Distractions for Daniel F.

i see sunshine. shadows flitting on the ground. flashing of monitors. unclean hands. papers everywhere.

i hear cars rushing. i hate that noise now. the fridge humming. mens oafish yelling.

i smell bitter smells. cigarette smoke. soap. washed hair. salt stained skin.

i type on everything. comment on everything. force myself outside.

i need distractions.

i need distractions.

but it doesn't drown one thing.

... Why wasn't i there for you.

Blog.

If you aren't reading my blog, there's obviously something very wrong with you.

Block Your Ears, We're Going Down...

I hate how when you try to block something out, it always finds a way in.

How you try to block that flow of words.

Those words that are able to hit where it hurts, to injure more so those already injured spots.

And i just want to slap the bitch.

I know how to block myself from people now.

It's a liberating feeling.

A Short Summary.

This is me.

Dag.

This is what i do.

And hope to pursue.

This is one of my favourite places.

Silence and a view.

This is what I need everyday.

Or else i will die.

This is what I want. 

*drool*

This is always good on a hot day.

Or cold.

This is my favourite Transformer.

*faints*

Zoooooooooooom!

Fin.

Overqualified - Joey Comeau.

Here's a taster of J. Comeau's book, "Overqualified", which i shall be recieving in two-four weeks time. Too long in my opinion.

..

To: American Apparel
Re: You bitches

Dear American Apparel,

I am writing to apply for a job and I am including my resume even though you know god damned well that I'm fucking qualified. I had that job for six years before you fired me for this bullshit. I want my job back. You've probably already given it to some stupid bitch with half my experience just because she's got tits. What else would I expect though from a cunt who sucked her way into management right from the...

Shit.

Maybe I do have issues with women.

Joey Comeau

..

Oh my god. 

I think i'm in love with Joey Comeau.

Paper Hearts Floating Around

So i went to see Paper Heart last night in Carlton with Martin. And to be honest, i thought it was brilliant.

Before that though, He felt like going for a drive to St. Kilda Beach. So that's what we did.

We read our Asimov books at the cafe/bar. Had coffee and beer. Chips. Smokes.

Then we headed out to Carlton. "In GPS, we trust."

We had gelati. I had Mango and Coffee. He had Raspberry and Strawberry.

We talked about our likes and dislikes. Mimicked conversations on the street. "The aesthetics were completely off...".

Then went to see Paper Heart.

The night was a perfect temperature. It was good. Not too hot. Not too cold.

No one wanted to play pool that night. So we're playing on Saturday.

I'm playing with Lego. I made a helicopter.

Breaking Handcuffs Into An Ocean.

There are things within time that seem so make believe. That seem to say that the very consciencousness of what and who we are are mere blimps in another life.

Questioning the existence of ourselves, we struggle onwards, against a battle that we constantly seem to lose. And shouting, screaming out, "To start over, to start again." What would you give for that?

Time takes a lot away from us. I guess it's ok. Perhaps.

Apparently tomorrow doesn't really exist, but we live in the existence of one day, that continually chooses to cover us in a black blanket at times. Sometimes it feels like all the time, doesn't it. So, a brand new day seems rather out of the question with one day to live.

A relationship doesn't need to be exclusive. Sometimes, if you know it's there, although you know you're going to lose them in the end, and even if you feel that stabbing pain in your chest, even if you see it all as wrong, even if you hear the songs, and they leave when you're still there, it's perfect. For just a second, you're at peace.

Love is blinding they say. People would follow you until the dark, they say.

If it feels like we've seen everything, and we're asking to be saved, i'd rather much be a propaganda, and see you live alone, happy.

I never want to be an item again. Never. I'm going to raise my hands, to that sky that's so blue, and hopefully touch something that i'll never see, but be satisfied that i at least touched it. For a second.


Just for this time... I love you.