four three

click then read. please. it will make the point so much more apparent.

did u manage to catch the review. fridays paper sneaking in the corners.
rachael yamagata.wow.
she could have just wrote she came. she left.
whens the souls not there its just blatantly obvious.
it was as if i was reading the script from some long drawn played out court case.

what she actually wrote on her stupid writers pad with a pink felt pen with feathers sticking out and glitter peppered in the ink. if you can even count that review as journalism.

so what she wrote with her pink pen.
-she enter from stage left
-songs in the order she sang
-stone and doodle on paper
-check her texts
-remember that there is no fucking reception in the concert hall
-played pac man till the concert was over

went home
-complained to her family about her job
-wiki out facts for the review.

amazed of the trash that the straits times actually print out.
but arnt i spot on.

four two

peanut butter. peanut butter.
where have you gone.
one whole jar
two days tops.
for into my mouth
lick and ate.
what comes out
is fats of late.

oh hair. oh hair.
why do u mock me
at the rate u are falling
dy/dx
y= total amt of hair
x= hair fall
left all will be a baldy.

flies insects and all things that bug me
metaphorically. literally.
why do impale me
with your words or with the ticks
is it not enough you took my blood

my minds now all in blitz
placed in a food processor
and pulsed three times.

what comes out
is all thats left
ashes. dust.
laid to rest.


tune for the kindergarten worthy post.



watch the whole damm thing. its only six mins. what can u do then.
more porn. just stream both.

four one

rachael yamagata played yesterday.
i should have dump all my books and went.
sadly i stayed home and studied what was suppose to be my future.
hope she comes back.




its duet sans ray lamontagne but still just as good.

four zero

what do you see.

thirty nine

what if you rolled over.
and given the choice.
to never wake up.
would you choose
the beat of your heart.
or to finally meet your mark.
inst life just one big grand fuck.


on a utterly unrelated scale. the yeasayer.



raw bliss.

thirty eight

one. he looks like a bobble head character with a clown nose. feel free to glance above.
two. he finds running fun a necessity. a drug that he has not been able to take forever.
three. he is proclaiming runners withdrawal due to his busted knee.
four. he rather be left alone to play than with the other kids.
five. he feels largely awkward without his his music player.
six. he will never understand or ever will be in love. just have intercourse goddammit.
seven. he then again has never had intercourse. or felt all the trash talk about sugar spice and everything nice.
eight. he does not believe in marriage and everything it represents.
nine. he believes in crystals chakras magic reiki and all that sortastuff.
ten. he hates loud obnoxious humans although there are times he was exactly that.

plus

one. he believes his death will be cause by getting run over. the only question is when.
two. he always will be in his own world when his headphones are on.
three. he always need more clothes. to distract passers by from his face.
four. he feels out of character doing this. the sole reason being to stall studying for his exams.
five. he wants to grow up to be jamie oilver bon iver and an amish guy.
six. he researches on food probably way too much but he still does it.
seven. he wants a new oven. and a camera. and so many others it will be a whole other post.
eight. he wishes he a creative genius. and a zillion times smarter. working on the former.
nine. hes the kid that skips orientation cause he rather work.
ten. he aspires one day to farm his own crops herbs and daily staples.

plus

one. he hates anyone touching him. pats on the back included.
two. hes this old now but still acts like hes ten. please refer to picture above.

ps. thats not his shirt its his fathers.

thirty seven

words immaterial
no explanation desired
for a love like this.

my solitary premature valentines days post.