Monday, December 31, 2012


Here’s to the fine kisses
no one shared
and the people who found
someone to hold them
and the conversations
that never happened
at 2am
as some alternate
you and I
were struggling
to get the words out.
Here’s to the romantics
who, according to Joni Mitchell,
all end up
cynical and drunk and
boring someone in some dark café.
Here’s to words
and the writers who write them
and the pens that run out of ink
just as the letters come falling out.
And here’s to you,
specifically and unequivocally
you.
If only you knew
all the ripples of electricity
and honest words
you are responsible for.

(typewriterdaily.tumblr.com) =D

Thursday, December 27, 2012

My Sadness is deeper than Yours


My sadness is deeper than yours. My interior life is richer than yours. I am more interesting than you. I don’t care about anybody else’s problems. They are not as serious as mine. Nobody knows the weight I carry, the trouble I’ve seen. There are worlds in my head that nobody has access to: fortunately for them, fortunately for me. I have seen things that you will never see, and I have feelings that you are incapable of feeling, that you would never allow yourself to feel, because you lack the capacity and the curiosity. Once you felt the hint of such a feeling, you would stamp it out. I am a martyr to futility and I don’t expect to be shut down by a pretender. Mothballs are an aphrodisiac to me, beauty depresses me. You could never hope to fathom the depth of my feelings, deeper than death. I look down upon you all from my lofty height of lowliness. The fullness of your satisfaction lacks the cadaverous purity of my pain. Don’t talk to me about failure. You don’t know the meaning of the word. When it comes to failure, you’re strictly an amateur. Bush league stuff. I’m ten times the failure you’ll ever be. I have more to complain about than you, and regrets: more than a few, too many to mention. I am a fully-qualified failure, I have proven it over and over again. My credentials are impeccable, my resume flawless. I have worked hard to put myself in a position of unassailable wretchedness, and I demand to be respected for it. I expect to be rewarded for a struggle that produced nothing. I want the neglect, the lack of acknowledgment. And I want the bitterness that comes with it too.
-John Tottenham

Sunday, December 12, 2010

A Dictative High

"A dictative high"

i always thought i would get out of this burning house before it blows
i could quit before i'd overdose
but i did
i overdosed

it killed me, i responded with a smile
i felt like i was a book
only loved me till i was over
she moved on to a new one
i always heeded the reader
and now how i need her
to lead her to a place she loves
but i have no more pages
i forgot to write the words
in the arms of my treader
now i plead her
to read me again, again because
im addicted to her attention
addicted to her gaze
but no
i no longer excite her
so i promised myself
i shall get out of this burning house before it blows
i shall quit before i overdose

i stare at objects
as i fuddle one more bottle
i've got a new high
reached a new cool
it makes me feel i'm confident
now an unmissed fool
here's to my new love
my stream of timeless amazement
yet i keep telling myself
i shall get out of this burning house before it blows
i shall quit before i overdose

until i forget everything
i keep hopping for new highs
already now that i dont run away from the pain
i run towards it
i run towards how it makes me feel miserable
and now i can't be without it
i dont know if i ever talked to anyone
it's been forever in fact
alone now i feel the need to escape
as i leap for a new horizon i contract
i scream
i've got to run out of this house now before it blows
i failed i have overdosed

i wake up sometimes on a bed
with people talking around me
as they grieve
grieve on what this kid could have been
i figure it had been years
since i had grown up
i had grown in
and i had grown down!

the news spread
they smirk on it
watch the letter as it passes
but some look deep into themselves
and promise yet again
"i shall get out of this burning house before it blows
i shall quit before i overdose"






Saturday, November 27, 2010

Passion has a funny way of triumphing over logic

Here is the thing that makes life so interesting: The theory of evolution claims only the

strong shall survive. Maybe so, maybe so.. But the theory of competition says just because they are strong doesn't mean they can't get their asses kicked. That's right ,see whatever the long shot, come from behind, a underdog will tell you is this - " The other guy may in fact be the favorite, the odds maybe stacked against you. Fair enough! But what the odds don't know is that this isn't a math test. This is a completely different kind of test. One where "passion" has a funny way of triumphing over logic."


So before you step up to the starting line, before the whistle blows and the clock starts ticking just remember out here the results don't always add up. No matter what the stats may say and the experts may think and the commentators may have predicted, WHEN THE RACE IS ON ALL BETS ARE OFF. Don't be surprised if somebody decides to flip the script and take a pass on yelling uncle and then suddenly as the old saying goes,"We got ourselves a game!"



(So I decided this to be my first blog post. I did not write it myself though,  I just wanted to share
something that I like and believe in. This is a speech in a NIKE ad I stumbled upon in youtube
the other day. Check it out for yourself if you want to. It kicks ass  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dkBOI4lNfYs)

Cheers!