Mundane

The 23rd Psalm

The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:
He leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul:
He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name' sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil: For thou art with me;
Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies;
Thou annointest my head with oil; My cup runneth over.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the House of the Lord forever.

I am not doing well.But I will not attempt to explain my condition in words.

The thing with language once you're acquainted with it is, you can manipulate it. And it starts to gather embellishments of its own. It lacks honesty.

I could really do with some honesty at this point.

I am yet to read The Bible. But the above, I hear of all the time pretty much, in some way or the other. And I love it. For no reason at all. Or perhaps,the vivid imagery. Yes, more likely so.

Also, I'm thinking I'll go into hibernation for sometime. Haven't done that in so long it ought to feel strange. I shall though, its about time.

Yes. Thats it. Keep well. Miss me. I guess.

Whatever.

Reading - Notes From Underground.

Last Watched - Sherlock Holmes -- A Game of Shadows

Listening to - SoKo 

And now.. taking a break. Ttyl. 

When you don't know better ..

I can't give it up
to someone else's touch
Because I care too much..




^Stuck in my head. Infinity-The Xx.

Howl

Suck my soul out

set it free

its stuck somewhere

in my oesophagus now

waiting for the wind

to push it down

pull it up

liberate it

set it free

come now,part your lips

let it flee.

Is it my fault that I could practically gnaw and rip off somebody's clothes now?Fuck.Sub 10 degree temperature.Us bongs feel cold soon.We take our mittens out when the calendar says its November.How am I supposed to study like this?EVER?!
And that was no attempt at poetry.
No,sir.I do not have the patience for that right now.Infact,everything lately has been very on-the-spur.
I need to bathe in Old Monk.I do.

One dreary after noon.

Oh hello,there..

Didn't mean to interrupt you-

Do you see me?

Then don't look away

Don't hide your face

Why I am life too

I am death.

Rowlatt

I put ink to paper
You put a gun to my head
I put ink to paper
The paper's splattered with red
See,just like my friend at the radio
I heard you sliced his tongue out
And did you think that'd silence him?
Then listen,
Can you hear revolution shout?


Because it kept raining incessantly.Cold hard drops.Of melancholy.And I had to distract myself.And the History textbook wasn't really doing the trick. x_X

I'm sorry,what did you say?

I thought you were talking to yourself again

ruled by the ghosts inside your head again

resigned,again.

I'm sorry,love,were you talking to me?

when you looked out the window

I thought you had ceased to be

Lost up,in the sky somewhere

Swimming among the clouds up there

What did you see?

For the love of Purple.

Pre-Boards. Weekend before History. 2 days. 3 books. Damien Rice,Keane and Kalbela.
Perhaps,some things don't change for the better.
All I want to do is hide from the bogeyman under my blanket. After I've taken a few shots of vodka. And my mind is reeling with absurdist prose. And a secret yearning to hold you close.