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Saturday May 13, 2006
Floating molecules.
My last and most recent entry in my life aka. real-time journal (besides sketches and all that nonsensical hullabaloo):
When forever does not mean a lifetime
A feeling that does not last a century
To be made is to be broken
Just have to cherish before they perish.
A void that oozes indifference.
I can't see it
For it is not even there, maybe.
Somehow it went out of bound.
But there's a slight confusion
Ringing in my head
Voices scream for assurance
To end the eternal drama.
It is not worth my dreams
Time is not my luxury
Emotions are nothing
But fucking sticky wastes.
They, need to be eliminated.
- end of journal entry -
Finally, an update. It is almost of no purpose. So be it.
Very tied up to a great amount of work structures, I am. It's weird cos it runs round and round and round in circles and the worst part is, to be in a structure is to be surrounded by a shitty bunch of super-structuralist.
I have made a point to pay very little attention to the "analism" that goes around me, be it in my workplace or anywhere for that matter. The drama, the politics, the yada-yada.
In weirdo news, I attended my very first big time concert (Pesta Malam Indonesia) in Stadium Merdeka not too long ago. It was awesome I have to say. No. 1: It's a foreign concert to me, No. 2: It's my first ever concert attended, and the rain decided to pour on me (which didn't stop me from getting drenched and nipples hardened from the chilly night. And of course, my feet were soaked in puddles of mud which was gross yet fun.)
I just started rock climbing not too long ago and it amazes me how all external voices are detached from my brains everytime I'm at the wall stuggling to get my ass up just one step. The higher the better, the quieter, the more I get a chance to talk to myself. The constant pain, is ecstatically pleasurable.
I was asked by a friend about a month or 2 ago, on my definition of happiness and if I am currently happy. It took me a really long time to think. The question posed as one of those vague questions like the very commonly annoying, "How's life?" Well, I don't know. I don't care actually. I easily find a great amount of depression in "happiness" and very often, a substantial amount of joy in "sadness". Most would term me sadistic. Well, I say, "Fuck off."
I just realised my existence in time will not be able to handle itself. In a self content narcissism I am dwelling in but it's extremely fragile and temporary (almost tiring). It becomes a habit, a routine but often times, I ask myself, what the fuck for? The outlook of an existence is quickly forgotten or dimmed to a point of dullness, non-interest and then it's no more "absofuckinlutely fuckelicious". And then what? And then what?
In sudden flashes of insecurity is where I find comfort. Almost oxymoronic. Maybe I am a total oxy-moron myself.
Maybe in a beautiful huge ass iguana I am able to find comfort by just touching it.
And in art of course, where I further experience a different sort of understanding without conclusions.
And down memory lane I sail, away and away, where I can't hear anything or anyone else but myself, my hum of a queer comforting melody.
Posted by snowism at May 13, 2006 10:02 PM