Who Said Nuns Dunno How To Party?

Dead People Don’t Text Back, You Know.

Life Lesson #141: Whoever said overworking yourself makes you get over things was one pathetically desperate motherfucker.

Life Lesson #142: Whoever said overworking yourself makes you get over things was one pathetically desperate motherfucker who knew what he was talking about. Life Lesson #143: ‘You can’t jump the tracks we’re like cars on a cable.’

Life Lesson #144: Inhale. Now Exhale. There. Do that a couple of million times a day and you might, just might, feel better. Well, alive feels better, right? Now that I think of it, death probably feels better, because there are no feelings at all. It’s easy. You don’t have to do anything. Not one. Muscles relax, your fist unclenches and everything just stops. People stop. Then they Inhale. And Exhale. And they do that a couple of million times a day, and a couple of million more. You’re in peace and they’re hyperventilating, they’re making up for the couple of million inhalations and exhalations you’re behind on; just till the world gets used to the amount of oxygen you’re saving and water vapour you’re not producing. You were just a prop to complement the atmosphere. Nothing more, but nothing less all the same. Then they inhale, exhale, just a couple of million times this time around. That’s just how the world works. It doesn’t necessarily have to mean anything. It just is.

Life Lesson #145: Whoever said you had to, how do they know, and why should you listen to them in the first place?

Life Lesson #146: “Satellites contain us. Traffic lights control us. Rockets shoot us up into the stars. Letters keep us posted, numbers calculated. Nothing picks us up when we’re down.”

Life Lesson #147: It’s not you who’s drinking the coffee. It’s the coffee that’s drinking you. It’s not you who’s smoking that cig, it’s the cig that’s puffing you into thin air. But then again, so does everything else, at least this time it’s your choice, innit?

Life Lesson #148: Stop twitching, no one can hear it but you.

Life Lesson #149: “Common sense protects us. Everything affects us. To the outside light it’s paradise.”

What’s This About? Why Don’t You Just Read The Damn Thing?

I just wanna lay around and do nothing for a couple of extra millennia. I have tons of stuff to get done that I should’ve been working on during the vacation, and even tho most of the time I had absolutely nothing better to do, I just didn’t do any of em. Not everything tho, I mean, I’m behind on schoolwork but for some reason I’m working on three piano pieces at once. Basta3bat much? I knoooow I know. Meh. You gotta lay back every once in a while anyway. We’re back in the rat race in a couple of days anyhow, and I have no intention to waste the only time I have off just to lower the acceleration with which I inevitably burn out next week. It’s happening anyway, might as well lick as much whipped cream off the cake. That doesn’t sound right.

On an unrelated note, I believe phonetics were invented by a pompous cretin because if discernible is pronounced di’surnubul, why don’t they just fucking write it as they say it? Last time I checked that was the whole point of written language.

Did I tell you how much I like smoked salmon? Well, I do. And it got me thinking – you know since no other fish has that tingy aftertaste than salmon – that maybe people taste different too; to cannibals I mean. Every, sort of, species of fish has a different taste to it, doesn’t it also apply that people taste differently according to race, persona, genes and lineage? Short people genes make you taste slightly richer than tall ones, or maybe  assholes are more of the type that’s way too smelly to eat. I dunno. I reckon I’d taste like sashimi sushi, I’d hate to be tuna. Could the meek ones be sort of like the fillet of the party, all spineless and bland? There’s gotta be some truth about giving someone a piece of your mind other than the actual resulting interaction. Well, you get the picture. Nah?

Oh bite me.

You know, according to the theory of evolution, in a couple of years to come with the amount of office hours and the decreasing hours of actual socializing, man is bound to grow an inflated butt and have a protective epidermis formed on their mouths for lack of usage. Maybe we’d grow extra fingers on typing demand, that’s how amphibians developed you know, you grow hind legs instead of em extra set of flippers. I wonder why we still have an appendix tho, it’s always been there but it’s almost like all the other organs forgot what the hell it’s supposed to be doing in the first place, sort of like a second earlobe. What’s the use of earlobes anyway, they couldn’t have possibly been installed there because you might have thought of piercing it with some shiny sharp object and keeping it there so that the wound doesn’t close up. You know, come to think of it, I’d like to see who the fuck was so commercially-oriented so early on in evolution that they’d go as far as jabbing a metal rod into an flesh extension twice to look slightly better. How could they have known it would even look better? Going out on a limb and punching a hole into a part of your body for accessorizing is just gory. It’s good they thought of it tho, I’d like to get three more on each ear, except that I could never keep a set of earrings for longer than a day. What’s the friggin point anyway? Maybe they even thought of the hole before thinking of earrings, and the earring thing started out when that masochistic prehistoric emo wanted to keep all the old wounds instead of re-opening em every couple of days and keep track of how many times they threw a fit. Rationalize it for me, will ya? If you currently have nothing better to do I’d like you to ‘give me a piece of your mind’ about what the hell the first dude/dudette who thought of piercing was thinking. Oh, and while you’re at it, maybe you can think of what they were thinking using coal millimetres from their absorbent eyeballs or of colouring their eyelashes blue with liquid that doesn’t wash out and makes em stick together and stand on end like pricks. I swear to everything holy – and tasty for that matter – that if you know how body language explains the use of lipstick to improve your outer allure you’ll be more conscious of it than that ketchup stain on your white cashmere cardigan.

A Heartbeat, A Heartbeat, I Need A ..

Life Lesson #140: And then you call upon god.

So Who’s Victoria?

So apparently Victoria’s Secret makes hoodies now, and sweaters. You can feel both sweaty and hot. I wish they didn’t tho, I had a plan to totally bring down knock-offs that don’t properly research and cite brand names. Oh come on, if you have enough time to friggin steal the design, at least do it right. The extra 2 minutes the R&D dude could spend flipping through his notifications could have easily gone through the official website to see which brand they could pin the leaked blueprints on. Apparently he does tho, what a shame. His incompetency would have provided for an excellent waste of time. Meh. Next time I won’t get my hopes too high considering that almost all cyber geeks have Victoria’s secret app and diligently subscribe to the web feeds, eh? Why of course. Stupid me. A stereotypical developer would be an 18-21 year-old no-lifer stuck in a basement with glasses which size and thickness is inversely proportional to how active his social life is and directly proportional to how much time he spends interacting with static charges, buried under a truckload of consoles with a stripper as a background. Ha, how could I miss that?

I need new running pants too. Totally busted mine last fall, but I can’t quite imagine a Victoria’s secret sweat pants without an imprinted lingerie. I dunno, maybe a red thong on top of the actual pants 70’s style? Aaaah. Gotta love those. You can forget about going back home that day tho, so they should totally include some sort of brochure with the route printed on, not to mention charge for the kidnapping transportation and accommodation expenses as well as the fabric and design. I mean, the pimps just gotta have a cut man, it’s only fair.

I need sleep. I’ve been sleeping for 5 hours every couple of days and it’s just not enough. I can’t get myself to fall asleep even tho I’m so friggin sleepy all the time. It helps with blogging tho, because you always get the strangest ideas after hours, it’s kind of Irony’s way of going: “HA! IN YOUR FAAAAAAACE ASSHOLE!”. Like, why aren’t there any bumper stickers for Adha? Why and How could there be a sub-genre called Acid-Jazz if Jazz and Acid are both genres and there’s no sub-genre dubbed Reggae-Salsa or whatever?

So tell me now where was my fault in loving you with my whole heart?

Reactivated.

Yeah, that didn’t take too long. Meh.

Of Bass Clefs And Rehab..

I wonder why all of Yann Tiersen’s work is based on the bass clef. It’s true that he mostly writes waltzes; so it naturally follows that the bass clef is composed of equal monotonic segments giving off a certain sound with the starting tone accentuated, giving off that background generic ‘Valse’ theme, but that’s another story. Anywho, the focus of the piece usually moves from the treble to the bass clef in no time, with all the minimalist work given to the right hand. My dad and I have this theory that he might be left handed, or maybe it’s because most of his work is composed on the accordion, which gives the left hand all of the tuning work? I’m not sure. He’s flipped the tables alright. This is not about mirroring YouTube videos. How the actual sheet is transcribed, if you can read it, you’ll see the tune shifting subtly to the bass clef, having started in the treble clef, with the left hand handling most of the work. It’s quite obvious in “La Valse D’Amelie”. I personally prefer the orchestra version though, but it’s most obvious in solo performances. Even if you don’t know what the hell I’m talking about, if you give a flying fuck, here it is:

 

So, anywho, now that I’ve taken the piano geek out for a walk in the sun, how is everybody? I’m experiencing a severe case of withdrawal. With my Facebook account sporadically deactivated on a bad day, my phone alerting for no calls and my msn appearing offline most of the time. It’s odd how we’ve all become so dependent on a virtual life. It’s not real, it’s an imitation of real, with several factors eliminated from what is supposedly a social media. Talking to someone in person is more intense than talking to them on the phone, and phone is more personal and emotionally-oriented than chatting. The visual aspect is eliminated on the phone just as the auditory one is eliminated online. Social interactions should be audiovisual. And, well, rehabilitation is always good I guess. Withdrawal forces the other aspects to sharpen up a little, we’ve all been a little rusty around the edges because of that, haven’t we? Well.

On a unrelated note, I think we should all start learning Chinese. I mean, come on man, with that rate of economical upper hand the midgets have got, Mandarin’s gonna be next millennia's English. Meh

I Have Deactivated My Facebook Account. I’m Not Sure Why. But I Did.

I Still Hate Mozart Though.

Poof.

It’s really odd how things that used to feel so potent one day could just disappear the next, it’s not quite explainable, verging on borderline tickling bipolar, but anyway. It happens. You don’t even have to try. Or do you? Was it because you tried? I mean, things don’t just lose effect on their own, unless they’re radioactive that is. I think I’ve discovered a new element. I wonder how many half lives this one’s got up its sleeve.

And I’m On My Knees.

Life Lesson #132: ‘And sometimes I get nervous, when I see an open door. Close your eyes, cut the core, clear your heart. Are we human?’

Life Lesson #133: When you’ve hit a new low, then you probably need to format. Obviously a little defragmentation would do you good. Possibly a restore. Did you save a restore point?

Life Lesson #134: Did you lose your head? Then you need to grow one back. Duh.

Life Lesson #135: Maybe you need to go away for a while. Somewhere where nobody exists, nothing resounds and stuff doesn’t make sense in the first place. Because, well, because:

Life Lesson #136: Let me tell you what I think are pretty good ideas. Cave man week experiment, cutting off all access to technology till your head stop contacting people off national boundaries and maybe, just maybe, till you can manage to make your own sense instead of swallowing it. Readily digested time-forwarding serums don’t work when you’ve lived the time you’ve fast-forwarded and can’t remember anything that you said or did because you weren’t  really there to see it, being telepathically off national boundaries. Worse yet, when you’re actually back, people hate you for things you don’t know have happened. Pretty therapeutic dope, eh? You’re not supposed to get it, so don’t try and re-read. More good ideas? Dancing. After all, we’re not human, that rules one out.

Life Lesson #137: Stop saying things you mean, maybe you should learn to start lying for a change. Lying makes people happy, gets em off your back. Honesty sucks, you know that right? Because, well, if you’re the only honest one then you might as well have been walking on truth serum and everybody enjoys seeing you with an installed lie detector. Freak shows aren’t in anymore, so you gotta learn to keep pace with the parade. It’s part of growing up after all.

Life Lesson #138: Long sentences make for short memory spans coupled with a little, just a little, lazer-enhanced hindsight, because after all, How do you know what’s real and what’s not? You don’t.

Life Lesson #139:

Cut The Core.

Life Lesson #131: ‘Send my respects to grace and virtue, send my condolences to good. Give my regards to soul and romance, they always did the best they could. And so long to devotion, you taught me everything I know. Wave goodbye, wish me well. You’ve gotta let me go.’

Clingy, Creepy, Annoying And A Nuisance.

Life Lesson #130: There’s only so much one can fuck up. Then it’s irreparable, and then the best way to say I’m sorry is to leave because after all you’ve been enough of a pain. I’ve heard what I do to you when your voice cracked. Tell me how to make it right again.

There’s No Saving Anything, Now We’re Swallowing The Shine Of The Sun.

What makes you think I’m enjoying being led to the flood? We got another thing coming undone. And it’s taking us over.

You Desired My Attention, But Denied My Affection.

Why Does There Always Have To Be A Title?

Let me tell you what’s on my mind without telling you what’s actually going on, which is something I like to do to all manners of unsuspecting people just for the rush of it. Not that big on sharing, which is ironic since I have a blog, but ask yourself, what do you really know? Exactly. There’s this oh so plausible loophole of an option which gives every person the right to treat other people as incapable of memory retention unless for keeping track of things to use when they’re trying to get back at you for that, I dunno, friggin crunchy you took and never gave back, thus ineligible for being implemented as ones in normal day-to-day situations, which means you’ll have a ton of people to talk to and actually hang out with, but use for time-wasters. More of wanting supplements of a Rubik’s cube you’ve been hiding from a certain 6-year-old with a tantrum on a planet where it’s illegal to punch kids.

The worst thing you could actually do to yourself is to tell people how you feel. Be so fucking hard to see through that they’d consider using you for upgraded bulletproof vests and you’ll be fine. You see, telling them what you think is cool, because the thinking is a body of its own that can talk back and defend itself, formulate for later modifications and well..boggle their fucking minds out of their skull so much that they’ll revert to the ‘what-the-hell-made-me-give-a-fuck-in-the-first-place’ phase and leave you the hell alone as they should have. But feelings, naww man. Never been good with those, always inserting the wrong jokes with the wrong phrasing at exactly the wrong time. Not a good idea to project something you’re not that good at handling, because if they get mishandled/manhandled without you knowing how the hell to handle them yourself, then maybe it’s not the best idea having them permanently built-in. You’d think people would have invented dischargeable feelings by now. Something along the lines of emotional condoms. Bleh. You’d also think they wouldn’t have time to invent the latter without working on the former. Well isn’t the human race just a great disappointment. Where are all the jetpacks people? I wanted one of those when I was 10 for when I was 12. I like the back of my chair tho, it revolves, leans to the sides and corresponds to your weight as it slightly gets pushed back, supporting you nonetheless.Too good to be true, must’ve been invented by aliens. Well, it’s a good compromise for the jetpack. The human race is not a disappointment after all, for something to be a disappointment it means that it actually tried, putting forward the effort. Humanity doesn’t give a fuck, so it doesn’t qualify.

I have a long day tomorrow, but for the first time in sometime and shortly after I decided that maybe falling out with some people isn’t such a bad idea after all. I’ve reverted to the cocoa-sipping, 6-am lounging not-giving-a-flying-fuck-about-having-to-wake-up-early-enough-tomorrow-to-manage-studying-and-droos-with-actually-having-enough-sleep-involved-in-the-equation me. Well. Nah. You need to unplug once in a while, from everyone and everything. And that while is an indefinite amount of time set aside for rehabilitation purposes only. There are some people you are supposed to let go, however hard that maybe because the people you love talking to don’t love you back and the people who claim they love you are boring fucks.

I’ll be 18 in a couple of months. It’s slightly unsettling. You’re admitted into the adult world shot full of hormones in a kid’s body and the experience of a goldfish. It’s not that tho, it’s the actual listening. You see, when you’re the kid, nobody actually listens to you. It gets in your hair as a kid, yes, but when everybody starts listening to you all of a sudden and you’re not that big on the whole mass-talk corundum, it holds the structural similie of playing your digital drum set with your stethoscope. You’ll get your ear-drums ruptured and it’s not likely that you’ll sound good doing it because it’s a million to one chance you’ll have made an idiot out of yourself so early into it that it doesn’t even count as a decent trial. But well, looking like an idiot is probably the most cited on your CV, so I’ll just stick with the actual outcome argument and I’m set.

Common Misconceptions about Night People.

Citation: http://www.vic.com/~nlp/np-miscn.htm

We're insomniacs.

No way. We aren't trying to get to sleep.

We're unhappy.

Only when we're not allowed to follow our natural schedule.

We have a medical problem.

We're as healthy as most, and more than some. For instance, you won't find us getting skin cancer from too much sunbathing.

We're weird.

Who's calling who weird?

The Bozo Boss Misconception: We're lazy, dishonest, and trying to fool everyone because we want credit for working at night but we don't actually do it.

This is an evil misconception. It doesn't just show a lack of respect for our natural body rhythms, it says we're liars, frauds... Employers always seem to feel this way, even when we're doing the kind of work that can be measured somehow. All I can say to these people is: Have you ever observed a Night Person at work during his or her peak time? After you've sat up with one of us and seen how productive we are, say that again.

We think we're vampires or have some other kind of odd self image.

Do you think you're the sun god Amon-Ra just because you're a Day Person?

We're criminals who use the excuse of staying up late to cover our crimes.

Sure, and all the people who are up in the daytime are law-abiding citizens. Crimes are ONLY committed at night.

We're hooked on caffeine.

It doesn't take coffee and coke to keep US up!

The only reason we stay up late is to go to bars, cavort, and party.

Sure, we like it as much as the next guy, but don't blame us just because we're always the last to leave!

We're delinquents and degenerates.

How do you know? Do you follow delinquents and degenerates around at night? If you do, what's YOUR problem?

Dear Cyber Space,

You’ve kept me sane. I’m inclined to admit to you that with everybody else choosing another person, country, dimension or, worse, life; you’ve been quite a sweetheart.

Truly, Who gives a fuck.

There’s No Saving Anything.

Call Me A Nutto, But I Believe it.

My fish. We believe he was feeling lonely and probably having nightmares, so we put a mirror next to the bowl.

This is not a joke.

It was my dad’s idea. The mirror. I think my fish believes he has a new friend and they hang out most of the day. It’s amazing how it’s the only spot he chooses to sleep. The fish, not my dad. You have to see it to believe it.

Every Night.

You can underestimate it, but it’s good company that keeps you from going nuts. Even if you were a fish. I wrote about this before I took the picture, and then I walked to the bowl Knowing, just knowing, that it’s where he’ll be.

Coincidence?

Younger Now Than We Were Before.

I almost did it today. I almost said it. But they can’t know. Never. Not ever. I’d rather suck up and handle it, even if it means I crumble for a million years to come. It’s not Black and White. Not with this. This has to be Gray. So I can still breathe.

Never.

What Am I Supposed To Say When I’m All Choked Up That You’re Ok.

This Is My December.

Life Lesson #120: Today I lied to someone I love to protect someone I care about. I’ve never had to do that before, and yes I’m telling the truth. Lying is practical, kinda like privacy settings. On the other hand, some people aren’t wired to handle the truth, and can only function when everything is pleasantly blurred. Others don’t deserve the truth, because they have no place of control in your life, and knowledge is power. Bottom line is, I learned to lie, and I now believe that it’s a manipulative trick that everybody should master. When it comes to using it, you’ll know the right time. Gray areas aren’t that bad after all, as long as the gradient is directed the right way.

Life Lesson #121: You can’t be comfortable stepping out of your comfort zone, or else you wouldn’t be stepping out of it in the first place. Duh.

Life Lesson #122: “A kind word can warm three winter months” – Japanese Proverb. And it can blur years ahead. Which is better. And worse. Depending on how you look at it.

Life Lesson #123: “My God, amazing that we got this far. It’s like we’re chasing all those stars, who’s driving shiny big black cars”.

Life Lesson #124: “Love of mine, someday you will die, but I’ll be close behind, I’ll follow you into the dark. No blinding light, or tunnels to gates of white, just our hands clasped so tight, waiting for the hint of a spark.”

Life Lesson #125: “Roxanne, you don’t have to wear that dress tonight.”

Life Lesson #126: The little things. It’s always the little things.

Life Lesson #127: He’s alive. A month later. That’s good. Better than nothing. And no, not that nothing. I mean that other nothing, with nothing after it. My fish is dying though. Or having nightmares. “Beera”, my fish, is bolting around the bowl for no reason at all. You see, fish don’t usually do that, unless you wake them up that is, but I don’t do that. 7ram. It’s bad enough that they don’t have eyelids. Karma can get a wee bit immature trying to settle the odds.

Life Lesson #128: Seas nake. Intended.

Life Lesson #129: My December.

Want A Job?

I’m hiring assassins, someone who can do it fast though. Not that picky about the painless part. Send your CVs in this week. Don’t miss the opportunity.

I Don’t Really Like My Flow, No, So..

Invariable Fact Of Life.

A text after 12 has dead people in it. RIP. Here’s to hoping a better place exists beyond the radio waves.

You Oxymoron.

Words are easy. You gape at confrontational people, and miss the ones who actually do it. Words are way too easy. They make people cringe and give you the rush, but they’re not worth a dime. They’re words. You fling them at people because they don’t stick.