Monday, October 13, 2008

semalam aku mimpi lim guan eng pasang instrumental "a tribe called quest - scenario" lepas ceramah dia habis, and busta rhymes dalam crowd tengah rap

hopelessness can be loserly or romantic. romanticism associated with hopelessness may not even be romantic at all, in fact it could easily be a wet floor soaked in alcohol with sprinkles of cocaine painting random patterns further abstracted by the mixture of various international colors of divine phuke. it could be a broken man on the ledge shouting abuse at the sky in which his voice will travel to and get lost in the distance as the too faraway intended target moans and groans to the rhythm of a dick possessed by a post-modern specimen with awfully gelled hair. turns out all that he needed to keep himself off the ledge and still on happiness was brylcreem, but losers don't know this, because we are hopeless.

losers could be romantic without being romantic at all. we love to bury ourselves in sofas into our dream world. a world where butterflies have fishes or pussy in laymen's term (lay men, geddit geddit geddit hihi?) (triple animal in one sentence super combo POW POW POW!) that could be penetrated. as we engage we fly across mountains and goats that ram each other head to head. goats wailing annoyingly haunting the whole zoo even when you're facing a supposedly distracting but truthfully-not giant gorilla. DUDE DID YOU READ THAT? I FUCKED A BUTTERFLY LIKE FO REEL, GIDZZAMN. but alas, the butterfly must fly away, why? because i am a romantic loser BUT FUCK THAT I FUCKED A BUTTERFLY! LIKE DEWD REALLY.

i am struggling to stand, not because i can't, but because i'm pretending i can't. lying down in mud made out of stains that come out the butt, struggling to stand up. looking as if i'm making love to gravity. saliva softens the mud a little further, making it more easy, but i'm still struggling. if it's easier why is my struggling becoming harder, easy, because i'm pretending. it has nothing to do with science, logic, or nature.

and then i stop pretending. but i still can't stand up! why! argh! why! BECAUSE I HAVEN'T FOUND THE F.A. CUP ROAD TO WEMBLEY SONG!



life is hard for someone born in the (late uhuk uhm) 80's.

life is hard for someone without a flux capacitor and needs to listen to the fucking f.a. cup road to wembley song without resorting to humming voices in the head.

although there's nothing wrong with voices in the head.

but there's all planets of wrong with alarms in the head.

it's creepy and fucked up. but that's whassup.

i woke up at 7am with a burger in my hand.

you can quote me on that.

i woke up at 7am with a burger in my hand.

it was from yesterday. i fell asleep half-meal i was broken hearted, even ramly couldn't save me from flailing hands calling for my girlfriend when she departed. you cheated on me, and you left me. how could you .. nautica thorn. i thought you were a virgin, but you fucked that random dude in that bangbros van, you must've fucked a lot of others before, blood didn't come out your pussy, whore, you weren't a virgin, you lied, ENGKAU TELAH DITEBUK TUPAI! and you enjoyed it too! you're rubbing it in my face, and it wasn't your nipples so i'm offended! instead it's the dour taste of blatant adultery! and inside a measly van no less! i hate you!

i am the saviour of mankind. i am a man of honor, a man of steel, a man of willpower. i may not be capable of gobling a whole bottle of maple syrup in one go but still, I AM ALL THAT IS MAN!

i will save you the damsel in distress and make you my mistress! you will not whine when i cheat on you because you understand that a man of this stature needs variety in pussy.

i am in actuality none of that and because of this i am all that is hopelessness.

but whatever it is.............



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