i just cried again.

tearless, of course.

i mean, i can turn on the tap if i want to. over the years i trained myself to tear on cue, and i learnt how to make my body do it. and so if i wanted the tap to remain jammed, i could do so just as well.

it's one of those sobbing things. you go through daily life, doing stuff like homework, or surfing the internet and then insidiously you start heaving and choking. it doesn't crop up suddenly, it creeps up upon you. until you feel cold inside and really hot outside, especially on your ears. and feel your heart sucking, sucking up into a vacuum.

i can't take this anymore.

call this a pity party if you like. i'm at this breaking point already.

it's that helpless feeling you get when you realise that you've reached the end of the road. that there's no way to rewind all that footage of life. there's no restart, no extra tokens. this is not a video game. the sinking feeling you get after introspection that all that you've done has had no effect. you thought you were making a difference, but things were predestined to fall this way, anyway. there there, i'm fatalistic now. amazing how one's perspective changes so quickly.

i'm not about to give a damn about the opinion of you. i shall go on, albeit in a different fashion than before.

i'm not going to pretend to be happy when i clearly am not. and i'll make it clear here that i.am.not.happy. and there's nothing that'll change that. except. maybe one or two things. but yes, i am not happy, no two ways about that.

this is my form of expression, and how can you stifle expression? isn't it hypocritical to uphold notions and virtues and concepts like freedom of expression when you can't even accept that of someone else?

and against the better judgement of lit text guru bernard, i shall throw caution to the wind and procure the bell jar, or any other of sylvia plath's work. maybe she'll inspire me.

at least they had/have the liberty, as an author/artist to be depressed. and bitchy. and whiny.

i don't, because not you, nor anyone else takes me seriously. i'm just some joke. that you laugh with or at. not my views, not my personality, not my qualities or my values. those things mean nothing to all of you. because at the end of the day, everyone is just too busy to give a shit. mutually beneficial relationships. that's what everything is. benuel is right, and so is melissa.

and in reality, i mean nothing to them and all.

from the beegees, i started a joke

I started a joke, which started the whole world crying,
But I didn't see that the joke was on me, oh no.

I started to cry, which started the whole world laughing,
Oh, if I'd only seen that the joke was on me.

I looked at the skies, running my hands over my eyes,
And I fell out of bed, hurting my head from things that I'd said.

Til I finally died, which started the whole world living,
Oh, if I'd only seen that the joke was on me.

I looked at the skies, running my hands over my eyes,
And I fell out of bed, hurting my head from things that I'd said.

'til I finally died, which started the whole world living,
Oh, if I'd only seen that the joke was one me.

quixoticka eulogized @ 8:56:00 pm