Returned home to this piece of awesomeness.

 

As far as cake icing messages go, this one :cough: takes the cake.

"the crunch" (Charles Bukowski).

too much too little

too fat
too thin
or nobody.

laughter or
tears

haters
lovers

strangers with faces like
the backs of
thumb tacks

armies running through
streets of blood
waving winebottles
bayoneting and fucking
virgins.

an old guy in a cheap room
with a photograph of M. Monroe.

there is a loneliness in this world so great
that you can see it in the slow movement of
the hands of a clock

people so tired
mutilated
either by love or no love.

people just are not good to each other
one on one.

the rich are not good to the rich
the poor are not good to the poor.

we are afraid.

our educational system tells us
that we can all be
big-ass winners

it hasn’t told us
about the gutters
or the suicides.

or the terror of one person
aching in one place
alone

untouched
unspoken to

watering a plant.

people are not good to each other.
people are not good to each other.
people are not good to each other.

I suppose they never will be.
I don’t ask them to be.

but sometimes I think about
it.

the beads will swing
the clouds will cloud
and the killer will behead the child
like taking a bite out of an ice cream cone.

too much
too little

too fat
too thin
or nobody

more haters than lovers.

people are not good to each other.
perhaps if they were
our deaths would not be so sad.

meanwhile I look at young girls
stems
flowers of chance.

there must be a way.

surely there must be a way that we have not yet
thought of.

who put this brain inside of me?

it cries
it demands
it says that there is a chance.

it will not say
“no.”

Merely Speculation.

You just stick to your kpop and radiohead, and watch the world pass you by. Never change.

"Stay the same, never change"?
That, in my opinion, is the most terrifying thing to write in anyone's yearbook. Why would anyone wish that for a person? The last thing I would like to remain is a stupid, hormonal and possibly borderline schizophrenic individual.

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

Everything I've done so far has just been a passing phase. I've eventually lost interest in it, and never thought about that thing again. Is the entirety of life just a bunch of phases? Am I just going to lose interest in any, or all the choices I make in the future? I suppose so.

In the end, what differentiates one's life from another is how much more anal retentive is one person than the other. How much longer we can hold on to a choice and base our lives upon it.
The ability to move from one choice to another is what keeps us alive. The moment we lose interest in everything, we're considered dead, I guess.

31st May 2012, AM 08:00:00

It's been a year since I wrote that post about what I imagined my new class'd be like.

Time flies like a banana. No wait, wait. I messed that line up. Goddammit.

Mind-numbing jokes aside, the last year did pass by at an unfathomable speed. Suddenly I'm in my last year of school, doing exactly what most people my age do.

Accurate gif is accurate.

To be honest, the 8 year old me never thought she'd make it this far. I always assumed I'd be dead before I reached 12th std. Or possibly off in some remote hamlet, fishing and not going to school.

[Dear 8 year old self: Ha ha ha, in your stupid little face.]

Ah, school. Turns out I wasn't wrong about them being an elite club of social outcasts and cocky cocks. But there's so much more to them than that. We are your basic ragtag band of adventurers with unclear goals and good hearts. Sure, we do get on each other's nerves far too often, but ultimately everybody gets along and the day is saved.

We're all probably a bunch of supers in disguise. No kidding.

I was completely wrong about 11th being the doldrums of quizzing. In fact, last year was the best year in terms of quizzing for me. "Quizzer Girl" nickname retained? I think so.

I've been picked up from my comfort zone and flung far away from it, quite literally. The equations here are much harder, and so are the chairs. But it's still difficult to believe I'm in 12th. I'm in 12th. I'm in 12th!

This is all very weird and uncomfortable.

From the journal of a recovering addict.

My mum took away my internet connection.
She hid it from me.
[As if anyone can 'hide' anything from me.]

Funny thing is, I don't miss it.
Good riddance, Tata photon. Your internet speeds were practically deathlike anyway.

And in all honesty, I've never felt this liberated since that moment after I finished writing the last Hindi exam that I would ever take, over an year ago.
Picture Andy crawling out of the filthy sewers of Shawshank and feeling the rain on his skin for the first time, in a long time. Yeah, THAT liberating.

What perplexes me is how in the world did I let social networking take over my life. I find myself incessantly checking Facebook for any update from hundreds of :friends: I hardly know, let alone care about, in the real world.
The things that people will post on there could make the IQ of an entire street drop by a dozen points. No wonder that website is few steps away from becoming the next Internet Rape Machine [The pioneer being Myspace.com.]
And yet, it had come to point where I HAD to know what everyone had for breakfast that morning, or where so-and-so vacationed, and what they ate there.

Morrissey sums it aptly in the lyric:
"In my life
Why do I give valuable time
To people who don't care if I live or die ?
...
In my life
Why do I smile
At people who I'd much rather kick in the eye ?"

All the Facebook friend bashing aside, I would :proudly: like to admit that I haven't opened the laptop in about a week. Which is awesome, considering the obscene amount of time I spend in front of it everyday.
And sure, I can easily access the Internet from my phone. But the speed is so, so slow that I've just stopped giving a damn anymore.

I'll take my leave now. The outside world beckons.



Sent from my iPhone

Hair today, gone tomorrow.

I hate having my hair cut. It's stupid and pointless.
And we're supposed to be 'The gender which gets haircuts recreationally.'
Snickerdoodle. Disproving female stereotypes since '94.

There is such a fine line between 'bad-ass haircut' and 'bad haircut that makes you look like an ass'.
How and why most people usually seem to make it to the former category, and I inevitably get stuck in the latter almost every time, is doomed to forever remain one of the greatest unsolved mysteries of the universe.

When I went to get my hair cut yesterday, what I expected was roughly two inches shorter, slightly more manageable hair.

So imagine my shock and horror when my arch nemesis, The Hairstylist, eventually chopped my hair down to less than half its original length.
I couldn't say a word. I just sat in the chair, looking petrified at the mirror, while the wicked harpy hovered around me, snip-snip-snipping all my hair off. I couldn't scream, or cry, or anything. I just endured the injustice.
Quick. Somebody hand me a medal.

I realize how Samson must've felt.

My mum loves the haircut.
My brother says I look like a Resident Evil zombie.
My dad says to go study.

I look like a dude.
A fat boy. With curly hair.
And tits severe physical abnormalities.
Goddammit.
I CAN'T LIVE LIKE THIS OMG ASDFGHJKL; ;_;

Xkcd, how I love thee.

You will never fail to amuse me.

My only regret about dropping math is that I won't understand more xkcd jokes than usual. :[