And here I go off on an adventure into the unknown.

With a little of the familiar, the not so familiar and the I don't know what to keep me company.

5 days;

Hopefully I'll still be alive after those five days.

And hopefully I'll be able to return here during those five days (;

Just stay awhile.

I must say I have been blessed with a clutch of most questionable antecedents, relatives of the ancestral sort. I guess I'll just admit it straight up, I'm descended from a bunch of hippies.

Of course hippies is not what they would call themselves, neither my grandfather nor my father or his numerous uncountable siblings would ever permit that word to be uttered in their presence, but I heard it in school, I heard it from mothers who looked at me disapprovingly. And I guess they had reason to.

Anyway my grandfather was....the grand hippie I suppose. He was wildly, eccentric, hailing from a certain northern part of England, and spoke to my ears in a very funny garbled version of English. He had fair skin, yellow hair and blue eyes, though I look nothing like him thankfully. After the age of twelve I have ceased to look anything but hundred percent Asian.

But yes, he was an oddball, and the place where my father grew up was quite uncoventional to say the least.

Okay, it was a hippie...community, which my grandfather lorded over. Ours wasn't the only family in the community of course, with my grandfather not being nearly quite as productive as such a situation would require him to be. Still, he managed to produce my father a huge number of brothers and sisters, of which I have met about seven, residing at various locations around the globe. Picture your typical hippie community, living in the woods, smoking bong and the like, tents, bad sanitation; that was how my father grew up.

Despite the fact that my father was very much his favourite, despite the fact that he moved out far far away and lived a rather conventional life, I had a rather normal upbringing, . Relatively at least. It was very much normal, other than the occasional visits of Grandfather, who we were forbidden to contradict, or to call "weird" or use any similarly unflattering synonyms on.

Occasional visits tend to add up to quite a lot throughout the course of your entire childhood and as befitting the culture of that time, each of those precious moments were captured on film. Nonetheless the only photo I retain of my grandfather to this day is one of him on the beach, by the ocean.

You see the problem with Grandfather was that everywhere he went, he went barefoot, shirts weren't exactly his forte either, and he seemed oblivious to the ghastly sight his bare flabby top presented to everyone around whenever he came to stay in our urbane terrace.

I always thought he was an absolute embarrassment, and my neighbours found him to be an absolute horror, at first. However eventually as the initial shock of his sagging ageing man flesh soon subsided, they too got to know him and warmed to him.

But yes, he refused to wear shoes. It was part of his hippiness. Or maybe it was tendencies like this that caused him to be shunned by society and made him live on his own among the...trees. Yeah. You see to Grandfather sensation was very much an important factor of life. To experience and to feel was to truly live life, to walk barefoot among vast varied terrain was to connect with the earth, and the place that it represented. To Grandfather, walking with shoes was like asking him to walk around with his eyes covered. Oh yes, he was blind too.

I didn't realise it at first, but he was, over the years he had developed such an acute sense of hearing that he needed no cane or walking stick. He made his way around, feeling the breeze, heat and moisture of the ground. Those were his eyes you see, on his skin he felt the wind sun and rain. It was easy to forget he was blind, he had a gift if you could call it that.

His eyes would look into your soul with knowledge, and perception. Perception and understanding, empathy. He learned to read the ground, the elements, and above all, people. Which is why I suppose year after year during his stays with us he brought the homeless to our doorstep; they found some comfort in the unseeing eyes of a strange foreign half-naked man.

I was a child then, and did not appreciate the smell and grime that they had about them, and wondered why my father never said a word about the shivering dirty people who trod their way across our living room carpet and cried sometimes in the guest room which Grandfather used to stay. He would sleep on the couch.

It was only years later, when I was fourteen when I realised. He had been gone for two years but there it was, a knock on the door; my parents were out and for the first time I opened it. It was a beautiful young woman who came carrying a beautifully made note, a someone looking for an old man, who was no more. Hesitation to confusion to sadness, then tears; all in a matter of seconds and I listened to the story of the sixteen year old orphan of six years before, who had found a home in the guest room of my address for a week, and her way to a better life afterwards.

He was a rich hippie you see, don't ask me why or how. And I suppose someway somehow, he might have gotten things right all along. I listened, and I didn't stop listening. Grandfather, you've taught me well.

I told myself I would write that stupid story today.

Oh well. Looks like that's set for tomorrow.

There's something awfully odd about my existence, at least it works.

Somehow.

There's always a tomorrow. A better tomorrow.

Well I just slept my afternoon away and survived the Gp common test rather happily.

Though I must admit, my sneezing every five seconds or so was probably the only thing that kept everyone from freezing together into a giant glacial mass; to be discovered and prodded at five hundred years later.

Still, it means that I felt really really stupid throughout the rest of the day (incidentally until about 320ish) when I collapsed on my bed and lost concsciousness until six.

Yes bitches, because I don't take naps, I lose consciousness like a boss.

Anyhow.

Right now I still feel like I just woke up, even with dinner and all, but hey.

I feel content, and I haven't been this content in ever. (hah pun not intended, ooh)

And I feel lazy, I have math to do tomorrow but who gives a fuck.

It's the last day of term, and she's a bitch anyway. The teacher that is. Who else.

Bitch.

Anyhow.

Anyhow. Yes. Life is great.

lalala

And i'm giving dopey smiles at the ceiling and the walls as I lie comfortably on my bed. Whee.

*************

I want to live my life as a pessimist, getting pleasantly surprised by each and every miracle.

And when my heart shatters again into a million pieces.

No one gives a shit.

It's been awhile hasn't it.

You don't even think about me anymore.

I guess I've been doing the running away this time. Pouring myself into that stupid play, ignoring everything around me. Work. Life. Friends.

I still can't quite accept things. It's just so hard.

You wear your hair differently now. I half wonder if it's to symbolise some break with the past. Or maybe it's just for that one day. There you were, enjoying yourself somewhere else. While I was just busying myself, trying to forget.

Something else. Away.

I'll see you again in a week. Which will really honestly and truly suck. Because I don't know what to say. And what I want and what you want is just different.

I don't even know who's right.

After that, we won't see each other again.

Not anymore.

Then what.

It's last chance saloon but I know I won't get anywhere because you've already made up your mind.

I don't need anything.

I just.

I just don't want to be alone.

Because I am. So very, so bitterly.

So its back to square one.

Meh.

Doesn't matter anyhow.

I've read that half of all Americans met their best friend before the age of fifteen.

Who knows.

Keepers?

I don't know.

Today was supposed to be a special day.

Yeah it's special all right.

Not in a good way.

And every song that comes to mind suddenly begins to speak to me like it never has before.

This one's called cable car.

And yes, I want to sing all of them one day and upload them on youtube.

I never knew
I never knew that everything was falling through,
that everyone I knew was waiting on a cue(queue),
to turn and run when all I needed was the truth.

But that's how it's got to be.
It's coming down to nothing more than apathy.
I rather run the other way than stay and see,
the smoke and who's still standing when it clears.

Everyone knows I'm in over my head,
over my head.
Eight seconds left in overtime,
she's on your mind, she's on your mind.

Let's rearrange,
I wish you were a stranger I could disengage,
just say that we agree and then never change,
Soften a bit until we all just get along.

But that's disregard,
find another friend as you discard,
as you lose the argument in the cable car
Hanging above as the canyon comes between.

And suddenly,
I become a part of your past,
I become a part that don't last.
I'm losing you and it's effortless.
Without a sound, we lose sight of the ground in the throw around
Never thought that you wanted to bring it down
I won't let it go until we torch it ourselves.

Everyone knows I'm in over my head,
over my head
Eight seconds left in overtime, she's on your mind

she's on my mind.

Sigh.

Damn you Isaac Slade.

But.

God can find a way right?

Sometimes people disappoint you.

Sometimes the people you trusted the most disappoint you.

And you hate that, because you would never disappoint them, not to the best of your ability.

Sometimes, you forgive them, because they have their reasons.

And that's why you still want them back .

Not because of what they did.

Not even despite, but because you simply don't count those things.

It's not that the scale tips more to the left than the scale tips to the right.

But you remove the weights from the scale, and don't count it anymore.

Even if it drops onto your freaking foot.

And sticks you there.

To the ground.

There you go. Philosophical quote of the day.

Fuck yeah.

There's a quiet comfort that comes with knowing that you're worth something.

Heart to heart talks just cheer me up, no matter how much misery is shared ya know?

It's been a tough week. But it's been better than the one before.

At least I finally got some confirmation.

And.

It's not a never.

I'll trust in that really. I will.

Never say never. Don't. Just don't.

Love will find us a way.

Find us all, a way.

Yep, that's the third insect strike in two weeks.

This time I saw the insect fly in at about 730pm.

15 minutes ago, after I reached to unplug my stupid phone from it's charger, I felt a sharp pain on my left forearm.

That stupid insect had somehow gotten on my bed, appeared under my left arm and bit me.

Urgh, the wound is swollen. Also, I don't see how an insect with trapjaw jaws can create a circular hole.

After cursing at my luck, I blew the insect to the edge of my bed, wanting to slam it to death with my mattress and the wall.

It ended up on the wall after I blew too hard. Fucking insect.

I whacked the wall with my belt a few times, to warn that stupid thing, or to scare it away at least.

It didn't move, only crawled around a little and stayed against the wall. I took out some purple paint as a result.

I did not want gross pieces of insect on my belt. Well I didn't want gross pieces of insect anywhere in my room.

But since the stupid thing wasn't moving, and wasn't attached to a removable object, there wasn't a thing to do.

After mulling over my decision carefully, I made my way outside, grabbed a piece of newspaper and returned.

I got that damn thing the third hit, it dropped well like a fly and fell into the gap between my mattress and the wall.

And there it lies, dead and disgusting.

Stupid shit.

I really need to go talk to my maid about my window.

There is no way of moving.

I'll tear myself away from this place only to run back, sobbing hard. Because life is like a box of...

Well. This time it's just a box. And I don't know what's beyond the box. I know what could be beyond that box, but I don't know what's beyond this one.

It hurts too much to break free.

I find no comfort in music.

I did once. Now everything just magnifies experience. And experience isn't something I want to magnify. Not this experience. I'm numb.

Numb.

Benumbed to pain.

Things fly past me in a daze you see.

Maybe one day.

One day I'll tell the story about a girl I used to know.

But the story's not done yet.

I swear it isn't.

I ain't giving up quite yet it's just, too much to lose.

I never really appreciated this music until now.

Rock and Roll hall of fame?

Inspiration for Simon&Garfunkel and the Beatles?

Did their music, in the 1950s!!!! D:

The Everly Brothers, beautiful .

Just beautiful.

Labels: music

Somehow this old song just drifted back into my memory over the past week.

Neil Sedaka was truly a great man, and a great songwriter and composer.



A little dated, but consider the fact that this was recorded fifty three years ago, it's pretty stunning.

The nostalgia, and sadness still comes through.

I'll do a modern cover one day.

That reminds me, I need to buy a mic.

Labels: music

I'm an optimist you see.

It's means I get more disappointed when things happen, because I always expect something better.

Now you listen to me. I've lost you. For now.

But you haven't lost me.

I promise.

And this time, I promise true.

And now, I've lost everything.

What to do. Suck it up. Move on.

Tis such a pity that I tried my best, and my best wasn't enough.

I'm not happy with myself all the same. I don't think I ever will be.

I'll carry my regrets with me for a lifetime anyway.

I'll sail down that yellow brick road.

So begins 24 very sad hours.

My fear of dead. I repeat. Dead insects has come back to haunt me for the second time in two weeks.

It's not just dead insects, but dead things in general.

Let's just say that like last time, my maid left my window open. And this time, a huge mega flying ant entered my room.

The problem about being afraid of dead insects is that yeah, if it's a cockroach you can squash it with a huge piece of newspaper or a slipper.

If one is around.

Then you get someone else to clear the mess.

If it's a fucking flying beetle or ant, good luck in making it to the door and grabbing a swatter.

Squashing it with your hands is not an option. The horror that assaults me upon the sight of dead corpses is just.

Horrific. Yeah.

So, having a corpse smeared all over your hands or feet is just. Yeah. A new type of hell.

Nevertheless the fucking thing ended up somewhere in my room. It stupidly hit the light, like almost all stupid flying insects do.

After I ignored it for a few hours, it stopped. Yay me. I assume it got rid of itself.

...............six hours later. It fucking lands on my arm. I shout "fuck you." and instinctively jerk my arm. Knocking it to fuck knows where and knocking over the huge jar of water I keep beside me, spilling maybe half of the lovely cold water all over my parquay flooring.

Yay. 

I shout "fuck you" because I have no problems with killing it, I just have problems with it being dead. Like. In my bedroom. On my bed. On my floor. On my hands.

YUCK

It begins to fly stupidly around the light in my room again, ramming it's stupid exoskeleton against the glass multiple times. I open my window, trying to get it to fly out. It doesn't. I pick up my table fan and attempt to blow it out of my window, it just flies erratically and then dive bombs at me.

Just then as another insect flies in I realise my mistake. I run to my light switch, turn it off and crouch beside it in the darkness, waiting for the morbid buzzing to stop.

After maybe two minutes, it does. The coast seems clear, with the outside relatively brighter than the inside, and the window wide open, the insects should've flown out.

I go to close the window and feel the unmistakeable squish of an insect on my left foot.

Fuck.

I go to the window and close it. The room is silent. I step morbidly around the spot where I am 90% sure I squashed that fucking thing. the 10% probability being the only reason why I don't start screaming.

I flick on the switch and fuck that thing is there, dead. Half squashed, its one remaining good wing stuck morbidly in the air.

Because the fucking instinct of the insect in darkness is apparently to lie to the floor; where it can get fucking stepped on. Fuck you insect. Fuck you.

Oh fuck. It's moving now.

Great, it's just listing in the wind of my fan, because it's now not entirely stuck to the floor. Anymore that is.

I better move my fan, because fucking hell I'll have to invent a new swear word to deal with flying insect corpses.

The perilous journey to light switch and back in the darkness without stepping on that stupid shit awaits me.

Wish me luck.

I don't think I'll ever get used to disappointment.

And now the tears won't come even though I want them to.

Because as angry as you are at some people.

As shocked, disgusted, angry and betrayed as you may be.

You still need them.

So you go to them. And you APOLOGIZE. You say sorry.

Because you need them. And because you care for them. And because.

Just because.

And then.

You aren't forgiven.

And then fuck.

Yeah. Now what?

You need them more than you care for them.

Maybe that's the key you shitbag.

I thought I'd leave this place for good.

At least for awhile.

But honestly. When life goes to shits, I don't have anywhere else to go.

Yeah. Because I can't trust people. People suck.

People let you down, and just make you so angry.

They make you wonder why you were so stupid. Stupid to trust them. They make you feel like just saying fuck it all.

Fuck you all.

And throwing yourself off the closest ledge.

Because the abyss doesn't judge. Or does it?

Because it's so simple.

That's discounting the afterlife of course.

Yeah people. Where the fuck are you.

Fuck.

It.

All.

Fuck this shit.

********************

And this is what all by myself is.

It fucking sucks.

It fucking does.

And I still have to deal with shit.