quiero caminar en tus pensamientos como las flores florecen en la tierra de tus sueños descortezar los hilos de rojo oscuro que esconde tu debilidad desnudo, como una semilla viniendo afuera de la concha, para la sensualidad de vida para mi sensualidad para nuestra vida
{ music } killers!
{ book } atlas shrugged - nus-a pa kaha mahuman
{ show } latter days
{ mood } poetically ovulating
Written by lefthandedrebel at 06:17 PM.
its sad, how i have never told anyone i loved them.
of course, i said those three words, eight letter words, a dozen times but did i really mean it?
doe-y eyed, butterflies in the stomach, only in the movies -- " i love you". maybe its only in the movies. or maybe im no carrie bradshow.
but what is love? a surge of hormones that results in the insertion of extra flesh in bodily crevices, or a mutual satiation of each others needs may it be physical, financial, or emotional or worse yet because destiny mandates it.
dear void, what do you think?
Written by lefthandedrebel at 02:20 AM.
mark rushes into his room. His whole body soaking wet from the rain outside. he takes off his shoes, puts his canvas messenger bag on the table and turns on his laptop. He proceeds to the kitchen, takes off his shirt and throws it on the floor. He grabs a cup, pours water on it and places it in the microwave. high heat, 2 minutes.
he walks back to the living room, takes off his pants and grabs the cargo shorts with camouflage print on his beige sofa. He puts it on. He goes to back to his laptop. Clicks the smiley face icon. Inputs the username and password. A smile breaks out of his tired face, as an audio prompter happily pronounces that he has mail. Around this time, the microwave beeps. he went back to the kitchen, grabs two green teabags from the cupboard and places them in the hot cup of semi-boiling water.
he takes a sit on the floor, and places the cup of tea on the coffee table as he clicks his inbox. A message from carl. the muscles in his body tingles and his eyes grew big. He has a message from carl.
Written by lefthandedrebel at 11:56 PM.
the door opens and the heat smothers my whole body. it feels like standing in front of an oven. i feel like dough right before it is shoved into an oven to become bread.
i do it anyway. i need to smoke. i imagine that when i light my cigarette, i torch myself in the process, and then the heat would seem insignificant.
hooray for mickeydees! hello bloggers, im back!
Written by lefthandedrebel at 11:56 PM.
sometimes there are just days, when you wake up, you wish life was just a musical... so that after you sing and dance on a subway, on rush hour traffic, you'd feel less silly.
Written by lefthandedrebel at 04:39 AM.