who boxes at 4am

it's great to be back in saint petersbrug florida. these friends and all who would never understand. i love the boys and i only hope to grow up old and older with them. everything else is so fake. period.

its bad when i have to take a pill to go sleep at night

so there i was, feeling numb and sick to my stomach. the weather's perfect, but only perfect to welcome harsh winter and endless rain. this baseball field, which seems to be never frequent by humans, looks too green and too clean. so there i was sitting on a deep side of this lonely planet. the atmosphere felt perfect, but only so to conjure subtle sickness to my stomach.

normality of abnormality

i tried, as being out of my own elements, to be normal to be a human after all. but really, it's so much better to be jaded and to be aloof.

jaded and cynical

i was sitting in front of a gigantic twenty seven inch tv one morning, before heading out to have a lunch with a mysterious sorceress, a rare breed in the north. i had two donuts, one glazed and one glace au chocolat, and twenty two ounce of dark colombian coffee. a magical pair of black buds pumps sonic energy and nostalgia right into my limbic system. as i hid in this window-less cave underneath pseudo-neogothic fortress, i felt that this world is rather lazy and she is too hazy. glazing blankly at white and green alphabets on a black screen, i witnessed my office to shift its angle rapidly, yet sluggishly. hundreds letter-sized papers with illegible greek and latin letters on my desk turned their corners, just to let me be aware that what life this is. another seemingly mundane event.

im actually afriad this time

i feel like it's just not gonna end well. why am i heading that way?

tuesday after monday

this day of normality bores the america out of me.

it is not new

i doubt a series of déjà vu as a humble subconscious business

life seems to unfold in a way it's predetermined.