TeoEe ♥

Wednesday, February 29, 2012

It is so late at night. it's 11pm.

I havent stayed up this late since school, because work gets me sleepy by 10pm, although i sometimes lie on my bed past 12 to 9gag to sleep.

i find it so hard to write now.

i feel like i need somewhere to start anew.

I've never liked working on mistakes to make them better.

when my room is messy, i yearn for a new room in which i can start living "neatly" in;

when i paint a piece and it strays from what i had meant it to be, i opt for a fresh canvas;

when i write an essay and it starts to sound clumsy, i choose a new topic to write on.

for me, it has never been about improving.

i don't quite believe in that, you know.

every line erased is an erased line. the line is not exactly gone, it's just hidden underneath the erasing.

can you imagine it?

nothing in life is ever backspaced, it's just overlapped with other stuff.

i read a book about schizophrenia.

it's called A Blue So Deep.

i don't know what else to say, although there is a lot that i have to express.

i think I've lost touch with myself.

i used to be more interested in me.

who i am, how i behave, what my values are, what i mean to others etc.

i used to know what i was good at.

now i feel blunt

like Ive been knocked around too many times and i don't have a shape anymore but I'm not free, I'm just shapeless, but i still have a form that inhibits me.

my language has suffered since school.

i don't like working.

i get more stupid every day that i spend doing robotic tasks.

i find it annoying that i don't blog in proper English but still, i continue the deed.

i apologise, although i am not sorry enough to stop.

i used to do quizzes. lame personality quizzes for GiRls*~!

i think they're better for showing you how you see yourself, rather than who you are.

IMO, that's a more valuable input so i don't regret spending hours checking boxes that ask me how I'd like to spend my weekends:

a) reading a book by the beach

b) partying

People often make it sound as though when creativity dies, it leaves the said person an empty shell or a faint outline of who he or she had been before.

many books I've read have given me that impression, but i disagree with it.

When something dies, it doesn't just leave.

It rots and falls apart, and its immediate surroundings become stained with the stench of...dead terrapins.

have you ever smelt one?

it's funny, i smell it quite often. its as though i have a dead terrapin pressed between my nose and lips. like how we used to balance pencils on our faces in primary school.

creativity is best personified as a child. or at least, it seems so, because the last time i had thought myself to be imaginative, i had been a child.

Her death had been ugly, and the black is still spreading inside me.

i feel dirty.

i want to keep myself exhaling so as to expel all the tar in my lungs

but we all know that smokers cant rid themselves of all that sludge.

it just stays there forever.

i sound like the schizophrenic in that book, although i don't think I'm a schizo.

I'm not Van Gogh enough to go nuts.

van gogh hadn't smelt that terrapin, you see.

i hope no one would think I'm crazy.

i just need to talk like this every once in a while, if not i'll get too overwhelmed by all the logic in the world.

Its a newton law.

something that goes along the lines of 'for every reaction, there is an equal and opposite force acting upon it".

i think my quote has gone wrong somewhere...i dont know if i can use "force" like that because its been too long since i've done physics. i do recall that its f=ma though.

i just need to do this before i sleep it off and wake up a perfectly rational person again.

goodnight.

Drakon