What if the sequence got fucked up in the beginning, because of circumstances out of your control ?
4 | comment
and when it was over you smelled just like your killer
Blood & Gore
25 November 2009 @ 03:41 pm
What if the sequence got fucked up in the beginning, because of circumstances out of your control ?
22 November 2009 @ 06:08 pm
I'm holding the crazy hot pan with bare hands and there isn't a single brain cell alarming me to let it go.
My pain threshold my pain threshold where are you ?
If it wasn't for the anticipation I'd be a clueless baby, every time, walking straight into trouble.
You never get rid of _______ if you don't register pain.
Just enough to maintain bravery.
When you're not looking they call you a martyr and smile.
My pain threshold my pain threshold where are you ?
If it wasn't for the anticipation I'd be a clueless baby, every time, walking straight into trouble.
You never get rid of _______ if you don't register pain.
Just enough to maintain bravery.
When you're not looking they call you a martyr and smile.
Current Location: FOG
19 November 2009 @ 06:18 pm
I want to crush the majority of lecturers in the department with my postmodern ass and continue enjoying the destruction of meaning with no further _______ . It really is getting out of hand. I see in them the frustration of a wannabe who worked its wannabe ass off to get hold of, to attain some goal only to find out when they actually do get there it didn't exist to begin with. So they don't know what to do. They gather around mob-like and stretch their torso obnoxiously. They look at students as potential additions or enemies.
I guess I'm the only student who skips class to go to the library. I don't learn in class. I see the person, not the lecturer. I listen to the way they choose to tell the subject not the subject itself. And I don't like that. A good teacher has to be as inhumanly as impersonal as possible. I was lucky enough to have a few of those and they were fabulous. But as soon as I feel there's emotional investment involved, I hijack my words.
Honestly, as of late I'm thinking I should have been a fireman or an ambulance paramedic. I thought I was overwhelmed by the city -well yes in some ways I am- but mostly I'm underwhelmed. That was clear to me when I punched a guy for throwing stones at a cat few weeks ago.
Everyone can say "danger", talk about it, have a momentary kick out of it but it would have nothing to do with their situation. They'd talk about danger and have a sip out of their delicious readymade hot drink. Yet I need that sudden taste of iron in my mouth and it must be for real. Not the night out, the bar, the stimulating conversation, the casual stranger or the banally dangerous dark alleyways. None of that. I want it even if I've been told a million times "It's all gone Dila, it doesn't exist anymore." So in a way I must be like my lecturers.
But at least I know it existed, once. That at one point, a cover-up took place. And I don't care if I'd have to leave my mind behind to --
I guess I'm the only student who skips class to go to the library. I don't learn in class. I see the person, not the lecturer. I listen to the way they choose to tell the subject not the subject itself. And I don't like that. A good teacher has to be as inhumanly as impersonal as possible. I was lucky enough to have a few of those and they were fabulous. But as soon as I feel there's emotional investment involved, I hijack my words.
Honestly, as of late I'm thinking I should have been a fireman or an ambulance paramedic. I thought I was overwhelmed by the city -well yes in some ways I am- but mostly I'm underwhelmed. That was clear to me when I punched a guy for throwing stones at a cat few weeks ago.
Everyone can say "danger", talk about it, have a momentary kick out of it but it would have nothing to do with their situation. They'd talk about danger and have a sip out of their delicious readymade hot drink. Yet I need that sudden taste of iron in my mouth and it must be for real. Not the night out, the bar, the stimulating conversation, the casual stranger or the banally dangerous dark alleyways. None of that. I want it even if I've been told a million times "It's all gone Dila, it doesn't exist anymore." So in a way I must be like my lecturers.
But at least I know it existed, once. That at one point, a cover-up took place. And I don't care if I'd have to leave my mind behind to --