In The Streets of New York

So how was your night? Wednesday nights are always .. like wednesday nights, what does it mean exactly? .. exactly. Fucking dots. I slept this evening, so I can probably sleep late although I have to wake up in the morning. Mathematics has allowed some reckless sleeping, as if I know how to count.

I would like to talk about love, or women. Ladies. Girls. Pussies. Punani. Puncture below stomach. Female specimen. Lolitas. Minah. Perempuen. Wanita. Etc. Etc. Etcunt.

Erm. I have been having this thought for quite a long time - I've never known a female specimen, that I just gotta have, that I must have. I've had quite a few crushes in my lifetime, all look-based, I'm shallow right (in a question mark manner), no I'm not, oh yes I am. But I understand that when it comes to what you want - no use not being shallow, but what you need? Being shallow will only hurt you. Whatever that means. I didn't know most of my crushes too well, some of them, yes, some are douchebags, some are okay a.k.a so-so. Once the novelty wore off they're just pieces of meat.

Love is like a pig, I don't know what it tastes like.

At least with a pig, you know it's a pig, love? Hmm. The closest I probably got to it was my first relationship, a demented one, heaven to hell. But I know it was all a fraud. I know if she wasn't at least a bit good looking I'd probably not give a solitary fuck. Not that she's hot. She barely had ass or tits. She had pointy ears, small tongue, very very thin, she's almost like a child, do I find this attractive? Am I a pedo? I can surely smile like one. Well, she had a pretty face, that's all. What my friends would call "tak malu bawak jalan". At least. That's one.

Two, she was impossibly nice. Someone who loves you does not act like this. She's hardly jealous, highly sporting, followed me to watch 90 minutes of football - and I'm not talking about hot sweaty italian or latino man running away from each other - this is Malaysia vs. Indonesia, she's willing to talk about anything, and, uh well, she's basically perfect - like the virgins promised for suicide bombers.

Turns out as I might have pointed out earlier in this blog, she was a massive playa. Let's get back to this "But I know it was all a fraud.". I actually didn't know, and was only in full realization way later - in other words, now. Then? I totally didn't see anything coming, I was naive, I didn't understand the concept of women, I didn't know enough women. Once I started through the "rebound" phase I got to know and learnt a lot, I even faked love so convincingly I convinced myself. Now is there magic in love? I felt magic with playa gurl, or setan kecik as I fondly referred to her after the fiasco known as me trying to find her.

Magic? That's what I felt, that's probably why I said she's probably the closest I've come to the four letter word. Despite the relationship hanging on a piece of thread in the form of slightly good looks, I must've at least loved her made-up character. And the feeling albeit fake of someone like that loving you, and giving a fuck about you more than any other cockballs, is magic.

Then the rebound era. Where my shallowness reached a new high. And all magic that has expanded inside love giving it lovely strech marks - went missing, a dour taste in the mouth creeping in. I was good natured enough not to be as evil as the small devil, but still it didn't feel good. So, basically confusion is what this is about, I don't know, the fuck. What the fuck is love? Was magic ever a part of it? I'm sure it is, look at all these muthafuckaz in love, there must be some kind of magic. I miss that magic.

But truthfully, as I've said, I've never really known anyone that I just gotta have. Is this good or not? In a way I think it's good, cause the older you are the stronger your defence mechanism is. Imagine knowing someone you just gotta have early in life only to not be able to have it, that would hurt like a mufucka. Of all my crushes, the first one was the one I know least about, she's probably pretty cool despite her beauty. Yes I am a bit prejudiced, beautiful girls are vain and have no personality - irony will prove me wrong. I am ugly with no personality, irony is smiling like a wiseman at me - irony wants me to have a beauty with personality. Unless I wake up tomorrow looking like Johny Depp and acting like *insert some dude with personality*, irony will keep smiling at me. Irony will be on my side. Irony will keep nodding sluggishly at me. Haha. What the fuck.

Anyway back to the slightly emotional bullshit. If I ever get to know someone I just gotta have, will I climb out of my cocoon? Out of my comfort zone, my bed, laptop and hard disk with entertainment in abundance. My once pink now light green cave. Will I try to grab that shit I just gotta have, forget social understanding's disagreements with me and just straight fly out like a mufucka and I repeat, grab that shit?

What would she be like? I must have "taste", I mean you know she's my taste, she's not my taste typa "taste". But irony does not give a fuck about "taste", and life swings irony in and out as she pleases, now that's a fancy way of saying you never know what's gonna happen. Shit is unpredictable. So I basically never had requirements. Though I know it'd be cool to have someone who's not so beautiful to you generally but has something you see that no one else does, can cook, can wash, can do house work, can wash baby's shit .. okay sorry ladies that's too much to ask, can at least midly do some shit women always do. But well like I said, you don't know how love works, can't control it, can't do shit, it'll invade your ass like computer viruses and trojans and spywares and malwares and whatever, the difference being your ass is non-formattable. Fucking hell.

Well technically it is formattable, ever wonder how it would be like to lose memory? Fuck you can't, cause once you lose memory you'd have forgotten that you were wondering. If the pure scientists are right, if after we die we just rot away. What would it feel like to not exist? Fucking hell. This is contributing fuck all to whatever I intended this post to be about.

Curiousity, the gift and the curse. Curiousity can be a force. The beauty of not knowing what true love will be like lies in the hope that I will one day. If I don't then I hope us God fearing barbarians are right and wrong. Right that there's a heaven, and wrong that I'll end up in hell. For I will end up in heaven and live again on earth, to enjoy love and lust. Jealousy is an addiction. Being sorry for yourself feels good, admit it. Jealousy can hurt so bad. Is this dull phase better than feeling anything at all whether heartbreak or heartcum. See how I used the word "heartcum", by cum I mean you know, squirt, white thingy, haha. hihi. huhu. Man I betta sleep. Can I auto pilot through tomorrow? I hate work, I hate meetings, there's a lotta things I wanna auto pilot through.

Oh God help me. Help me.

Why do I see through all this bullshit infesting earth right now. Why do I not see a point to it. It hurts to have to put a semblance of effort into something you don't give a fuck about. I hate it. It doesn't feel right. It feels very very wrong. Very very wrong. I needed to stress that.

I need to develop a new defence mechanism. Before I leave this garden of not so eden for the real deal, I'll be half human half robot. And I don't know for sure at least now, if the human half would achieve anything other than developing the other half.