Tuesday, November 29, 2005

The blood in my mouth is YOURS!

I’m at a crossroads where both choices branch out to a million possibilities,
It’s like every choice is an alternative, every step dripping with what if pains
I cannot see anymore, I’m swimming backwards against the currents
I’m stuck in a web of deceit mixed with sincerity and wrong choices,
I sleep and I wake and it makes no difference, Comfort and betrayal.
I want to make a change but the people around me refuse to see it.
I try to make a change but everyone wants me to change into what they perceive I should be or do.
I’m the living dead, not really dead, not wanting to be dead but not really wanting to live either.
The cards are stacked and edges edged with coated glass, and they are my hand.
I’m a single, I’m the different, I bleed just to be able to know this deck. I wear the same coat of arms.
The ashes I thought I’ve stamped out are actually in my heart, a sacrifice, one moment
Liability the next, how can you turn against me and I blink from the blood that drips.
I feel torn and raped by the crowd, my lungs fail to collapse, my heart still beats.
They are machines that prolong my torture, a chain for the chained.
Free me please, Stab me in the throat not behind my chest.
I want the see the eyes that betray me, hate me,
I want to see the eyes that are partly mine hate me; I want to watch the looks that are meant to kill me.
It was you that drowned me and then accused me of spitting bile.
I’ve got a gun and I’m going to smoke you with one bullet and then the other.
Give me this gun, I’ll let you stab me in the throat first and with my last semblance of consciousness, I’m going to pull that trigger that’s gonna blow you away.
It’s sad that our bone fragments and blood are alike. I would have not wanted it any other way.
Flies would die on contact with this tainted tainted poisonous bile of ours.
I so just want to make you cry, I so want to shake and die.
Songs of horror, watching you sing in the mirror, You hater, You Liar
Worthless and moping in the hole you dug yourself.
Spineless and lazy, you fucking maggot
I hate you for a reason and that reason is going to kill you someday.
Turn against me and I will destroy you, Oh, I fucking will
I will wipe that frown off the fucking face of the earth.
It never felt so good to destroy.
Come get it, I’ve got all the bullets I need to puncture your lungs and make You hear your leaking chest!
Come and die, and be destroyed

Monday, September 05, 2005

And You Thought Dying Was Easy?


Its been some time eh? Yeah, shit happens over and over again till it shit no more. It has been a truly testing period so far, guess what? It gets worse. Thoughtful and hopeless at the same time, contradiction walks such a fine line that it ceases to exist in my life. I live because of hope and yet I hope that my hope just shrivels up and die like a dry peach on a tanning bed turned up high. I can't even struggle with the concept of contentment now as I already choose to associate disappointment with contentment.I'm contented with disappoinment and a sense of loss because they are at least a constant. That really initiates contentment in me.
Why can't contentment be constant? Okay!! Maybe everyone has to suffer once, then with the idea of contentment learned we could proceed to constant contentment.

Seen the weather recently? With the haze and shit...crazy killer heat waves, Its hell in Malaysia. HaHa....serves us right for being subservient to Indonesia, another country with a skewed sense of identity and priorities. The same bloodstock seems to imbue its horrid qualitites on the indigenous population both here and Indonesia. But wait a sec, they are the same people. HaHa.. The difference here however is the indigenous people here self declare they're abilities and yet rely on racist policies to achieve they're ends. They parasite off the land and other races unfortunate enough to share the country.Their counterparts in Indonesia are no better and just happen to be a brutish and incompetent branch off the rest of the bloodstock. Steal, Destroy and Kill....Satan's minions no less. I share my country with this stock of sub-moral and self-serving clown of a race. Extremism and fanatism can only abide in people of no self-worth and respect. Sigh, one more worry in the world!

Monday, July 25, 2005

Seven Seconds Off The Rest Of Your Life

Hey there gentle reader,

Its a Tuesday and I'm sitting at home, jobless and listless. Its not a good thing, whomever said that bumming was a good thing deserves to get a head check. I however believe that bumming is alright if you've already gotten rid off all forms of pride and sense of self worth. Speaks a lot about myself doesn't it? Its a form of plumbing the depths of my lack of self image. Wonderful isn't it?
I'm the :-

1)Ironic arm chair critic

2)Hopeless purveyor of moral and principle

3)Fan of sitting on my fat ass

4)Heretic in need of god

5)A loyal fan of the bad, dirty and unecessarily ugly

6)Person who loves my friends but they don't actually love me back

7)Someone who misses someone

8)Hopelessly romantic only in imagination

9)Listening to obscure elitist music

10)In need of an easy BUT high paying job

11)Wishing that money was worth more than blood

12)Want to party harder for the sake of being able to

13)Laughing at a clip of a poor girl getting her head blown off

14)Planning my own funeral

15)Making sure I've made my bed

That's my list for the moment, encapsulates my thoughts and needs at this immediate slice of time.

and yeah, a fuck and a shit would do just nicely!

I am THE real crazy kid! You can only dream about being me

Monday, July 18, 2005

I think Death Would Really Like To Be Friends

Sick, sick, sick, sick, sick
Whew! I'm alive..

Dead, Dead, Dead, Dead, Dead
Whew! I'm suprised

I've got a red tie on a black shirt waiting for me
I've got a great girl in a black shirt screaming for me
Its been four days that my body has let me down,
Whizzing and whining my ship sank
Into a cold, dark and shivering abyss
Afraid of itself,
Afraid for itself,

I cannot thank you my friend,
I can only send it to you,
I'm wired like a robot, a rat with wheels, a fly on pills
My eyes seem two cents short of being valuable
My heart seems two beats short of being functional
An iron lung for christmas, thats what I want
A wish, A dream, Not ten thousand desires.

Fingers trailing in a stream, speckled shakings and leanings
Are they dead or is the water dead,
Time my movements, slow my conscience.
OH! I hate being strapped to your moody thoughts
Life ebbs and dreams trap, The sludge I call my blood.
A spider and a smoky mirror, beauty prays to my shrine
Eternity is eternal because we hope so.
I see the bile, black and swallowed
I sleep the sleep of ancients, I cry the weep of infants

Be, Been, Was me

* This piece is dedicated to the insanity I felt when I allowed her to kiss me

Sunday, July 10, 2005

The Deed Is Done, Blood's On My Hands....Pray For Me!

Hey there,
This has been a momentous week for me both as an individual and also a son, I stood up to my dad in order to direct things in my life. It has been really painful for me, to the point that I repeatedly questioned my sanity and personal adequacies. I've searched and fine combed my soul for clues for ways to not give a proverbial fuck to the man. Moods and atitudes have swayed dangerously close to delirium and mental incapacitation.
I've gone through the following:-
g)all-encompassing fear
but; I've never ever found contentment and inner peace.

The ghost of my pass haunts and hunts me, seeking to destroy whatever I have left of me.

I seek you Lord,
The one true way,
My salvation I know and want to receive,
But where are you Lord? Where and what do i do?
I do what they all tell me to do but you don't seem any closer or more real in any sense.
How do I know I love you for what I want to love you for?
The heart and mind are so entwined with the soul.
I'm thinking and falling deeper into my unknown Lord,
All these things tear at me both inside and outside,
It hurts so bad Lord, so very bad.
You showed me today Lord, how an imperfect father loved his imperfect son.
Why haven't this mercy been given unto me Lord?
Mistakes have been made and i"m trying to make up for something I never was allowed to partake of.
Why do I continue to pay penance for something which was denied to me?
I may have been sluggish and slow then but do you punish a child for not knowing how to walk?
I love you Lord, but something's got to give.
My faith in You remains but what my soul can take may not mean my heart lays unshattered.
I hunger to know that you care Lord and that my faith makes a difference.
Bt all these are just words, just words, they fade with time and memory.
Hearts do bleed, just as real as the gash at my wrist.
Believe me that I believe in you oh Lord,

'Only fools dare hope, if we didn't have fools, the world would lack hope'

I hope, may I be fooled.

Wednesday, June 29, 2005

Relatives Shed Skin Like Snakes Do. (Part 1)

Good Morning myself,
I think 7am misses me, everyday for the past 8 months 7am in the morning has never really known my face, she just waits on as I slumber away in bliss, but alas! Having to fetch someone to work has ended my absence in 7am's eyes. I feel like a corpse; lifeless and drained of all inspiring thoughts. Its a physical drain more than anything else. Its a responsibility that I gladly take on. Sigh, but as usual its mostly unappreciated, well sometimes anyways. hmmm.. Maybe I'd prefer to be unappreciated, that allows me to have some bile and venom of myself.

The fucking house bell rings again, its my grandmother( thats what I was told anyways growing up), is she as self-serving as I am brought to think? I always wondered and sometimes I spot it; how fucking sad! Most idealists would rather the stereotypical granny or nana that potters around in the twilight of their sentience.
Cute, annoyingly so but mostly amusingly and harmlessly albeit troublesome at times.
I hate to admit it but I crave that sort of traditionalist depiction of a senile cute thing. What I seem to have however seems to differ, my grandmother is indifferent, distant, petty, selfish... you get the idea.

What happened? I don't really know. The situation post my paternal grandfather's death seems to be that a vacuum of sorts seem to resound within my father's family.
They are a disparate bunch, all the siblings also happen to be bound up by a lot of personal insecurities. They talk the talk but don't even dream of them walking the walk. All of them( my father included) seem to lack the emotional depth and connection normally associated with family. This disparate family can't evem seem to be able to be honest with each other. Its all swept under the carpet, never seeing light till the disintegration of the entire family unit or the actual death of the member bearing the issue itself. Everyone's two faced or spineless, what more when dealing with a liabilty of one's self, i.e my grandmother. My mum's so messed up with personal issues when it comes to the old lady. Its really comical and annoying at the same time, smiling whilst gritting your teeth seems to come to mind.
This paralysis in tandem with dishonesty, cowardice and a false sense of filial piety has clouded the sense of belonging. I have no respect for any one of my relatives beyond the procedural requisite. Every one of them seem unworthy of it, I am the detroyer of optimism or the benefit of doubt anyways. Respect is to be earned and not blessed upon. Love is to be gained not entitled upon. All this politicking that goes behind the old lady's back would surely have killed the old man if he were ever alive to find out about it. It seems that the only person in the entire universe, past, present and future that is able to handle the old lady is the old man.

One thing that I should learn from him is the sheer immensity and generosity of his patience. Look! his children/offspring can't even handle their mum. Here's a summary of their attitudes:-

a)eldest aunt- I'm a christian and proud of it but heck, this lady bollocks so much about God that I think she embrasses him. Her attitude when dealing with the old lady is she's really nice and patient but she doesn't take the old lady in. Its both hypocritical and doesn't really reflect well on one's principles especially christian ones at that. Its like coodling and dealing with someone else's naughty and irritating children, fine and dandy especially when they don't go home with you. You can spout all the christian values you want, sure sing praises to the lord even but don't expect that to make a difference to me. Take for example the fact that the old lady has been at my house for nearly a week and a bit and all i can remember my aunt doing was bringing the old lady to lunch ONCE! Bollocks I tell you! Well, maybe she's got some excuse right now but hell, she seems to have one all the time(good christian excuses at that). So what we have here is someone whom attempts to depict herself as an angel of mercy but in reality is nothing more than a daughter who has to fulfill these filial duties to mummy anyways. Bollocks and a load of hypocritical crap.

b)my father- Now this is a touchy one, he's the silent one that all the parents and even siblings overlook and unappreciate UNTIL the shit hits the fan. They ALL then come running to the eldest brother and son and suddenly expect him to make the whole world a better place to be in. Poor guy actually, downtrodden most of the time.
The clearest example of this was when the old man was dying and all the major ugly decisions had to be made by him and not the family as a whole. Everyone was all talk, talking about every fucking thing under the sun but the problem at hand. Oh! They fake ignorance so well, helpless and spineless like the proverbial worm under your boot. I lost all respect for them there and then, years of denial on my part just burnt away and purified my perception of my extended family. All puppets with no strings, all chatter but no sense, all promise but no hope. I was fortunate to be able to learn of this shortcoming nonetheless. I can bet my bottom dollar that this people will disappear faster than flies when you actually require any assistance of them.

Anyways will continue soon, I just blew my flow with some 'kuih' I bought for eighty cents. They look like solidified frog's spore dyed red and coated with shredded dandruff. NICE! One more thing, will someone burn Ikea down for me? PLEASE. I beg you!
Its hell packaged in a box then sent to us by the fucking Swedes.

Tuesday, June 21, 2005

Knock Back, Relax And Pull The Trigger

Knock back and relax,
Hello my dearest of you!
Feel the buildup as bullets soar through the air, whipping up swirls in my dreams,
Don't stop as the Oedipus in us bays for more mothers to love,I'm eating snuff films for lunch
I've just got home from a function than ran till eternity dimmed and wavered,
I've surrendered all my love and left my guns at home,
I've wasted and bit at my knuckles in vain as my dreams seem a reality based nightmare,
Each perception stands and burns at the gates of hell, black orchids exists for blind men
I dream of being deaf, dumb and blind but I'd still work hard at being a sinner,
A shotgun fires into the darkness of my throat and a firework of crimson glory erupts form the back of my head that would even make Piccaso grimace at its ineffectual abstract beauty.
A spray of blood on my wall, chips of bone and skull that resemble art, my art.
Arterial subconcious sunburnt desires extinguish in this visual escapade,
This scene plays and reenacts in a drama with a smidgen of insincere tragedy,
The clock hands stand at a quarter to fame, an eternity captured in an eruption of relief,
My trigger finger curled and cocked at the lynchpin of release, lock and load hallelujah.
Facial equity and liabilities are erased as time stands still and the crimson wound, both entry and exit compete for your attention, wonder will tears be in my eyes?
Cry not for the dead as they hold more promise than the living,
My hearse should be black and the gun carriage red, bury me with the shells that released me and gave me myself back.
I'm made of a thousand quivering ecstatic blades wrapped around a cold steel heart manufactured in anxiety wrought hate.
I'm watching my own funeral proceed at a wondrously eternal pace, a 12 gauge triumph
A life taker but a soul giver, Bless the damned as they need it the most.
A weeping tree has branches that bleed the tears of those that perceive love as a need,
MY tree of hate has branches that constantly feed my fire, it loves lead scented blood
A perfume washes over the scene as the diamonds that were once cried turn into satin stars;
My dream is of my death, it comes on beating thumping wing beats, ready or not!
Bid me adieu! Bid me my death, you're only blessing the damned.

The comfort of being distraught, sure as death is more consistent than joy.
I'm a hero at being a zero!
AND you are?

Thursday, June 16, 2005

I Spit Thy Venom Into Your Face

A knife through my neck tears muscle, severs tissue but I still smile on;
This emptiness, the aching and torment of a thousand venomous whispers,
Coiled and sprung, shaken and sunk, we scream an apology with tears in our eyes,
Wait I scream in thought, In reality a gurgle is wrought;
I beat at this rafters to find them coated with the shimmering powdered dreams of mine,
Each tip invisible, each tip divisible, each tip sharp and barks for my blood,
Two bullets to the base of my neck, Three stabs into my black black beating iron heart;
Shivering and in a spasm, orgasmic is my passing;
I watch and play this scene a million times a million time in the back of my mind,
Would my blood be red or black? Would it shimmer or dull with my death?
Oh, I hope the smell of blood permeates the air; I want my parents to know the stench of my death,
Oh, Maybe they won't, they might enjoy the scene, maybe even celebrate;
Tasting my blood and consuming my soul,
Do they know not love, know not tenderness? Sigh..
To hear them laugh at the scene of the crushing and finishing of my self potrait,
The rasping of hungry throats, The tearing and ripping of my throat;
Wet fangs and hungry eyes prey on the life I called mine;
I Await the day I thank you for the venom in my mind, the venom you told me was love.

To hate is sinful
To be hated means you're a sinner
Choose motherfucker!

Sunday, June 05, 2005

A Spot In The Shade

Moist grass mingled in the cool embrace of the earth,
These sensations on my feet, a thousand cool caresses on this warm warm day,
Rolling clouds mingle and play about against the oh, so beautiful blueness infinity,
I sit at this spot in the shade, it exist ethreally, wispy and fragile, momentary yet resolute,
A spot in the shade, an escape from the life draining torturous endurance event we call life,
I sit there alone and serene, the peace is not unlike incense, memories relived, joys remembered
Tears will of course still burn cheeks, a yin, a yang
In this place it is a calm I seek from the tempetous hell we call existence,
A private secret garden, Sanity walks freely here,
Her beauty untouched, ageless and free
A thousand sensations, each echoing a single voice overwhelms my limited and nearly dead senses,
Perceptions lived for a moment, etched and burnt into my soul man,
Ah, clinging onto conciousness before letting my mind slip the chains of reality,
That very moment in time, bliss!
As I sit at A Spot In The Shade, A Spot In The Shade of Insanity

Saturday, May 21, 2005

I'm Sitting Here And Swallowing My Own Blood

Anger, Rage, Disgust, Disappointment, Bitterness, Sadness, Helplessness, Torment, Tortured, Hate....

These words should never be used to describes one's parent....never...ever; yet I use them with disregard and fury. Righteous fury I know not; but oh, they hurt me so much. Their barbs of poison, so laden with the toxicity of insinuation that bleeds me dry. They crucify more blindly then the Jews that so send Jesus to Calgary. I hate to be an ingrate, but I can barely keep count of the times they have broken my heart with their words, their self righteous manisfestations. They make me feel so worthless, so dirty, so useless... I love them yet I try so hard to hate them. I constantly on the brink of a blade. Why do they have to pin my wings and de-gut me in the name of "making" me a better person? Waste me, Waste ME, WASTE ME!

I scream inside yet all I hear is the guttural sound of a choking and wet drowning coming from my slit throat, its slits spills the crimson wetness of my will onto this shirt of sheer white that is my life. My parents hold this knife, this private privilege of slitting my throat and draining my wrist. They say its for my own good, deafened by their slef righteousness, deadened by the blindness of their ignorance.
I see myself, this bleeding, gasping, drowning man on my broken and bloodied knees at the foot of my parents and all they can say is that I'm dirtying the proverbial shoes of their life. I'm bleeding and dying inside and all they can do is watch and judge against me. How can I say I love them? I do, but with a shame and no self-worth. The blood, my blood is on your fucking hands.
I was a son, I tried to love, I hoped to be loved. Its all ashen now, I'm all ashes now

Friday, May 20, 2005

Cracks All Over My Undersized Heart

Fingernails wrapped thick with cloth, shattered memories, a clock spins
A lonesome wanting, a guilty love, a wronged disintegrated husk of a man;
Crumbling and shattering as a thousand bombs implode obscenely onto my sins,
Crackling and collapsing, locking and jarring my trachea; These ticks, parasites
Scratch at them, burn my skin and hair, the scent of incense,
Digging out chunks of my insanity; Clawing away at my scalp
I Hate to love, I love to hate love
It comes Crashing at me, tearing my flesh with a thousand private knife parties;
I hate you my love screams blindly at me,
These wings seared into shards of frozen glass'
Forever frozen into time
You make a smoked image of me, me, my love and I

Thursday, May 19, 2005

The Personal Thorn Of My Heart

Hey there gentle readers,
Smoking Gun,
Having Fun,
In the Sun,

I am One
You are None

Anyways that was to warm me up in a preachy in your face manner, a new design?! I wonder about thee! Its been weird I tell you. I've never ever been so humbled in my life.
The sting of the moment actually beggars human belief. A thousand years of fucking tradition evolves to make me, a person of the male gender incapable of self-affirmation. A bleeding shame I tell you.

The really sad thing is that We( Men) do it so blatantly, and fucking pray to God that it appears subtle and demure. In reality this crumble and corruption of personal ideals; I truly believe is an in-built female vendetta, a conspiracy of an entire gender that spans for nearly an eternity and an eternity to come.

Their feelers of emotion draw us so temptingly close to oblivion that we are addicted to that thrill of a near destruction. A siren call,( some say booty call) ; The medusa, the hydra, the chimaera, all fucking fucked to produce females... But oh, woe are we, the weaker race; the bastardisation of our existence.

but....Laugh out loud dudes....

we love them!

I've chosen to be a traitor.....have you?

Wednesday, May 18, 2005

The Fire Inside, My Fire Inside

Its been awhile my dark sombre friend, Oh wait! Not really, you've always been whispering into my ear. Sigh! Well my apologies to anyone who reads the ramblings of a heretic. Its been awhile as stated earlier. Nothings really improved, more funerals, more tears and even more lies. There however has been a change recently, I seem to have come into terms with my deepest darkest fear of failure. I however doubt that this acceptance is for real. It came onto me too easily, too conveniently. Without a fight, without a thrashing or even a stab in the neck. Parental frowns are getting rare. Is this a sign? I dare not hope...

Wanting to start my life, my adult life but i've been paralysed by this cramps of reality and the gaping maw of society. It nibbles at my psyche like the wet rot that comes with the rain and winter. Its smashing effects tears my flesh from my bones....its a subtle smashing..

Its falling down, but I'm comforted by the knowledge of inherent destruction
Its a surety, The comfort of the inevitable
How can we fear death?
It feels Oh, so so very good

Guns or Gum.... I made my choice, next!

Monday, February 21, 2005

The Beginnings Of Ends

Hey there,
Its 3.24am now and I'm ravaged and Bollocked....hmmm I wonder how is it that I am actually typing this shit out in the daylight...the answer me, myself and I is that there is an inherent change in my mental health. It seems to have dipped a fair bit and chooses the path of most resistance. Viva' revolution! I hear the heretic in me scream......haha.....if only I could shoot him.

It seems that this change is and was a form of come uppance...you know what I mean....I've evolved into a somewhat emotion-packed rat....scurrying around for bits of emotional scrap. My moods teeter on insanity...I seem to have a constant infatuation for slit throats and smoking entry wounds nowadays....Its wondrous I tell you....Its a thousand fucks balancing on the very edge of my blade that I inately find gravitating at my wrist......hmmmmm.....I wonder, gentle and gentile reader...which way would my blood spurt? Hope it doesn't hit me in the eye, its going to sure as hell hurt....haha...the irony

A point to note....anal sex is something of a contradictory forbidden pleasure....discover and so so enjoy, my innocent and innocous reader. A very close friend of mine should know..Snicker!
I recently made this person cry...to be technical...this person's tear ducts should have an all out-blanket ban on me....Wondrous I tell you....Sex, Blood and Tears......you've got a classic there.
ARGH!...get me a gun, I want to shoot every offending finger of mine. They seem to have a will of their own. I think I should shoot them all off and then get pseudo-magic fingers from the ministry of health......It'll impress the babes for sure....me, my fingers and my pseudo fingers.
We could get on Letterman.....haha....

Jealousy is a poison, Eat it.......

Tuesday, January 11, 2005

A Figurative Outline Of The Greater You

I'm fighting the urge to throw up, I'm crying to hold you up
The memory of your betrayal carries forth the tears,
I scream out why, I withold my sighs
I watch the beating motion of a dying bird
Blood colours the virgin white sheets
Fear covers my heaving black feet
Shivering yet not cold, my thoughts refuse to flow
I carry this wooden stake for you to bury it into my weak and breaking heart
The sound it makes shatters the silence of an unconditional trust.
I scream out why as my lungs shatter, I cry out tears as my eyes collapse
A thousand leeches hungers, A thousand snakes sleeping in wonder,
Oh Cracked and scared, vile with my bile
I present my broken heart ripped out of my gaping chest
Only to have you laugh and mirth,
It matters not to you as I lay there convulsing and spasm wrecked
I let these wounds hurt me to sleep
To wake up with a start,
To wake up to a figurative outline of a greater you.