'tis winter indeed...

the winter evening settles down, with smell of steaks in passage ways...

winter has hit us finally and unfortunately. it reminds me of the PRELUDES (TS Eliot). well, the winter that is the season, and the winter that my life has reached. quite interesting, saddening, dull, cold, etc. the only good part about winter is that in not so long a time we will be in spring...

adios. i miss blogging.

i am bitter! i am bitter! i am bitter!

well, at least i think i am. many reasons. but they all essentially boil down to one root cause: women. we love them so much, however, they are too damn cruel. some of them without realising. but cruel all the same. we men can also....

ag fuck it. i am bitter! and i'm sticking to it...

-S.

i love song...

here be the Waters of March. purely deep. i purely love.

A stick, a stone, it's the end of the road
It's the rest of a stump, it's a little alone
It's a sliver of glass, it is life, it's the sun
It is night, it is death, it's a trap, it's a gun
The oak when it blooms, a fox in the brush
A knot in the wood, the song of a thrush
The wood of the wind, a cliff, a fall
A scratch, a lump, it is nothing at all
It's the wind blowing free, it's the end of the slope
It's a beam it's a void, it's a hunch, it's a hope
And the river bank talks of the waters of March
It's the end of the strain
It's the joy in your heart
The foot, the ground, the flesh and the bone
The beat of the road, a slingshot's stone
A fish, a flash, a silvery glow
A fight, a bet the range of a bow
The bed of the well, the end of the line
The dismay in the face, it's a loss, it's a find
A spear, a spike, a point, a nail
A drip, a drop, the end of the tale
A truckload of bricks in the soft morning light
The sound of a shot in the dead of the night
A mile, a must, a thrust, a bump,
It's a girl, it's a rhyme, it's a cold, it's the mumps
The plan of the house, the body in bed
And the car that got stuck, it's the mud, it's the mud
A float, a drift, a flight, a wing
A hawk, a quail, the promise of spring
And the river bank talks of the waters of March
It's the promise of life, it's the joy in your heart
A stick, a stone, it's the end of the road
It's the rest of a stump, it's a little alone
A snake, a stick, it is John, it is Joe
It's a thorn in your hand and a cut in your toe
A point, a grain, a bee, a bite
A blink, a buzzard, a sudden stroke of night
A pin, a needle, a sting a pain
A snail, a riddle, a wasp, a stain
A pass in the mountains, a horse and a mule
In the distance the shelves rode three shadows of blue
And the river talks of the waters of March
It's the promise of life in your heart
A stick, a stone, the end of the road
The rest of a stump, a lonesome road
A sliver of glass, a life, the sun
A knife, a death, the end of the run
And the river bank talks of the waters of March
It's the end of all strain, it's the joy in your heart

-S.

the key is within...

kajdf akjdfka lkoeiwr qeuer mdnf k er odkjsa fle oerkjd kloe! dksjakf odhgnjb ppekjs wiusdfkj we kja ere? lskjro eald ghwpqa ldsdfljwp... niht ksjdfn oaiehr nlksdor lkjaow s ldkweo rlskd wesp lkdf? kjdfeo? adkjfe!!! ksdjfeoi, kdfk. e dksf er adf dfd k sdf klkjre lkd kloeik lo!

-S.

i don't really like Lira but...

I just wanna feel good everyday
I wanna wear smile upon my face
I wanna feel the joys of the day
I wanna feel alight in every moment
Said I won't wast time on feeling blue
I won't waste time on things I cannot change
I'm gonna live this day as best as I can
Doing everything that feels right

Singing la la la lala la

I wanna hear the laughter of a child
I wanna feel the hug from a loving friend
I wanna hear "I love you" every now and then
I wanna show somebody that I care
Cause feeling good is a choice that we all make
Just like a smile is a small effort you make
I love to feel the nudeness of a brand new day
Happy to be alight today

Singing la la la lala la

-S.

a sequence of uneasy events...

lately, it has become difficult to keep up with the blogging. not just the blogging. life. work. and everything else. i find it difficult to have fun. you know, like i used to. i find it difficult, in fact - annoying, to believe that i am still an ordinary person. i find it difficult to even drink. i tried alles. wine. beer. vodka. brandy. whiskey. fuck, none of them seem to go down well. not like they used to. i hate traffic. i hate coming back from work tired. i hate waking up early in the morning. i, i, i hate the fact that general life has become so [un]characteristically challenging. what is life? a journey? to where? fuck it! lemme sleep.

i am not angry. i am just finding it difficult.

-S.

[no title]

"Everytime I see you I squeeeeze you like you my teddy bear baby"

-S.

+vity

it's been two months. well, almost. the 26th of December has been a long time away -- that's an aside. oh, and i didn't know what to post on this post until i started it. and then it hit me:

Birds flying high
You know how I feel
Sun in the sky
You know how I feel
Reeds driftin' on by
You know how I feel
It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life
For me
And I'm feeling good

enough said.

-S.

i love you, but you are arguably the most challenging thing that has ever happened to me...

i feel like a girl.

i have exposed myself wholly and now i feel so bare and vulnerable and ... and i am finding myself in this stupid emotional rollercoaster and ... and i know that my feelings towards her are at their meanest depth but fuck, why has things turned out this way vele? why am i so unstable? why am i feeling like this? why am i even asking these questions? why? why? fuckin' why? sometimes i wish that i could just erase all the bits and patches in my memory that lead me into feeling this way. sometimes i wish that my DNA could have been encoded somewhat differently. sometimes i just wish that i cared less than i actually do. sometimes i wish that i was not this jealous. am i jealous or do i just care too much? either way, fuck it!

i hate me when me is like this.

-S.

"you're an idiot sometimes you know that?"

---
id·i·ot [id-ee-uht] –noun
1. an utterly foolish or senseless person.
2. Psychology. a person of the lowest order in a former classification of mental retardation, having a mental age
---

call me an idiot, but not to my face. and make sure that i do not find out. period. for if i do, shit, i will not be happy about it. probably forever. as it stands, i remember all the people (2) that have, in my lifetime, called me (either to my face, or i found out) some variation of idiot. it really, truly hurts. especially since i cannot, in both instances, substantiate they calling me what they called me. and worse of all, recovery is never really 100%. with me at least. sometimes i hate the fact that i can dwell on certain issues forever. perhaps i should work on that. but i can't see me working through being called idiot. i don't know how to... i can forgive yes, but forgetting is a long shot.

-idiot.