Head in the sand, Apoligies warranted

I could apologize for my absence,
the upcoming post must hint at the fact that I only use this blog when I am a bit troubled, you will be wrong, because the last three months or so have been the toughest months I have ever had to live. more on that later.

lets talk about black pits and life sucking holes.

The new bio for my twitter handle is : sometimes I want to kill myself.

Anyone who knows me, and i am actually sad to say very few of the people who think they know me, actually do so, but the one or two who do, are probably not alarmed at my change of my bio, and my random re appearance on this blog, if they actually read it those fucking twats.

I have been reminded severally that burying my head in the sand and kicking up my legs, spread in manner of those head stands we do in yoga gets suffocating after a time, well yes, it is sand after all innit? But you know, its a good way of keeping your morbid and doomed reality at bay because the sun can't scorch me if my head is in a warm moist bed of salty beach sand and the breeze between my thighs sort of gets me off. oh come on, you know that was coming, that's why you read it, slut.

on and on, I must stop with going off the course, i am trying to explain why my life is doomed.

a friend of mine is in a dark hole, it seems I cannot make normal friends, for fuck sake. like why the fuck do we all have to have daddy issues, abandonment issues and a penchant for substance and self abuse?
But on and on, the only comfort I could give her was, eat pineapples, it will help with the happy juices that make your other happy juices taste better than artichokes and asparagus. bleurgh.

I could apologize for that, but I won't, and here is why;

it does not get better.
to anyone i have ever told that it gets better,

i could apologize for that too, but I actually believed it.

to anyone who told me it does get better. screw your logic and false hope.

no, the voices in your head telling you you are not smart enough, pretty enough, exciting enough will never go away.

you can however bury your head in the sand and throw open your legs and let the beach breeze waft between your legs,

but either a horrendously mutated sea creature will pay homage to your probably moist orifices

or you will suffocate.

either way, you pull your head out, let the sun scorch you, listen to the voices in your head rejoice at a chance to feast at your already diminishing soul, and then you go right back to burying it in the sand.

This cycle is tedious,

Sometimes darlings, I wanna kill myself.

ta-ta

These Clouds and Those Castles

I can't seem to stop floating around on this cloud. Wherever it goes, I go with it. Only I wish it was sunny enough for it to disappear. Land on the ground, on my own feet and look up at the skies and it won't matter if the sky is such a colour that it would blind me. That kind of blue that reminds you of magnolias and the smell of honeysuckle.
But this cloud takes me further and further away from what I know and what I should remember. It takes me to sites I should be awed to see, but instead it scares me, and it leaves me grasping at those gossamer strands, not being really able to hang on to anything because its only wisps and smoke.
This cloud floats over to the Tibetian plateau, and its just miles and miles of pure white. It stops and I cannot tell from which side we flew in, I cannot tell how far left, or right, north or left I am from home. I want to cry when I realise I can't tell where home is. I don't think, in my years of wandering I have ever felt so lost. Here I am, taking in the most pure of all sites, with the cold seeping into my skin, into my bones and it is not home I miss, because I don't know what that word means anymore. They (the whispers of the wind) tell me that home is where your heart is. But in this cold and lonesome place, I can't quite seem to remember where that is either.
I'm crying now, but you wouldn't be able to tell because the tears freeze on my chaffed cheeks. I feel them though, solidifying, laying claim, and then cracking ever so lightly.
I wonder why the cloud brought me here today. To remind me just how lonesome I am? I doubt it, it knows even when its floating over a warm sea and I can dip my toes into the deeper blue pond, unlike the blue I crave, that I am always alone.
So why?
So I sit here, and try to conjure images that would warm me.
The smell of my mothers perfume as she leans over me to look at the scrapes on my knees only makes me sob now. So I sob, because I can do nothing else.
The sound of early morning traffic only makes me panic now, because I know as I am floating somewhere, the world is passing me by, and no..no..I can't.
The sound that fills the air is my sobs now. and it echoes even though it shouldn't and as if it reads my mind, a gust of wind blows and takes away the sound of it. I am glad. It is ever so pitiful and resonates with my anguish even more. So I sob, until I cannot breathe anymore. I sob until my lungs fight over each other for air. And the cloud grows warm and I cannot help crying some more because I know it is merciful.
The cloud grows warmer and warmer still until it burns. and suddenly I am on my feet in a field thick with the smell of jasmines and the sun on my face.
That is what mercy smells like.

Princess Rants.

Bitches,
So I left the internet because you all annoyed me. yes. i left blogger for longer because my anger and resentment towards you all blocked my brain. fuck you.
I came back on twitter and reclaimed my throne. I'm a princess now, deal with it.
This is the biggest rant i may ever make online, and I can rant. and this will be my last non-narrative post on this blog. follow Invasion of Art and Confuzzled Lawyer.
Here is a list of things that irk me. not necessarily in that order.

1- ONLINE CRUSADERS
So facebook has done the society disfavor by allowing people to post more than one five hundred and something words as status update. worst still, it allows people to SHARE these status.
Cue in people who have not discovered blogs, or the 'Notes' bar on their page, and decide to write these long ass posts filled with self righteous posts about their thoughts on particular leaders, artists, and the society in general. NO. just no! this princess will unfriend, and block any twat who dares 'share' this 'wisdom' on my page. like i say, I cannot tell you what to post on your facebook/twitter (but Daddy is working on getting me those rights) but I can control what i want to read on MY homepage.
One particular peasant who shot to fame with a piece on an irrelevant little man has even started a SOCIETY OF SMALL MINDED LITTLE CUNTS. they even have a name for themselves, if it wasn't for this human rights crap, i would have you all lynched.
 Riddle me this, who died and made you the face/voice of moral code??

2- TWITTER FOLLOWERS
 Now y'all know this princess loves her twitter. BUT WHY WOULD YOU FOLLOW ME, NOT TWEET ME, and then unacatch feelings juu I haven't followed you back???
OOOR
You follow, me, I follow you, you unfollow me, I unfollow you, you follow me, i follow you, you unfollow me, and i block your leper ass??? and then you inbox me, some crap??

hoooneeeeyyy aint nobody got time for dat

3- INBOX ME PLEASE OMG
 I have one facebook rule, i will like your status, LOL at all the relevant places, and share silly things you share. THAT IS NOT AN INVITE TO INBOX ME. sometimes, i feel nice enough to reply to your inboxes, because well, i like community services. WE ARE NOT BFFS. do not comment on my status like you know what my deal is. i will cut you. or blog about you.

4-NEON TREES AND BOOTS
I love this band, Neon Trees, I like Neon Colours, I do not like random bitches acting like they are all fashionistas because they wear neon orange pants and a gold top. I am very passionate about fashion, i believe in expressions of ones self  BUT there is nothing as horrible as a trend that is atleast five DECADES out of time. and then, you post instagram pictures acting like you are model, self esteem is good honey, but no.

5-MCDONALD HOES
yeah, this is long, i have received a couple of messages over my blog posts, and tweets. someone said i glamourised eating disorders. and i hate fat people.
here is what i have to say to that

i will not justify my posts, but not once have i told anyone to starve. i just tell people to drop the donut and give me twenty. i believe I create awareness for something that is very rampant in our society, without naming names, and for those people who came forward with their stories, I am glad you felt like you were not alone.
I don't hate fat people, how can I? its not like am skinny, but i do have a problem with people who piss and moan about their weight and do nothing about it. I love personalities, weight is never an issue for me as far as the people in my life are concerned. Own your curves, love yourself, blah blah blah.
people make fun of skinny people all the time. Our society is all about 'thick women' 'thick curves' 'thick arteries' whats wrong about being all about 'skinny margaritas' 'skinny dipping' and soups over KFC????
 NO APOLOGIES.
If you love yourself, you wouldn't be in a tiff over my posts. maybe you should look deep deep deep deep (over the layers of extra fat padding) deep deep into yourself and ask yourself why you are bothered.

i think she is gorgeous.


6- TRANNIES, BLONDIES AND THE LIKES.

this bit is for all the wannabe chips funga hanging off the Lady.acting like you and my cupcake are bffs,

posting on her TL, calling her pet names and making innuendos....the person below is you

and this is her

yes, a tad bit jealous because there is a tranny with a killer bod all over her business, but only because her body doesn't match her face. i pray to the god every day that you wake up fat. no apologies.
cupcake can hold her own, and yes, we are not a public couple, we don't make eyes at each other online,  and yes, y'all know she's seeing someone, so sit down. don't try to make friends with me. I don't like you. simple as.

ME ME ITS ALL ABOUT ME

I'm obnoxious, I'm loud, I'm condescending, although I don't agree with that, I'm just smarter than you and you can't take it.
I know they say imitation is the best form of flattery, but omg, no. do not copy everything I do.
i have a couple of friends I adore, for who they are, they are gorgeous and funny, but please please please, this is not Mean Girls, I won't hate you for not wearing Pink on Wednesday or for only wearing sweats cause your size two's don't fit. i am mean enough to ask you though...

because it is unflattering that you dye your hair cause I do, or roll your eyes just how I do it, or steal my tweets, and posts, and OMG use my words..like soooo many of you just steal my quotes and it actually breaks my heart because i THOUGHT of them.
I accept adoration as the only form of flattery.

bye peasants

Taking that break

Darlings,
I have been having an almost unbearable time lately, i say almost cause well, am still here no?
But today i woke up so very angry at the world and it has been a while since i felt the urge to scream,not yell, just scream in someone's face.
I think its safe to say i am not fit for public and or online interactions. i am literally one stupid cunty word away from slapping someone's fucking mouth off.
I know this should be prime time for me to flood you with angsty posts but i haven't been too happy with my last posts and i am not quite sure i can write at the moment. i have several drafts already that are just not doing it for me.
Anyway, will not be posting on any of my blogs (here there and everything in between; confuzzled lawyer; and Invasion of art) for sometime, and i probably will not be online. twitter or facebook. half the fuckers i wanna kick in the vagina are there. and i understand its not their fault that they have troll blood in them if i were to judge by their looks and pea brains. am sorry. see. not fit for any interactions.

i hate that i am so angry at the moment, and if you ask me if its about that time of the month i will stab you in the eye with my pencil. its a spongebob pencil.
so i will be off. it might be till tomorrow, or for a few weeks.

The health store this sides finally stocked up on yoga mats. cannot wait to get a new one.

namaste little fuckers

Sonatas and The Final Curtain Call

Its a fairly easy life you lead. Everyone thinks that. You know that.
But there is always that darkness you love. Love? Perhaps. Sometimes you hate it. But the darkness is so farmiliar and welcoming, like a warm blanket on rainy days. Come home my child. It always seems to whisper. I will protect you.
But the blanket that never comes off even when you crave the sunlight. You don't even know how that feels anymore. Its so distant, the memory of it. Like the smell of your mother's embrace and the feeling of hot sticky icecream on your fingers after a church.
There are days you convince yourself that you don't need it anymore. That your couch is a way more trustworthy companion than the chatter and noise of 'friends'.
But today is one of those days, when you wake up and dig for that lace bra that is a size too small and a pair of shoes that make you feel like a high class hooker. And maybe you spend a few more minutes staring for cracks in your façade infront of your boudoir before you leave for the day. So maybe today is your big day. The day you have been saving that expensive lipstick for.
Oh you have been waiting for this day. You can hear the soft keys in your head. Beethoven opus 111. You just sway with it as you pat, brush dab. So perfect. So flawless.
Today is the day you play your final scene. The grand finale.
You wonder if people can see it when you walk into the office building. In the sway of your hip in time and tune to the melody in your head.
In the perfect smile you know won't crack today when that person you always pray will save you doesn't look at you.
And its like the whole world is out to see this masterpiece that is your day. The sky is a bit too excited with its blinding blues and dazzling rays of light, the smell...the smell in the air that reminds you of peonies and your mother's embrace, and the ice cream cart outside your office has just the chocolate ice cream you crave. Because today is that day. When you give it your all.
And the Sonata in your head reaches that point, you know, like when you listen to Led Zepplin, Stairway to Heaven, and its just minute after minute of crescendos and low intonations, emotions and spirit. When the song ends, you feel like you have lived your whole life in four minutes of melody. And you know today, when the final key rings in your head, you are homebound. You are free. Because this song, this masterpiece, according to your instructor, has been playing in your head, for longer than you might have been aware you think. But it has been stuck. Stuck on that note that will not end. No matter how many times you change it.
But today, it feels different. Oh you know it is.
You feel it in your bones when you wish your assistant a lovely weekend. Feel it in your blood when you choose that perfect bottle of wine as deep, as dark as the fluid in your veins. You can hear it in your very soul when you purchase those infinity candles from the old gentleman at the corner store. And you can taste it on your tongue when he smiles and gives you a good luck charm bracelet. Oh you know you don't need it. Not tonight.
This is the role you have been preparing yourself for, for years, since you sat between the warmth of your mama and pappa at the symphony. And heard, felt the crescendo. Beethoven. Sonata. Opus 111. And never has it been as loud as it is tonight.
You feel the tingle in your spine, the slight hitch in your breath as you open the door and walk in to your future.
Darkness. Darkness. Everywhere. But that is why you got candles.
After all, the play is only as good as the presentation.
And you lay it out. All of it.
A glass of wine for the star tonight.
Black sheath dress and the perfect hair.
Silk drapes over your trusted couch. Silver reflections bouncing off your instrument.
And you drink, and you dance to the music in your head, and you play with the instrument in your hand,
Feel the warmth of the candles, the fabric of your dress, the coolness of your tool on your skin, the taste of that perfect drink..and it goes on and on, off and on. On and on. On and on.
And you can feel the sweat beads on your shoulders, as that part comes.
When the notes are everything you feel in the world, and you let your instrument dance.
Over your collar bones, over your temples, down to your lips, and you taste the wine, the sweat and the blood, and its down, down, and there is more and more
Until the notes are too loud and the blood is too much
And with the whisper of the wind the candles go off.
Right when your instrument falls
And your legs give in.
You couldn't have gotten this scene any more better if you had practised.

Mirror Mirror

They present you with a plate of the sweetest pastries you may never come across again, sitting there, at the very end of a black marble counter, on a study armchair. everything is dark. you see no one, but the body less hands that brings different plates of different meals. it has been going on for hours now, the ropes digging into your skin bruise. you can feel them rub into your..bones.
and you smile, despite the burn of the sisal on your ribs, and the cold, the cold sipping into your feet from the stone floor..you realise you are naked, and the smile on your face melts, because oh the shame, of being laid so bare before all these...faceless, nameless people. and as if you called at it, the jeers, and the cackle starts, as another pair of porcelain hands bring forth a platter of the most disgusting, greasy, gravy slathered ribs. the aroma of it makes the acid in your stomach boil, your blood curl, and your mouth water.
the laughs and the taunts get louder, because they see, they smell how weak you are. so weak. so hungry.
but the knowledge of your hunger makes you stronger. to be so empty, so beautiful, so...pure.
the plate comes closer, and you bite your lip to keep them shut. this has happened before, your lips and hands betray you. they tarnish what you try so hard to make pure. they eat.
and the ropes are loose, and you watch, in horror as your right hand reaches for the juiciest bit of charred flesh. and it all goes black.
suddenly it is just a flurry of senses. no sight. the smell, the taste, the feeling of being filled. oh you could do this forever, your hand keeps moving and your mouth wont stay shut, and your jaw keeps chomping, chomping, such a pig. such an animal, its all good, it feels so good, you don't know why you didn't do this earlier. why? why? more. more.

and then it all stops. and the silence is deafening, except for that little voice in your head.
"look at you"
"such a failure"
"pathetic"
sigh. "you were almost pretty"
"LOOK AT YOU"
an ornate mirror appears before you, and you see yourself for what you have become.
tarnished.
the gravy all over your face.
the sauce on your hands.
the smell of food
Mirror Mirror on the wall, who....

you wake up, covered in sweat, the sun is setting, oh Lord no, not another night.
you reek of desperation and a broken soul.
you run your hands all over yourself,
bones, bones, flesh, fat, bones, fat, flesh, fat.

the phone rings
"get dressed, I'm picking you up in twenty minutes."
"are you mad?? i am barely decent"
"get dressed"

two hours later, a glass of vodka in your hand, neat, because you only partake in that which is pure, and the music is too loud, not louder than the voices in your head, but it will get louder still, it never takes much to get that buzz, because you try to stay pure.
"lets dance," she says, and taps your shoulder.
you turn and smile,
"sure.." she stares at you, her ayes trying to see every secret your face has to hide...but your make up is flawless tonight. a brush here, a stroke there, a pat here, a dab there..and you are the perfect puppet to the master in your head, the source of your self-destruction, pulling the strings, smashing all my dreams, creating new, better dreams
you smile wider..."dance...?"
..she narrows her eyes, you give her that smile that always work and roll your eyes..
"forgot how to dance?"
she smiles..."don't get too thin, "

oh what a lovely night this was going to be. a lovely night.



shout out to anyone who spots the Metallica reference

bleeding hearts

you see it in fairy tales, 

stories of flawless love and devotion

but they, they my darling have nothing on what i feel for you.

i love you, i love you so much it hurts to breath sometimes.

sometimes i wonder if you know the intensity of my emotions for you. 

do you feel it when i smile against your lips, 

oh your lips, i can write songs about them, 

the same lips that give me life, the same lips that take my very will to live away from me.

everything about you is a paradox.

its like being stuck in a blue box, through time, 

but standing still, 

when you smile at me, and its frozen in place.

do you know what you do to me, 

do you know, that when i look at you, i see everything, and nothing all at once,

i think you do, i think you feel the same way...

i know you do,

because you are not the only one who walked in on a pool of blood and had to make undying promises of love.

i love you when you are like that.

when you love me so much it hurts to open my eyes.

love me until i cry,

when you sit there, with my heart in your hands, and you stroke it, so gently, so...so you..

and then you hold it tighter, and then you squeeze some more, 

and you can see, you can see your nails dig into it. 

you can see those little wounds,

and you can see my tears...flowing, faster than the blood in your hands,

but i will never ask you to stop, 

you know this, and you wont stop

please don't stop.

because you love me.

and i love you, you know that...you hold it against me, that i feel this way about you, that i know i cannot live without you..

touch me here, kiss me there...break me a little more,

but its okay, because when its all said and done, your lips that kill me, save me.

when the lights are too bright and the shards too sharp, you stroke me tender, so soft..so you..yes, satin laces around my neck, 

yes, crimson tears on your skin

yes, sunlit corridors and the smell of peaches.

love me forever, 

ask you of this, because i know, 

i will love you beyond death.

eeeehh. i CANNOT WRITE ANGST.

happy freaking valentines motherfuckers