twatastic

I guess everyone gets to this point at some stage. Some people realise it early on, but try hard to hide it, and for others it can take an entire lifetime, and it is only until you realise how alone you really are that you see what was staring you in the face the whole time.

Basically, everyone has the potential to be a douchebag. Dickhead. Twat. Whatever unsavoury term you want to call it. And I know people always make analogies about potential saying everyone is a bottle full of it that just needs to be opened, and I honestly don't know how the whole thing works, but I think it's just that everyone is born with a bit of "twat" in them.

For some people, it comes naturally. Others often need a bit of encouragement from their peers, and bang! They transform into something you would never wish your hypothetical child to be let out on the street with.

I was going to make this into a full-on rant but I got distracted for an hour or so and forgot what I was going to say....

But anyway. Just don't let yourself get used. Because no matter what, there are some things you just can't take back. Some moments that you won't be able to get out of your head no matter how hard you try to obliterate them.

and i am done with my graceless heart, so tonight i'm going to cut it out and then restart.

And when it's over, and it's gone
You almost wish you could have all that bad stuff back
So that you could have the good.

maybe she tries hard to fix other people's messy lives.

what about her? her own messy life? who'll fix that?

i'm still trying to find my feet, and work out which promises to keep

knowing you should say hello but not being able to find the words to say it

:)

when she was just a girl, she expected the world

the sun must set to rise.

This post is dedicated to my best friend. I would say you were my rock, but to tell the truth, you're more like my helium balloon. Yes, I know this was meant to be a birthday post, but let's face it, that was months ago and in light of yesterday’s celebrations I couldn't help but reflect on a multitude of things. But anyway, Happy Birthday! However belated it is - it's the thought that counts, right? And to make up for being such a terrible person I'm going to try to make you cry instead. (Irony?) Here's hoping it works.

Words can't really express how much you mean to me, but here I am, using words to do just that.

Basically, I can’t imagine my life without you. As cheesy as it sounds, it’s true, and I realised it all yesterday when the balloons went up and everyone was hugging and crying as if it were the end of the world. Nobody was crying because they were happy to leave, or because they never wanted to leave. We were all upset because it had taken until now to realise that the wonderful people we had grown up with weren’t always going to be right there, forever there to talk to, to care for and depend on. We realised that at some point, we would have to let them go. And that’s something that nobody wants to accept at any point in their life.

I feel like I’ve known you for such a long time that I can’t remember the point in my life when I didn’t know you existed at all. If I had never changed schools, all I can think of is how empty I’d be. Not knowing what I was missing out on.

Because honestly, I’ve grown up so much since I first came to the school, and I know that a lot of it is due to you. I mean, I’ve made an attempt this year to get on better with, and try to understand my mother for the reason that I’ve seen how well you get on with yours. You’ve let me see the world in a different way, you really have. And a lot of the time I’m still a stuck up prick – and I hate to admit that - but I’m learning.

The way you still put up with me despite how irritating and unnecessarily argumentative or hypocritical I get, how do you do it? If I met me I’d probably have to fight the urge to slap myself in the face every minute or two, no joke.

You are so generous and selfless that it astounds me. The same goes for your daredevil, risk taking nature. It’s as if you’ve seen how life is too short to have regrets, whilst I stand here too scared to do anything because I’ve got so many already.

Like I said, you're my helium balloon, and in the last three years you've lifted me so high into the sky that I can't ever let you go; because if I do, I'll fall.

Essentially, I never want to say goodbye. Because goodbye means the end.

So until I see you again, I’m leaving you this message:

a nagging sense of emptiness.

it's part of me, apart from me.

maybe i have said something that was wrong.

my head is a jungle.

When it's your turn to go, when your time is at its end,
what kind of mark do you want to leave on this world?

And at once I knew I was not magnificent.

And so we're broken.
But maybe, just maybe, we could be fixed.
Is it bad then, that I'm not sure that that's what I want?

baptism.

Eyes closed, head bent, and limbs shaking,
she stands ready;
feeling the menacing and chilling wind
as it spirals around her, on her, through her;
lifting, off the moist earth,
all the leaves and twigs that once had branches to cling to;
trees to call home.

Her feet are bare;
the wet soil slides, snake-like, up between her toes,
and her night-gown, once softer than down, once as stark as fresh snow,
is drawn by the wind, and wraps around her form
trying to pull her with it, leaving her
uncomfortably exposed.

From here on the edge
the water is black, deep, still.
The light of the moon,
creeping through the arms of the aching, dying trees
makes the surface serene and unpenetratable.
And she knows that underneath, the silence will be loud enough
to block out the pounding voices in her mind,
to bring her back, out of the darkness.

So in she goes, feet first, and her hands on her heart,
that beats slower as she goes deeper, and the water gets colder.
The silver chain and cross encircling her neck, buoyed by an unseen force,
seeks to pull her up, and out, not realising that as it does so, it merely tightens.
Tearing it off, she nestles herself into the floor of this world, and waits.

A minute later, when she is still alive,
she can feel, in her blood, an overwhelming sense of belonging.
Finally.
And when she breathes, the world breathes with her.

never let the fire in the lamp burn low.

"Those not busy being born are busy dying." - Bob Dylan

Remember that day, when the leaves crunched between our bare, naked toes and we could feel the earth shift and heave beneath us as we walked, and ran, and jumped? Remember how we felt that day, as if nothing was ever going to change, as if nothing could tear us apart, with that soft, damp breeze whistling through the trees and the sun slowly sinking out of sight? We were like children again, with the promise of tomorrow hovering in the air, waiting for us to catch it, waiting for us to take the one thing that belonged to us. Hope. Hope for more days like this. For new life, new beginnings, for sunsets like fireworks.
And finally, when we lay in the shade, my ear pressed to your heartbeat, you said you had never felt so alive.
I wanted to lie like that forever, just me and you and the whole world.

shed your love.

so i already uploaded this last year, but whatever.

Would it be peaceful?


If I could just be.

If I could merely exist,

as though a river, an ocean,

never ceasing, never ending.

Would I not have to endure

any pain, sorrow, hurt?

Would I be at peace? Or

would it all come crashing

down around me, tearing away

piece by piece

until there is

nothing left but

what there was

before my existence?



Would I be able to move along

with the world, to see, hear, smell,

every moment of time as it passes?

Would I feel the touch of every hand,

cold and supple, warm and dry?



Or would I be as though dead?

Unfeeling, unmoved, as the people and places go on,

ever changing, ever ignorant, of the one thing

that is, but never was, never will be.



Would I be happy?

Or would I be incapable

of any emotion?



Joy.

Sorrow.

Pain.

Anger.

Lust.

Love.

Envy.



All of it, gone. Just like that.

'A girl doesn't need anybody that doesn't need her.' - Marilyn Monroe

Keep hold of the lovers, the dreamers, the makers;


Let go of the ones who pretend they are real.

Hold onto the givers, let go of the takers.

Let go of the ones that don’t show they can feel.



The doers, the thinkers, the people who care;

It’s people like this that will always be there.

If not, then you can always find someone new,

Just don’t wait for someone who won’t wait for you.



There are hundreds of thousands of fish in the sea,

Well really, as many as you want there to be.

There’s only so much that words can express,

But if you deserve better, don’t settle for less.

Etes-vous inquiete par l'avenir?.

When you were tiny, raw, and new, you couldn’t clench your fist in rage;
You couldn’t talk, you couldn’t chew, you couldn’t step out of your cage.
As you grew, you knew nothing but warmth, and love, and care, spreading flour on the floor
And taking lone rides in elevators, up fifty floors to find the sky.
Back then, a lending hand provided your greedy little mouth with a shiny, silver spoon that,
As if by magic, replenished itself;
A glistening, silver spoon, that has fed you right from the brief, flickering moment in which
You came into existence, and will continue to do so, until it decides,
It is time.
And what will you do, when that time comes?
Will you be ready? Maybe.
Maybe you’ll read, and think, and write, and paint.
Maybe you’ll talk, and mean every single syllable,
Both for yourself and for those without a voice.
Maybe you’ll clench your fists at injustice,
Maybe you’ll actually put words into action,
To help improve someone else’s life, and mean it.
Maybe.
But then again, you are just another member of a generation that doesn’t seem to care,
A generation that doesn’t seem to know anything about anything, unless it can be found in an
electronic box that attaches through an umbilical cord to their brains;
A generation that wants everything and more, here, and now.
So maybe you’ll be consumed, by greed, and lust, and selfishness.
Maybe you’ll be consumed, by the darkness that creeps,
Slowly but surely, through greasy flesh and crunching bones;
The darkness that comes to all of those who have stopped searching,
All who live for cars, and credit, and clothes,
And aimless fun, and nights they won’t remember,
With people they want to forget.
All who live for pointless jokes and truthless, thoughtless, words
In conversation with false, fraudulent friends that wait for you to fall.
Perhaps you’ll become one of many, part of the flock,
With so much space between your ears you almost float.
Perhaps, you’ll be a brainless lamb that has no thought,
Other than what everyone else thinks,
That has no wants,
Other than what everyone else wants,
A lamb that stares, unmoving, at fast, flashing, fluorescent lights on screens,
And swallows everything.
Maybe one day you’ll look at the boats coming and think no, no more, no room, no money.
Maybe you’ll have forgotten that you’re only here by a small twist of fate.
Maybe you’ll have forgotten that stability is no excuse for greed,
Maybe you won’t remember that there is no excuse for ignorance,
And that politicians with vision come every twenty years, not two,
And that God died a long, long time ago.
Maybe you won’t remember that you have a choice.
A choice in what to see and hear, a choice in what to do and say,
And a choice in what to believe, and in how to endure.

But most probably, you’ll simply want to go back to when it was easy.
Back, to when you were spoon-fed everything you could ever need or want.
Back to being lost in supermarkets and holding hands with everybody that meant anything.
No, you won’t want to just bite the hand that feeds you,
You’ll want to devour it, swallow the entire, calloused thing
And still, you’ll be hungry for more.
Hungry for more but no, not prepared to go out and get it.
Hungry for more, but no, not willing to work.
Hungry for more, and waiting.
Waiting for everything to work out.
Waiting for everything you ever wanted.
Waiting for the hand to come to you.

you came back.

Maybe you're right.

There's simply not enough time to be afraid.

the horses are coming, so you better run.

Is it funny, how you can always know when it's the end? Or is it just sad that you did nothing to stop it from happening?

est-ce que je peux avoir une troisième chance?

Voici une histoire. Il y a un garçon et une fille. La jeune fille est encore à l'école, mais elle croit qu'elle a déjà fait des erreurs assez pour durer toute une vie. Le garçon est un peu plus âgé, mais il ne fait pas beaucoup avec sa vie. Il est perdu, mais il sait qu'il veut être un écrivain un jour. Par coïncidence, il en va-t-elle.
Ils se rencontrent pour la première fois dans un café où il travaille, et ils ont une courte conversation. Elle commande un café. Il lui donne un dollar supplémentaire dans le changement. Ils trouvent de l'autre intrigante. Elle quitte, et il regrette de ne pas demander son nom.

***

Un mois passe. Le hasard, ou peut-être le destin, intervient, et une nuit, ils se trouvent à la même fête. Ils parlent. Flirtent. Il lui demande son numéro. Ils deviennent amis.

Ils aiment la même musique, la même nourriture, les mêmes films. il a peur de ne jamais trouver son chemin dans la vie. Elle a peur de l'amour.

Comme le temps passe, ils se rapprochent, et plus proche. Plus proche encore. Mais elle conserve de lui un secret. Il n'aime pas cela, mais il n'a personne à qui se confier, sauf pour son frère. Ses parents ne seraient pas prendre au sérieux.

Un jour, elle l'embrasse. Il l'invite à dîner. Ils partagent leurs espoirs, leurs rêves, leurs désirs.

Il croit au paradis.

***

Le temps passe, le temps file, et tout semble si facile, si simple, si libre, si nouveau, si unique. Ils vont au cinéma, ils vont faire du shopping, ils mangent, ils boivent, ils rient, elle pleure.

Ils sont proches, si proches, toujours si proche.

Il lui dit qu'il aime elle.

Ils disputent, et elle l'ignore pour une semaine entière.

Il s'excuse auprès d'elle, et elle lui pardonne, même s'il n'a rien de mal à la première place.

Il  lui dit qu'il l'aime. A nouveau.
Mais elle ne peut pas le laisser entrer, dans son esprit. Dans sa vie, ses amis, sa famille.

Personne ne peut savoir à leur sujet. Lui. Elle. Elle et lui.

***

Le temps passe, le temps file. Elle croit qu'elle l'aime, mais elle a peur de le dire.

Et il réalise qu'il ne peut pas gérer plus. Il la quitte.

Elle se sent seule à nouveau.

memories.

biting your own neck.

why do you do it? can't you see it's hurting people, yourself included?

I was in the darkness, so darkness I became.

part of the teenage angst brigade.

i love the way you love, but i hate the way i'm supposed to love you back.

steady walking but bound to trip.

all good things.

how do you trust your feelings, when they can just disappear like that?

confusion.

enough now.

It's moments like now when I ask myself, why?
Why do we do the things we do? Why do we say the things we say? Why do we all have to be so insecure, so unsure, so immature?
Why do people hurt each other? Why do people try to fit in, when all they need to do is be strong, be who they really want to be, not who they think they should be?
Why do people mess with other people when they know it's not right, or it's not meant to be, or it's just a complete waste of time?

you can't take back the words you've said.

same goes for the ones you didn't say.

let's leave before the lights come on.

I'm not even going to tell you what I thought when I read the words in the image above.

Oh, how song lyrics get twisted by sick minds.

oh no, this couldn't be more unexpected.

and when he awoke, he cried to dream again.

life as we know it.

my middle name.

don't let it fool us.

where'd you get your name from?

my only weakness is knowing your secrets

something is said
it sits in my head
it's been there too long
keeping the good part of me closed

sometimes these eyes forget the face they're peering from.

i've been trying to figure out exactly what it is i need.

Now I can't think of there without thinking of you

I doubt that comes as a surprise.

your past times consisted of the strange and twisted and deranged

the last time i caught my own reflection it was on its way to meet you, thinking of excuses to postpone.

throw your heart out in front of you and run ahead to catch it.

Perdu dans un monde etranger.

Quelle est cette ivresse qui nous entraine?

D'ou vient tous ces mots qui m'attaquent?
Plaisirs incomplets qui m'envoutent?
On a plus le droit de fermer ses portes.

love is the answer, that's what they say.

You can't expect to be loved if you hide yourself,
If you don't let yourself known.
Love of only part of you won't last.
Real love, the love that is written about,
The love that is sung about,
The love that is remembered,
Isn't like that at all.
If you want someone to love you,
Truly, madly, deeply,
They need to first know all of you.
From every little imperfection, to
The rotten core of your heart.

don't spend your days biting your own neck.

Don't try to drive the splinter in further.
You need to learn. You need to learn.
Listen.

In the cold light of the morning.

You see her, you can't touch her



You hear her, you can't hold her


You want her, you can't have her


You want to, but she won't let you

don't let go.

some people are really good at deluding themselves.

others, like myself, need to lighten up a little. be a bit friendlier. be less scared of what others think.
live a little.

and there's gold falling from the ceiling of this world

It's been days now, and you change your mind again.

it's me they've been coming to see

to forget about life for a while.

after the storm.

why?

http://www.abc.net.au/news/stories/2011/06/25/3253479.htm

I can't understand why some people have to go through so much pain,
nor can I understand how easily everyone else allows themselves to forget it.

no one else can speak the words on your lips.

millpond.

The water was dark
And it went forever down,
But you couldn't tell;
The surface was cold and inpenetratable,
Still, as if waiting for time to begin.
Reflecting the surroundings in a way
That made the most mundane seem ethereal,
An entire world, paperthin; a masterpiece
Painted on a napkin.

Everything you heard,
Everything you saw,
Everything you smelled,
Everything you touched,
Tasted,
Was of the world above.
But was it so perfect, underneath?


Or perhaps what lurked below,
What lingered in the depths,
Waiting to leap out and strike
At the slightest disturbance,
Was something horrid.
Something tainted.
Something monstrous.
Something lost.
Something miserable.
Something vile.
Something broken.
Something
Ugly.

let it always be known that i was who i am.

It's funny how the first chords you come to
Are the minor notes that serenade you
And it's hard to accept yourself as someone you don't desire
As someone you don't want to be.

growth.

We ran away, away, away to the river, but the river ran to the sea.

Maybe I was just too impatient
I promise I will learn from my mistakes.

just be patient, and don't worry.

don't waste your time on me, you're already the voice inside my head.

that was just. awkward. agreed?

the truth is i'm a liar.

but only because i'm scared of the truth.

back when a day meant forever.

that day in your bedroom, when you began to speak
you stopped yourself and kissed me
and i grabbed your arm and said
i know, i know.
i feel the same as you.

and i know, i know, it's changed since then.
and in every way, i've changed since then.
such a long time ago,
when i drove you away.

you corruptible little thing.

naivety is cute up to a point. but once you've reached 17, it's just not acceptable anymore. please please please, reality set in. or else you'll be ignorant for the rest of your life.

it doesn't make any sense.

talking to someone doesn't define an attraction of that kind. not everyone is attracted to everyone they talk to. especially someone they don't even know. c'est ridicule!

purgatory.

Well I was the one who showed you the sky


But you brought it down, down to my thighs


Sadly believed every word I didn't mean


About loving darkness.





And there it is now, he enters the room


It guts like a fish to see how he's grown


Saw me go out onto the town to mess around





Well you were the one who thought it was funny


That half of the world had never seen money


Shimmy-shuffle 'round, break it all down


It never comes to an end as long as you can help yourself





So, let me go out into the evil world that you know

Oh, let me go, let me go, let me go out into the sinful world that you know


That you really love

confusion

she loved only two things:

one was her long dark hair

and the other was how easily she could cut it off.

nobody ever had a dream around here

and i don't really mind that it's starting to get to me.