toblerone
+
riesling white wine
Saturday, February 28, 2009
It's the last day of February, yet again an end to another month.
I feel unaccomplished. I feel like I haven't done anything worthy of being called an "accomplishment" this month. I watched things slip away, barely clawing after them in a lame attempt to slow down the deterioration.
I was reminded again why I dislike flowers. They make me happy, at least at first. My fresh-picked wildflowers plucked from the flower beds of houses I pass by when I'm walking home from school are wilting. The pot of roses I bought from Trader Joe's has started to wither and the fresh yellow petals are starting to fade despite making sure they see the sun every day along with meticulous watering. In the end they all die anyway. Perhaps this is why that despite the initial happiness that flowers afford me, no one gives me flowers anyhow, probably due to my unhealthy attitude towards the stages when they start to wilt and eventually die.
It seems like a general problem with my outlook on things in life. I'm always looking at the endpoint, the conclusion, or even just the intangible things-in-the-future. The damn flowers are going to die anyway. Why can't I just take things for what they're worth and enjoy them while they last?
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Drive
Where are your keys, baby?
You can hold my hand as we break the opaque night over this dark, slippery highway.
I wish you weren't driving to send me away again.
I wish one day you will be my final destination.
One day, I won't have to leave you, ever again.
You can hold my hand as we break the opaque night over this dark, slippery highway.
I wish you weren't driving to send me away again.
I wish one day you will be my final destination.
One day, I won't have to leave you, ever again.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Afterglow
Purchased a baby pot of yellow Parade roses tucked into a demure, brown porcelain coffee mug at Trader Joe's today in an effort to cheer myself up.
The sky keeps threatening to rain but all it does is sneak desperate blasts of cold, dry air under my skin.
Browsed through a whole display of the sappiest, mushiest Hallmark cards in between classes. Finally chose one and wondered about forking over money for sweet nothings on square-shaped cardstock. I could just as easily steal the clever phrases and make my own cards. But I bought it anyway. Tucked it between my physiology notes and shuffled on to class.
Aaron Parks - Afterglow
[It] fits my mood at the end of the best of the best days, as reality resumes its dullness. Its stressors. The things that pull my head from out of the clouds. Perhaps I could be a giraffe in another life. The clouds would not be so far away and I could keep dreaming for just a little longer.
I miss going to sleep with a smile on my face, waking up to a smiling, loving face.
Reminders to self:
-Buy more stamps
-Stop feeling so sad
-Drink less coffee
The sky keeps threatening to rain but all it does is sneak desperate blasts of cold, dry air under my skin.
Browsed through a whole display of the sappiest, mushiest Hallmark cards in between classes. Finally chose one and wondered about forking over money for sweet nothings on square-shaped cardstock. I could just as easily steal the clever phrases and make my own cards. But I bought it anyway. Tucked it between my physiology notes and shuffled on to class.
Aaron Parks - Afterglow
[It] fits my mood at the end of the best of the best days, as reality resumes its dullness. Its stressors. The things that pull my head from out of the clouds. Perhaps I could be a giraffe in another life. The clouds would not be so far away and I could keep dreaming for just a little longer.
I miss going to sleep with a smile on my face, waking up to a smiling, loving face.
Reminders to self:
-Buy more stamps
-Stop feeling so sad
-Drink less coffee
Thursday, February 5, 2009
The puckered up LA sky
A rainy day in LA: weak and feeble,
Puckered up and all for show
The unfortunate attention whore:
The stillness cries, then kills.
Is killed.
Cars and their put-put madness along the endless road to a non-existent terminal destination
Always a purpose without a motive
We're always driving ourselves to insanity in our aimless desires to go somewhere be somewhere do something find something -
Hide from something, really.
Puckered up and all for show
The unfortunate attention whore:
The stillness cries, then kills.
Is killed.
Cars and their put-put madness along the endless road to a non-existent terminal destination
Always a purpose without a motive
We're always driving ourselves to insanity in our aimless desires to go somewhere be somewhere do something find something -
Hide from something, really.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)