Why Can't I?"
Why can't I breathe whenever I think about you
Why can't I speak whenever I talk about you
It's inevitable, it's a fact that we're gonna get down to it
So tell me
Why can't I breathe whenever I think about you
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Monday, February 19, 2007
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
i was on facebook.com again.. yesyes.. i know how unconstructive and useless it is.. but then i stumbled across a discussion board with the title "Penises are Gross" when i joined the group "no abstinance, just sex education"... and in the disucssion.. you would asume that it would be amusing and the people would be comparing the different genitalia of human beings. but this was not so. instead, you have women talking about how (heterosexual) sex is still important and they are just sitting on their asses waiting for the right penis to pop up and prove them wrong. this pisses me off!!
why?
because if you want to join a group called "penises are gross".. say it with conviction! and mean it. dont just sit around discussing the false notion of the heterosexual soul mate who is also good in bed. thats close to being impossible. its usually either or. physcologicaly satisfaction.. or physical gratification. whoever is experience both simultaneously oconsistently.. u have my utmost respect and envy.
wait. i have nothing against penises at all. quite the contrary actually. i just hate how women are constantly dreaming about the perfect guy, thier prince in shinning armour to come save them from thier misery. while (most) men would never complain about how vaginas are gross.. actually any one is good! and anything else that makes the women merely increases the value of that sepcific vagaina. and everywhere i go i hear about women moaning and groaning about the lack of intimacy and love. FUCK THAT.
and then another part of the discussion was about how most women have been brought up to feel that they have inherently filthy bodies. there are always things about themselves to keep disclosed and hidden, because it is only inappropriate and unpleasant. tell me about it. i still see it at home, i hear it, i feel it.. and it pisses me off! how is it that boys are allowed to have farting, burping contests, long discussions about taking a dump, openly scratch their balls with filthy nails, and walk around with a face full of acne without shame. and on the other hand, women walk around... AT LEAST 25% of thier lives defined by the concept of shame. how unfair.
thank god for the growing population of "metrosexuals".
anyways gotta run. :)
why?
because if you want to join a group called "penises are gross".. say it with conviction! and mean it. dont just sit around discussing the false notion of the heterosexual soul mate who is also good in bed. thats close to being impossible. its usually either or. physcologicaly satisfaction.. or physical gratification. whoever is experience both simultaneously oconsistently.. u have my utmost respect and envy.
wait. i have nothing against penises at all. quite the contrary actually. i just hate how women are constantly dreaming about the perfect guy, thier prince in shinning armour to come save them from thier misery. while (most) men would never complain about how vaginas are gross.. actually any one is good! and anything else that makes the women merely increases the value of that sepcific vagaina. and everywhere i go i hear about women moaning and groaning about the lack of intimacy and love. FUCK THAT.
and then another part of the discussion was about how most women have been brought up to feel that they have inherently filthy bodies. there are always things about themselves to keep disclosed and hidden, because it is only inappropriate and unpleasant. tell me about it. i still see it at home, i hear it, i feel it.. and it pisses me off! how is it that boys are allowed to have farting, burping contests, long discussions about taking a dump, openly scratch their balls with filthy nails, and walk around with a face full of acne without shame. and on the other hand, women walk around... AT LEAST 25% of thier lives defined by the concept of shame. how unfair.
thank god for the growing population of "metrosexuals".
anyways gotta run. :)
Friday, February 02, 2007
today i woke up to a heaviness in the heart.
(even though it feels more like the chest, diapraghm, the stomach - it seems to have become the phantom space the heart has been assigned to dominate)
i miss you.
(i know i should not, i hear your voice on the line every morning, i still hold your hands sometimes and you tell me you love me)
but i remember the taste of your skin, the faint coloured dust i carefully shaded onto your wall.
it seems, these days, pointless for any form of romanticization, for beauty to be softened, lovingly moudled and melted into into strawberry flavoured plams.
sticky sweetness, caught in your hair, your eyelashes.
it becomes a burden, theories of love, theories of broken normalcy, telling you that you are wrong. you
are
wrong. everything you know is
wrong.
right when you thought you had it all figured out. you inhale books written on pyschology, sociology, the science of politics, the science of your spleen, the ugliness of your spirit, your obnoxious ego, the contradictions of your mirrored self, the politics in the very language, the medium of your thoughts. everything you know is really not
what it seems.
anger arises, where the heart is. it feels cheated, lied to, disappointed in your very own gullibility, your vision framed by the black arms of prada. how could i have believed it was all true?
love is wrong. love you believe in is wrong.
so you close the door on yourself.
stop.
(just)
stop.
today i woke up to a heaviness in the heart.
i miss you
i miss the conviction i had in dreams of our entanglement, your cinamon finger tips and what i thought we could have been.
(but of course, it had been
silly
of me).
(even though it feels more like the chest, diapraghm, the stomach - it seems to have become the phantom space the heart has been assigned to dominate)
i miss you.
(i know i should not, i hear your voice on the line every morning, i still hold your hands sometimes and you tell me you love me)
but i remember the taste of your skin, the faint coloured dust i carefully shaded onto your wall.
it seems, these days, pointless for any form of romanticization, for beauty to be softened, lovingly moudled and melted into into strawberry flavoured plams.
sticky sweetness, caught in your hair, your eyelashes.
it becomes a burden, theories of love, theories of broken normalcy, telling you that you are wrong. you
are
wrong. everything you know is
wrong.
right when you thought you had it all figured out. you inhale books written on pyschology, sociology, the science of politics, the science of your spleen, the ugliness of your spirit, your obnoxious ego, the contradictions of your mirrored self, the politics in the very language, the medium of your thoughts. everything you know is really not
what it seems.
anger arises, where the heart is. it feels cheated, lied to, disappointed in your very own gullibility, your vision framed by the black arms of prada. how could i have believed it was all true?
love is wrong. love you believe in is wrong.
so you close the door on yourself.
stop.
(just)
stop.
today i woke up to a heaviness in the heart.
i miss you
i miss the conviction i had in dreams of our entanglement, your cinamon finger tips and what i thought we could have been.
(but of course, it had been
silly
of me).
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