We kill, we lie, we hurt, we take, we break.
We use, we throw, we maim, we humiliate.
Yet we still love, we protect, we care and we save.
One day, we’ll be extinct.
The irony in that while saving, we damn ourselves by slaughtering.
Does it make you feel like a man when you rape
Does it make you feel stronger when you kill
Does it make you feel powerful when you ridicule someone smaller
Does it cause you joy to stab someone in the back
We laugh we cry we smile we fuck
We apologize only to repeat the cycle once again
We are damned to flail around
Too stupid to realise the enormity of our actions
We are but monsters
Monsters who look like you and me
Monsters who live breathe and laugh
We are all monsters.
Filed under: The inexplicable things that occur, Through my eyes, Words words words! | Tags: Delusions, Dreams, Gordy, Murakami, Words
I have tons of things that I want to say. I would love to pour out my deepest secrets, whatever is plaguing my thoughts, and the ifs and whys of all the happenings around. I want to write them down, in the lovely green notebook lying on the floor. But I can’t find the words, I can’t find the thing that gives me the inspiration to write. So I’ve been living in my dreams, my delusions. Imagining the stuff that I can’t put down in words. So far so good.
Tell me, Mr Wind-up Bird, do you ever get obsessed with these delusions? Not to boast or anything, but I do. All the time. Sometimes, when they’re really bad, I’ll spend the whole working day wrapped up in a cloud of delusion. Of course, I’m just performing these simple operations, so it doesn’t get in the way of my work, but the other girls sometimes give me strange looks. Or maybe I say crazy things to myself out loud. I hate that, but it doesn’t do any good to try and fight it. When a delusion wants to come, it comes, like a period. And you can’t just meet it at the front door and say, “Sorry, I’m busy today. try me later.”
May Kasahara from The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle by Haruki Murakami
Gordy, I miss you! It’s not the same lah, without you here. 
I can’t wait for Dec. Will you find me a pseudo boyfriend? I’ll tell you the full story when you’re online.
What if I could reach inside and
Look into your heart
Tell me if I’ll find myself or some blond
Scarlet. Will there be bleeding open sores or band-aids
What if I could reach inside and
steal away your elixir? Would you still love
me like you did yesterday?
The start to forgiveness for the
end of the beginning.
Harder to learn to love
Harder to love than hate
Harder to live than die
Strings are banding together, tightening,
Choking, harder, closer
Harder to keep myself from sinking
