me, I am so misunderstood.

The fluidity of our choreographed synchronization translated itself into poetry, the thickness of the make-up on our faces concealed the unbottled passion we had for this art form and the hugging contours of the traditional dress we had on promised a thousand pairs of male eyes on us. I had my eye on this particular alpha male who fronted the school’s dikir barat squad as the swoonsome “juara”. To those in the dark, being a juara in dikir is equivalent to being the lead singer in an amateur rock band, in terms of chick appeal, maybe even more they say. Never mind the fact that ostensibly, they were there to promote their race’s traditions and culture, and that truthfully, it was all about the sex. Ohhhh… I knew.. as did the numerous other female groupies who flood the halls in the annual Mega Perdana, otherwise known as the Champions League of Dikir Barat.

Anyway, we finished our piece and left the stage beaming in pride, both of our performance and the newly acquired attention from the Dikir Boys. We were the guest performers at the preliminary rounds of the Mega Perdana competition and boy did we grab that opportunity by the hairy bean-bag.

“Siti Farah isn’t it?”, he enquired confidently in his handsome grin. I deliberately paused to tease him with a little anxiety before answering, armed with a pout I had practiced in front of the mirror for hours at a time in the run up to this day. I had it all planned out. “It’s Nur Farah actually”, I replied, ending it with a girlish giggle, absolutely convinced that the pout absolutely melted his heart and stored itself in my dresser drawer. We then looked at each other in a way that Harry and Sally would have been envious of.

I bagged it, his number and very soon, bragging rights to a desirable male escort. Fuck. Now I’m hungry and with nary a cent in my purse, “I better call Joshua”, I thought… “Oh, and better make it expensive, teehee..”

Meal’s covered, now there is the sliver of guilt to deal with (years of exploiting him led to the current desensitized state). I was well aware of his feelings, so blatant, the gleam of delight in his eyes everytime I raised his hopes. Like I said, I’m a little dim, but not overly so. I knew the sweet little guy was in love, he wouldn’t have spent that much money and time on me, but… he just wasn’t as good-looking as that Juara I just hooked up with.. or any other guy that I hook up with anyways.. Mmmm.. I stopped myself just before drool dribbled down the side of my half-opened mouth and renderd me flushed with embarrassment. I quickly slurped in the offending glob of enzymic fluid and looked around to make sure nobody had witnessed that terribly inglorious moment. Then I called Joshua. Toodley doo..

A Teenage Adventure!

It was surreal that someone from the “in” crowd found me cool enough to acknowledge my presence in the visible, stratified school social structure that I was currently trapped in. “So, what kind of music do you listen to Joshua?”, was the next line that followed the greeting pleasantries. My fading glee was quickly replaced with clammy anxiety. The ice-breaker, the measure of compatibility, the thousand and one psychological analysis teenagers come up with according to the varied replies, alas, the polite but disappointed dragged “okaaaayyyy” response that usually ended the conversation instantly when I gave my honest answer. “Errr… The Mr Bean opening theme?”, I quipped jokingly, stalling for time to recall the in-trend bands of the given time. “Haw Haw… Cmon seriously muddafucker!”, he persisted as my mind raced to come up with something credible to quote.
“It definitely has to be The Killers, especially their latest single, Mr Brightside”, I tried my luck, getting ready to wince at the impact of realization that I made a wrong move.
“Awesome dude! I thought you would say something gay like Simple Plan!” I hid a sigh of relief and smiled politely, feeling guilty partly because I lied and mostly due to the truth that Simple Plan was indeed on repeat in my discman. Additionally, I condemned the use of homosexual references to depict something as inferior, but I continued to talk to him anyway. Hey, I’m a teenager.

The polyphonic tunes of my favorite pop-punk band alerted me to a call coming through. It was the one love of my life whom I cherished as much as my naïve, teenage heart can. The only trouble was, she does not know of it, 2 years as “best friends”, superficially platonic on my part, purely so on hers. I am her sugar daddy minus the groping benefits, I am her unwilling emotional crutch in all the past relationships, feeding on scraps of cuddles and hugs, I am her biggest and longest serving secret admirer, heck, I am her “Platomon”. A term I had coined myself to add a certain amount of humor to the pathetic romantic plight I am perennially in. Platonic Pokemon in full, lending to it the suggestion of caged pet enslaved by its own over-reliance on its owner for food, unable to escape even if there was a chance to do so. Now, substitute food with emotional fulfillment, however warped and one-sided and the clear mental picture of the relationship is projected.

Lengthy shit, Well, she called to say that she felt like some Billy Bomber’s, so I happily obliged, strangely, influenced by some muddled emotional impulse, a mix between happiness and the hammering on my conscience of the unhealthy covert obsession I had on this single girl. But-oh-how beautiful she was. Damn. There goes at least, 30 dollars in American-sized western food.

With every reason to be depressed, I moped around before deciding on some Neopets to cheer myself up with. I was in my element, for a few hours at least, invincible and a multi-millionaire, I’d be able to get Neo-hos anytime I wished to. Unfortunately, I’m just making things up, what the fuck are “Neo-hos” anyway? I laughed at the absurdity of my self-sought consolation to the bleak scenario I was in. Then I moped again.

The next morning saw the usual early train commuters witnessing my listless trudge to school. “I’m sorry, I can’t be perfect…”, the lyrics or my heart, I couldn’t tell, sang to the uncaring world, in the best-sounding nasal voice ever. Sparked perhaps by the presence of a guy in my school who would come close to being called a “jock”, to quote American media, in the same cabin. He looked like what I would want to be, good-looking, athletic build, healthy tan, great hair… I trail off here to consciously dream of the stuff I would do if I were him. I stopped to hold back a hopeless tear, Curse genes and their physical pre-sets.

(to be continued)

fuck it.

why radio why

she was born into hands of sand
with melody in her ears
her heartstrings played an infinite sonnet of sadness
her porcelain eyes cried tears of emerald
a china doll with cigarettes glued to her fingers
how long must her melancholy linger
in her scent,her touch
lost in the ashes of time
they'll blown away by the whistling summer wind

why radio why
she would cry
why radio why
if she could die
in peace
knowing her voice would forever be obscure
from her peer's piercing and prying eyes
she wouldnt have to ask
why radio why

she cleansed herself by showering in her sins
a needle and a syringe kisses her flawless skin
a tidal wave of euphoria floods her braincells
and through her heart-shaped lens,the world is nothing but a jailcell
for an angel with wings of dove,pure,white and clean
how long must her misery stain
her heart,her face
as they age along with the ashes of time
they'll be blown away by the whistling summer wind