Q of C

Once more. I'm here, once more. This time, with different amour. The U260 is honestly what I look for in a portable; Slim, light, sleek. Just amazing.

Correcting myself if I'm wrong, but the last week felt like new things were all on the way. This sense of excitement seemed quite difficult to cope with. It's been a long time since I've been this excited. A long, long time. It's overdue, I'd say. Yet, it still lingers.

Signs, oh signs. Stop it I don't wanna look too much into this, but it's really, and literally like a breath of fresh air. Never knew oxygen smelt this good. Of course, a mixture of it. Nicotine helps.


So words have been filling me lately, as always. And this recollection of past tunes I used to listen to very frequently has found a new place of appreciation in me. The lyrics, oh people of Lincoln Park, you guys are simply amazing. Now all the words make sense. Now I feel it. Now, I understand 'em.

I have a lot on my hands lately. Late nights, long days. It's been something good, the staleness of life has lost it's stench, now I feel more invigorated. I mean, it still stinks, but not half as bad as it used to. Come to think of it, there is a little more to smile about these days. Cool, I'd say. Coool.


Whether it makes sense, or it doesn't, relies completely on how you look at things. Unless you have Harvey's penny, there's always 2 sides to a coin. However, this point of judgement can really be detrimental to one's ability to find out the truth. The openness of the mind simply does not want to rule out every possibility. Fuck it I say. Sometimes things are the way they are, nothing more. It's like staring at the mirror wondering if it really is you you're looking at.

It really is you, believe that. It's what you've become, the result of your surroundings. But it's not what you are. What you are is simply a ever-changing organism that mutilates constantly when need be. What you are, is not real. What you are, you do not need. What you are, is not what you mean to be.

Oh Damien, you, too, are brilliant.

Stop asking. These Questions of Cancer are just silence in answers. The silence, that befalls onto unkind souls, ones that bleed while they weep.
It's still possible, these thoughts are figments of the devil in you. The devil, in us all. Still, it's possible.

I say that to myself daily.

Pest

An identity crisis. To be identified. To abolish stereotypes. To rewrite first impressions. And to prove myself. The opportunity, more so, to prove who I am.

If I died, say, in an accident, I doubt anyone would be able to recognise me. I think, that's sad.

Why are these things so important to me, I ask myself.

I've come to a point in my life where I can't leave things, too many of it, to chance. Instead, I want to be given one, a chance, to prove myself. So many times, most of the time, I'm always judged so quickly that I am not given an opportunity to prove myself. I'm not saying I'm better than what you think of me, but at least give me the opportunity to shatter this pseudo image I have in your head. Apparently this pseudo image was created by me itself, like inception, planting a seed in your head and allowing all the negativity to water it, producing an ugly, distasteful fruit. But really, it's not. You're just judging too quickly.


I'm sick of it. Fed up with it all, all this distasteful images youse have about me. "It's pseudo it's pseudo" I'll be crying out loud, yet these cries are just wisps of air brushing past your ears. And it's annoying, yet you don't pay much attention to it. Cause you know it's just soft wind, a breeze. Apparently that's what you think it is, when it's not.

Yes I am down by this all. It's bringing me down. What more can I do? I can't change people, I can't change me. I can't change me. I can't change me.

Just look past the physicality of it all. I'm more than just that.
I'm more, than just that.

If I died, say, in an accident, I doubt anyone would be able to recognise me. I think, that's sad.
I think, that's just awful.

What do I have, but painful loneliness, and a heart that longs to be needed and cared for. I'm a man, with nothing. I'm not a man, at all.

I think, that's just sad.
I think, I'm suffocating.

Star Light

I, just wanna get high. So high, as the fuckin' sky.

I, just wanna be on a cliff. So much danger, let me 'OD' on adrenaline.

Push me. Or I'll just drive off it. Either way, this will be the last night.

Say your prayers say goodbyes, cause tonight, we get high. So high, till we reach the fuckin' sky.

Till I, reach the fuckin' sky.

I'm headin' for the stars, don't be on your lazy arse.