Wednesday, March 25, 2009

its on.

Every time she moves a muscle in her sleep, he kisses any certain part of her body.
Like she is being rewarded for being her beautiful, sleeping self. Rewarded for dreaming, for stealing the blanket, for ...
And so goes this game. night after night after night after night after night.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

She stood holding the door shut long after he was gone. Long after his footsteps faded on the gravel and the engine revved into gear and sped away.
There was room for no more. He couldn't get in.
'I'm sorry' she said to the silent night that was her only witness.

Friday, March 20, 2009

interstellar gender warrior

Right now, at this very moment, everything seems slightly more bearable. It could be because its the first day of Spring, or the fact that I will never stop loving Radiohead, or how my house will always be full of encyclopedias for my kids, or just that I know everything will be ok in the end. Even though its the end, and we don't know when or how it will come, we hope against all hope that it will bring a new beginning. So maybe we're all not struggling for the perfect finish, but for a chance at a perfect start.

Thursday, March 19, 2009

boys will be boys

Zh* says:
oh my god so many of my friends think you're gorgeous
Zh* says:
i mean, i know i think so, didn't know sooo many people shared my opinion
mr bum fun. says:
awesomeeee when can i hook up with them?
Zh* says:
Zh* says:
whenever you come down, jaan meri
mr bum fun. says:
Zh* says:
and i showed one your photography and she was like 'man, if only i wasn't dating jesse...'
mr bum fun. says:
wait do you even have any hot friends?
Zh* says:
...fuck you
Zh* says:
i have friends with personalities acha
Zh* says:
you can stop being shallow now, you're still the class 8 ka nerd.
mr bum fun. says:
yeah but i cant put my wee wee in their personalities now can i
Zh* says:
Zh* says:
omg i love you so much
mr bum fun. says:
aw <3

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

some day in March 09

What do you do when you think its too late to mend your ways? To be forgiven for your mistakes? Modern day Kitty closes the frosted glass door, with failed force. Almost a hundred years later, and we're stuck in the same rut.
My greatest fear my love, is losing you. A man of complacent virtue, a truer man I have not see. But since when has a woman ever loved a man for his virtue? We coexist in parallel universes, my love. I fear I have walked too far ahead of anything that maybe was. I feel your outstretched hand through my leathered glove, and it all seems perfect. Is it? Am I enough? Is this really all you want? When I cry, my dear, it is not for the mistakes we've made, or that the movie hit too close to home, or that you really might not love me as much as I think you do. I cry because I feel you love me far too much, and that in the end I won't be able to stand upright the day they're burying you in the ground.

Wednesday, March 04, 2009

quantum dots

Shiny shoes and funky buttons won't really get you anywhere in life, mister. She fans her disease-ridden face, a master at one-liners. The bracelet that is meant to ward off the evil eye had a pretty static effect. Her gaze is fixated on the dry gum some idiot very idiotically stuck on the side of her table. In, then out of focus. Textured, then blurry pink. 'Fudgesicles' she says to no one in particular. Sound waves carry words only she can hear. Spring time sprouts to bring folksy melodies and husky voices that make way too much sense to her confounded senses.
Forget those distances
Those helpless nights
For I am here now.

current mood: Venn Diagram- Lisa Hannigan

Tuesday, March 03, 2009

Imaginary Friend

She stretches lithely on her bed as he watches on, nervous fingers twitching in doubt. She allows him enough leeway to witness from afar, but that's about it. She watches him squirm in his chair, as cigarette smoke bellows out of her mouth in flowery prose. She is your average psychotic, secret-keeping artist. Enough laughter to close in a cookie jar and enough tears to feed a town. Later she squints in the mirror. Her boobs beg to pop out of her bra but her face remains slim and fresh. She likes to walk around in her underwear. It makes her feel skimpy and free, and no one's really watching anyway. Her eyes are surrounded by premature wrinkles that will tell magnificent tales later on in life, and her hair plays it cool in the winter. Bold purple letters cover some parts of the walls, spelling out important things because purple is her favorite color.
'Gnarly Barley', she says out loud and giggles.
The music changes, the mood shifts, she's running out of dull colors to describe misery with.

Monday, March 02, 2009


bohot bullshit ho gayi hai.
i don't want to write anymore.