Confused-Shoes

watch me in self destruct mode.

I grew up believing that there must be something right and something wrong with every person. Good points, bad points, advantages, disadvantages, selling points, faults, everything. A stable personality may then be defined as the balance of good and bad in everyone of us.

Bottomline, then, it will all be a matter of wearing the right garments to show what we want displayed and hide what we do now want other people to see.

I am naked.

Exposed to the bone, I neither could hide nor show. Eyes don’t discriminate, especially when the showtime is on. Spectacles attract people just as how blood entices sharks. Bloody fool am I for being so brave when I have nothing on. What a gorgeous feast.

I tell what I want, and I could not retrain myself. And I wrongly express my sentimentalities, I blurt out my fetishes, and I sing stupid songs. I read stupid books. I could not handle phone calls despite my training.

Im stressed, depressed, just recently confessed, obsessed, and have greatly digressed.

Tonight I will make a vow to be better, to change, be valiant, be strong, and be normal.

Tomorrow morning it’ll all just be the same. I will fall in love, lose money, listen to sad songs, read silly books, smoke and drink, miss my friends, suck at work, and remain different.

*irate caller*

dss=deplorablestatesyndrome -code for the condition that pertains to a state of existence where subject is in the middle of a potential extremely precarious emotional situation, characterized by growing lots of white hair, losing bangs, lip-bleeding, blisters and abrasions in the area of the wrist, pimples, urination and excretion problems, excessive burping and hiccups that occur once every tow days, aneurism-like symptoms, bloodshot eyes, noticeable decrease in focus and concentration, engaging in self-talk in crowded elevators, coffee-addiction, and a neglect in physical appearance. General disregard for socially accepted norms and behaviors are most likely to follow after three weeks, and an escalation to Greaseman’s Psychosis usually follows. Former girlfriends are advised to prepare themselves to a very tedious and annoying series of nostalgia from the afflicted during final two weeks of existence, (please contact police for aggresive behavior, never mind medical aid) and death would usually follow after the subject has decided for himself that he has been humiliated enough. Please play Jason Mraz’s You and I Both during wake (looped, continuous playback, repeat forever) and play Radiohead’s No Surprises during funeral. Don’t bother looking subject in heaven. Doomed to be in hell.

Dance, deliberately dance, o dancing devil delirious as a drunken damsel in distress. Destroy my deliberate denouncement of destiny as a detrimental destination. Deliver me down to the depths of despair and desolateness and deprive me of dramatic dreams.

Why am I poor? I did not inherit poverty, for I inherited nothing. Why am I short? Genetics. Why am I saying this? Why am I ranting? (like a madman, forever making reference to Monica Anne) Am I in misery? I think I am insane. I think I am full of shit today, as yesterday, as tomorrow.

The place that cradled me in my youth is burning. I am no longer safe in the womb of innocence. I am on the edge of absudity bordering on the repulsive. There are two many images of pussies in my head. The world is high on a substance too expensive for me to have. I am lost, I am lost. I am lost. I am lost.

(sum up your life in one sentence) My life is an endless stream of cigarettes and paranoiac dreams.

Is Cutty Sark better than Jack Daniels? Padilla or Cuervo? Napoleon or Carlos Uno? Hennesy or Dom Perignon?  Johnny Walker keeps on walking, Remy Martin tries to play stupid cupid. I smoke another stick of Gudang Garam. No, it does not have marijuana.

Geez.