constant calamity

like a nagging dry cough. 

like a bone in your throat. 

like a splinter, like a sore. 

like a scratch on your car door.

as irritating as can be,

the best you will ever live to be. 

like the irritants of the world, 

like everything we wish 

to NEVER be. 

want not, 

waste not. 

the lights are on

but no one's home. and you wonder why  everyone's laughing.

careful, now. 

soaking in superficiality

the colgate smiles and the exchange of complements and the how do you do's and this and that and drinking overpriced wine you don't really like and paying for music renditions which are already overplayed on the radio. oh, you know the lyrics too? good on ya, then. i see your shoulders moving and over there, i see your foot tapping but why won't you stand up to dance? can't even lift your dainty fingers to clap? oh, it's not cool...and it's juvenile is it? my bad, then. 

--- 

indeed, tragedy and trauma screams louder than tranquility. the empty vessel, the misbegotten conduct. and yet, the conduct that is favoured by most. 

theatrical antiques

nothing fun-er than watching pro wrestling on a saturday night at a community centre. what, what?! 

the late commute

rest those tired eyes of yours. shut them tight and let your shoulders fall. lower your cap and dream away. oh, the luxury of claiming a seat and catching a few seconds for yourself. before you alight and your mechanical self gets back into routine. when payday is all you ever cared about. when happiness is supposedly achieved by being debt-free, by accommodating to your supposed needs and wants and repeat repeat repeating this cycle. day in. day out. 

what have you become? what have they made you become?

when choices aren't really options at all. when conformity becomes the basis of security. 

what has reduced you to such standards disguised as top notch when really, 

it is the lowest form of all. 

- 

you have reached your station. 

time to wake up. 

"doors are closing." 

an aural annoyance

there are grown men in the playground downstairs from where i live. before i had a peek, all i heard were shouting.  like madmen who had ran out of antidepressants or perhaps stung by bees. it also seemed like they could be secretly supplied with all the lozenges in the world including unlimited voice rehab treatments. yes, there was a lot of shouting and yes, it was very.loud. of course i had to take a peek. to see if it would continue and if any human or animal was in danger. lo and behold, 7 (somewhat) grown men doing push ups and attempting to stand on their heads. they do not appear to be drunk but what compels them to do such activities at this time of the night on a weekday is beyond logic. i am tempted to throw a bag of ice cubes at them but 1)i don't want to waste my ice cubes 2)my throwing skills aren't much to brag about. and why do i want to do such? because simply i have zero tolerance for such sounds. at this time of the night.

so what do i do? 

i vent  in hopes they will shut the hell up and migrate to another playground far far away and yonder. 

well. 

well! 

did an invisible genie just hang out on my shoulder and grant my wish? thank you genie. too kind you are and to others you shall service. 

go watch american horror story. 

the last sacrifice

how often do we think of our final breath, our final moment?
how often do we imagine and fantasize this idealistic vision in our heads?
does the vision change for you or has it always been the same?
do you imagine too much or not often enough?
are these questions even helping at all?

-

it helps to communicate on a regular basis.
to communicate wisely, to communicate with purpose.
when truth is twisted and tugged at the knots, what is your sole reason for every movement?
action? decision?

how much further do we dig our rabbit holes before we realize there shouldn't be any in the first place?
when will we realize we've been far too privileged?

-

sometimes the day can seem cloudy and suffocating even,
but never let 'it' / 'them' consume you.
never. and remember.