Untitled.

There's a disease of ignorance and complacency inflicting the human race. God forbid we're inconvenienced or put out by the needs of others. 

We are but soft and weak. We are undisciplined zombies addicted to our microwave popcorn, that is of course no fault of our get rich quick lifestyle. We have entitlement issues and a lousy work ethic. This is not life's perfecta. 

We're bitter. We're bodies in motion. We keep up with the Joneses. 

We read gossip columns and tabloids. We watch Access Hollywood, Extra and Entertainment Tonight and then we complain when when someone violates our privacy. We have but the attention span of gnats. We preach tolerance from inside the protection of cloistered groups who will happily give up our rights in the name of  until the day we die 

and then at that point what does it matter? 

Death is the only pure state of being.

Mad Men: Meet Don Draper

THIS! is my favourite show.
THIS! is my favourite character.
Meet Donald "Don" Draper.

Really?

You're looking happy, Mich.

Really? That's weird. I'm suicidal, obviously.

The Disease Called Perfection

The following was taken from a blog I read, 'Single Dad Laughing'
I know it's long but it's worth the read.
Perfection: A beautiful fairy tale that always leaves you hating yourself.

As a warning, the following post was written in complete desperation. I have recently learned some very sobering truths from people that I love dearly. These truths have set in motion a quest within me to do whatever I can to make a change. Today is not geared at funny. Today is geared at something greater. Read it to the very end. I promise you will be affected in a way you have always needed to be. I spent more than twelve hours writing this post because its message is that important to me.

I wonder. Am I the only one aware that there is an infectious mental disease laying siege on us right now? There is a serious pandemic of "Perfection" spreading, and it needs to stop. Hear me out because this is something for which I am passionately and constantly hurting. It's a sickness that I've been trying to put into words for years without much success. It's a sickness that I have personally struggled with. It's a sickness that at times has left me hiding in dark corners and hating myself.

And chances are it's hit you too. 

What is the disease called "Perfection"? Perhaps a list of its real-life symptoms will help you better understand it. We live in communities where people feel unconquerable amounts of pressure to always appear perfectly happy, perfectly functional, and perfectly figured. "Perfection" is much different than perfectionism. The following examples of "Perfection" are all real examples that I have collected from experiences in my own life, from confidential sources, or from my circle of loved ones and friends. If you actually stop to think about some of these, you will cry as I did while writing it. If you don't, maybe you're infected with way too much of this "Perfection" infection.

Untitled

These brief minutes she will think on until the day's end.
As he talks she wonders if he can tell what she's thinking
If he knows the irregular way her heart thuds against her chest
The locket calls to her, but she dare not reach for it.
His aura surrounds her, both comforting and disturbing her being
She wills herself to speak but the shy, quiet sounds escaping her lips betray the beating drum inside her
The thin veil hiding her desires is falling
And something is screaming to know him.
She prays he doesn't see the tumult within her, but
The moment is passed
And they're on their separate paths again, one to the west, the other the east.
With his gaze no longer upon her,
She pulls her threaded secret from her blouse
Her hands caress the engraving on the locket, and
She wills herself to be there and not here
But that only works for her world.

Human?

I am flesh and blood but I am not human.

I haven't been human for quite some time.

I'm A Fake

Small, simple, safe price.
Rise the wake and carry me with all of my regrets.
This is not a small cut that scabs, and dries, and flakes, and heals.
And I am not afraid to die;
I'm not afraid to bleed and fuck and fight,
I want the pain of payment.
What's left, but a section of pygmy sized cuts.
Much like a slew of a thousand unwanted fucks.
Would you be my little cut?
Would you be my thousand fucks?
And make mark leaving space for the guilt to be liquid.
To fill and spill over and under my thoughts.
My sad, sorry, selfish cry out to the cutter.
I'm cutting trying to picture your black, broken heart.
Love is not like anything...


-The Used, the band.

Words

I'm a huge fan of the channel futureshorts and this... This was amazing.
It's beautiful how one word can be used to express a wide range thoughts, visuals and emotions.

I Want :(

Everchanging

I die before I go to sleep because I don't want to be the same in the morning. I keep adding and taking away from what I am, never the same person when I go to sleep as when I wake up. It's because I know I can be better than this. If not, I'd probably have to kill myself.

Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want

This Song by The Smiths is how I feel right now...

Good times for a change
see, the luck I've had
can make a good man
turn bad

So please please please
let me, let me, let me
let me get what I want
this time

Haven't had a dream in a long time
see, the life I've had
can make a good man bad

So for once in my life
let me get what I want
Lord knows it would be the first time
Lord knows it would be the first time 

They Speak But Don't Know

Someone made a comment that angered everything capable of thought within me. When C said we (C, R, A and I) were sophomore Literature majors, in response a guy said, "Oh, nothing practical."

I could not fathom the stupidity his mouth was spewing! I'm not a Literature major myself, I do Political Science, but if I wasn't studying what I do Literature would be my major of choice. Sometimes I even regret not pursuing Literature, but that's a tale for another post.

When people think of someone studying Literature they think either: you'll be unemployed, be a failed writer or be a teacher... Nothing's wrong with teaching actually. Anyway... He said he studied Management and Economics and he seemed quite pleased by this. Seeing his surprise at seeing someone studying Lit I was expecting him to be a man of science! The natural sciences viz. chemistry, physics etc. but no. 

A tried explaining that Literature is more than sitting with a book and it teaches you things you never would have thought to try to learn. Even today, as I excitedly told C about my Political Philosophy course this semester some of the things I relayed to her she knew already. Where did that knowledge come from?? Her Literature class!!

A's message fell on deaf ears because he went on to say he hated reading and there are better things to do than read a book. I wonder how he expects to get his B.Sc. While he prattled on I immersed myself in listening to the music of Oasis and messaging someone on bbm. I was quite upset and I knew if I spoke I'd slip into French and flip out. 

There's more to this story... 

This exchange was beginning to seem more like an interview/survey than a conversation. A and R asked if we were being recorded, because they could see a green light flashing on the little camera he was seeing and his conversation style felt forced, unnatural. Insert uncomfortable pause. After that he said, "Okay. No more questions." and left.

Even as I typed that I was upset all over again because day after day people focus on the wrong things.

As Dawn Approaches

Birds will sing their songs
Useless on these dreary days -
Ne'er the flowers dance.

Days Are Less Than I Would Like

Today was... blah.
First class (Caribbean Government and Politics) Dull. Really dull.
Second class (Western Political Philosophy) was simply enthralling but when it ended, I ended as well.
The library didn't have the book I wanted to take out and I could go on and on.
At least I had one of my dearest friends - my ipod. Without it I would surely explode! Beethoven and I had quite a time while I went about my day detached from most of what was going on around me.
I really wasn't looking forward to seeing anyone. At all. But at least I got to see C! Haven't seen her in a while ad I love her >:(
The rest of my day really isn't worth mentioning...
Except... My face lit up. Once. And only once. But now I hate you. So it doesn't matter really.


Oh! It will not go well for the next person that asks me if I will wear black almost every single day. Does my wearing black really offend people that much? I'll wear what I like, thanks. I always get: 'Are you trying to make a statement?', 'Are you goth??', 'Are you emo?', 'Are you depressed?' ...I'm me. Shut up.


Anyway... Gossip Girl started, tennis is showing, I have work to do, I'm hungry as shit...
but I can't be fucked to do any of that.
Instead I'm reading 'As You Like It' with a Light in my hand...
I'm pleased for the moment.

Which reminds me! I NEED to get my hands on 'The Isis Papers' by Frances Cress Welsing. 

And! 'The Stolen Philosophy' by George G. M. James

Lily Allen

Breathe. Stretch. Shake.

I just got back from the beach and... I stood on the shore and screamed my heart out. And I liked it.
It felt good to stand there, waves breaking around me and scream without thought. I made a try at tears but... None came. Can't say I was surprised at this. In a few minutes I was waist deep in the ocean and didn't even notice until I realised my skirt was no longer blowing around me (that wore me down getting back to shore)
I feel good... For now.

The Rain is My Own Metronome

In the rain. Again. It's nice out here.
It's only a drizzle now, but I don't mind.
As it falls around me, I can sense myself slipping away.
Am I? It's more like an awakening,
I always feel alive in the rain.
Every drop that touches my skin makes me more aware of myself,
Makes me feel... Something.
It's cold outside but the raw emotion within me burns once more.
I'm afraid to touch myself, would it hurt?
Would whatever it is surging through me somehow escape the confines of my veins?
I almost forgot how much I missed this sensation:
the rain even massages the far reaches of my mind, and
I feel it press upon my skull.
This... thing, inside me, is it real or imagined?
If I touched you now would you feel it? Would it spark?
Will it jolt what's been sleeping within you as well?
I'd hope so. Wish you could feel this. Know this.
Is that - even as the thunder's bellows call to me
My soul calls to it.
None has walked the Earth who has understood me like the thunder, my old friend.
The resonance of its cries pulls my soul from my body to meet it, and
We both thrash upon the ground.
I dance with the wind as it tugs at my clothes and tousles my curls
Never thinking that it would end, but it did.
It was a while before my soul saw that it was alone and retreated back into my body.
I didn't even notice the thunder had said its goodbye
The wind gave my face one final caress and my pants a parting playful tug
and he too, left me.
As the rain died, I thought I would join it.
My heart's erratic beat was replaced by dull, hollow thuds. Empty. Worthless.
I folded into myself again, unwilling to behold the world without my icy sheets
Or allow it to look at me.

Lover I Don't Have to Love

He closed tight his fist
Crushed rose ever beautiful
It then shed one tear

Plagiarism

My thoughts and writings are my soul.
What goes into a writer's work an ordinary person could never know.

Today my Political Philosophy tutor said, "I would rather a man steal my material things than to take my ideas and call them his own." ...This is true. 

You know who you are.

That is all.

Do I stress you out?
I stress me out.
I'm so far gone my shirt is one backward and inside out.
I can't help but reach inside your thoughts,
Feeling my way through the rows and columns of your mind
I don't mean to pick you apart;
sometimes I can't help it.
Slap my mind awake, and
and reopen my mind with a fistful of light, that
would knock me to the floor if I wasn't already there
Bring a gentle wave
to calm the angry voice in my head.
I'm suppressed by nothingness
Spit me out before I die.

Pockets Full of Glass

I step into the mirror of my mind, and

walk into?

Here I am on the floor, 'This carpet feels great!'

I remember this thought, this trip.

How is this - it's all so real.

One candy-coloured pill and tiny piece of paper made things seem so grand

Colours, I tasted. Sounds, I smelled.

This new world was glorious until it wasn't.

Coming down is never fun; but this,

This killed something in me.

Acrid tastes and smells overwhelmed my being

Everything I touched seared my flesh

My lungs rejected the very air I needed.

All I could think was, 'This is worth it, I'll go again on Wednesday.'

As the memory grew in intensity I -

shattered. Feeling nothing.

Watching on as I writhed and screamed in agony.

Now I'm -

in a bathroom, clutching the sink

Dead face. Dead eyes. Knuckles betraying my lack of expression.

Good thing I was home alone, needles in my arm - that door doesn't lock i think.

One, then two, three, too many?

I just wanted to feel something, anything

My heart was filled with nothing, it cried out in vain.

My pin cushioned arm in awe it left me

Eleven needles I counted,

None healing in the least my stone cold heart

'Oh, wait, there's blood now.'

As I methodically pulled each needle from my arm

I smeared it on the mirror smiling

This is beautiful, but

pity a mirror showed more than I ever could.

Something in my head was hysterical now

As it recalled what happened next.

Again, I was no more.

Hovering about myself I looked on -

I was crumpled on the ground

broken bottle in hand,

Blood pooling around it.

I looked at the hand of now -

No scars. And -

Off I was again. Where am -

Oh. Here. The roof.

The roof where so much has happened.

Night of the lightning storm this was

I stepped into the me of the past

Emotion flooded into me

More than I felt in surrounding months.

This summer night was cool and still

'Cept for the bats that flew around me

and the lone slug creeping along.

And then it rained. It fell without thought, and

I acted as such,

As the rain threatened to slide me from the roof

I stayed immobile, until -

I screamed. The rain edged me on;

It fell with increasing force, I was the rain.

Lightning danced angrily across the sky.

I screamed again. The raindrops hurt.

Everything within me cried out in -

Frustration? Anger? Despair? I don't know.

I screamed until my head felt light,

My lungs burned, my throat felt raw.

The sudden emotional onslaught racked my body.

Without realising , I hit and rubbed the roof, until

my knuckles and palms were grazed and burning.

I didn't care. Exhausted and exhilarated I lay back,

raindrops stinging my face. Yet calm I was.

the last sheet of rain sounded like a broken mirror, and

I'm in my mind again. It was all the same mirror

The portal to my always intense memories

I was where I always was:

In bed breathing heavily. 

Heart thumping irregularly in my chest.

Pupils dilated.

Hands clutching the sweat-soaked sheet.

A Song with More Than Four Chords

Frigid wind on ailing lives

Darkness quietly surrounds the broken souls

Mellow serenades between beating hearts

Transformed into bitter symphonies

Far beyond the dust-covered skies

Cupid has lost his romancing arrows

Now playing sonorous tunes on his bow

Dedicated to all the breaking hearts

The winds and trees create their own song

Sounds of sweet sorrow all 'round

Faded hopes, submerging inner lust

Life slowly decays

As the last.

Beat.

Sounds.

She Was Beautiful in the Quiet Way that Lonely, Unnoticed People Are Beautiful to Those Who Notice Them

My hair as dark as I feel sometimes,
I walk around with my life in a locket.
My locket is all that I know.
All feelings and secrets I hold dear dangle from a single threaded necklace.
Each day I add something new,
something is taken away.
I'm constantly changing
I can't remember who I was yesterday
or if I was yesterday at all.
Living silently among the throngs
I desire the company of few.


Clutching my locket I retreat to my world
It's the only place I truly enjoy, for now.
Here I can just... Be.
This is where I open the locket
its contents spilling over and under my thoughts.
Memories, dreams, everything I have ever felt is here.
Laying by the stream inside me I want to bring him here,
Should I? He's seen it in part, but
what will he think of this place of my creation?
Un jour. Un jour, il verra.


As the locket halves close I drift away from my world
returning to the crowded place I was.
Opening my eyes I'm swinging again
The wind rushing around my ears,
My raven hair dancing around my head
My lips curve into a smile, on the inside.
I make a pendulum of myself
and I almost forget.
I almost forget I'm not comfortable here.
There's nothing except...


I cling to my necklace willing myself to drift again.
This locket,
It's shaped like a heart,
but mine doesn't look quite like this, I think.

We'll Become Silhouettes

Bored with love, and

its passionless limbs

draping over my head

with the stench of impotence, and

while wearing the same red heart

my soul picked up hitchhiking

in search of serendipity.

Alone in togetherness

strange as it sounds, 

trying to build dreams, but

nothing can tie us together

if our hearts wish to be solitary.

All the vows clichéd

fading away forever

like meaningless words do.

All we've become:

another pair of soulless shadows.

And we wonder why

the roses are dying.

More Than A Prison

There's a girl in the attic locked in with black lies
Her shattered fears only disorient her -
Is this place real? Or is it imagined
Was this forced upon her, did she create it herself?
The longer she stays the more difficult it is to remember -
Who she is, what is this, where is she


The questions are too much - blocked out they become
Wave after suicidal wave consume her leaving her broken on the floor
Each breath making her feel more than she wishes to
Every breath of night touching her bone
The voices, they whisper. Telling her things she would have never said
There's a heart crying out somewhere, faintly familiar


But instead she stays in the attic, she's grown comfortable perhaps
In the depths of her mind something's nagging - something's not quite right
A part of her longs for the day it is free


But what's this? Is that a ray through the curtain?
The dawn of... what? What is this?
Not what she would have thought.
This isn't her wanting what she had
This is wanting something more

Everything has its price, quite cliche isn't it?

But I think it holds true


She didn't lock herself away from the world -
She locked it away from her
The world is a place full of nothing, very little at most
To become separate from the world, she had to remove herself from it
The recreation of self could only be done alone
It's never really over is it?
She will constantly add and take things away
All for what? For herself really
She will always change and remain the same
Trying to be better than what she is
If she can't improve herself,
Well she'd just have to kill herself, won't she?
I know this girl, sometimes too well other times not at all
She is everything and nothing that she wants to be
I suppose I should take responsibility for this girl that is me.

Call It What You May

We're all addicted to something
that one Those few vices, you know?
Of course you do, even if you won't admit it.
You know the one - the one that makes you feel something.
It's not only an escape we seek
We want something to run towards as well.
In a place with so little to give, we take what we can
He wants to stop but doesn't know how
He thinks the things we enjoy will wreck us all
I don't care. It's all I had anyway.
Leave me with the paradise of my powder
Euphoria of my injections
The highs from my smoke
The smell of our choice medication; self-medication
Back and forth he goes
Should I? Shouldn't I?
Tonight? Shall I inhale the smoke?
Should I let the speed run through my veins?
Will I feel the tingle of blow on my gums?
Could play that game and feel no guilt:-
Button, button, who's got the button?
I say fuck what they say
Does it make you happy?
Of course it does
What do they do for you anyway?
This struggle consumes him
Don't give him that look.
For you are no better than he
We all choose our own adventure
(I remember those books as a kid)
Ah yes, when life was simple and
The world was something grand.
I know better now.
I found what takes me away from the ills life passes on
Why don't you?
If it's not something, it's someone and you know it
We laugh at people like you
Those who don't understand
You who don't see -
The very thing you rely on,
Someone else is judging you for.