it ends now.

this blog must die. how unbearably melancholic, that it had to die so tender, but for the first time in my life, i understand the meaning of Purpose. if there were an inspirational poster made of this, it would be a snapshot of this blog, with the caption: "PURPOSE: this blog has fulfilled its". there's nothing at all to regret, and im finding it tremendously difficult to express my thoughts - mind you, not my emotions - my thoughts into words. it's a really beautiful thing, this Death here.

i suppose when it was young, it knew not its own destiny. it was normal, just another one of 'em. but irrevocable..things happened.

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oh dear, i'll be back to finish this.

as can be seen, the previous post was deleted. i didnt remove the post though. nothing isn't quite nothing, i'm sure you know what i mean. so everything here, stays.

i suppose this is where a big part of me dies. i wish i could talk to someone about it. in fact, i think i will.

---calling---

at least FoW is over. expeditionary forces are ready for preliminary skirmishes. pike core is readying.

[EDIT: where the . is everyone]

[deleted]

and yes, im such a gloomy gus i annoy myself. what will you have me do? cause i dont know how to make a feeling stop. i'm sorry. tell me.

i got a pretty flower today, though of course, it wasn't half as pretty as the sender.

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my ride home today was more than an hour, during which i got steadily grumpier. didn't help that it was a blasted nokia bus, so i had to endure the stop-go-stop-go while sitting facing sideways. until this one moment, when the lady sitting opposite me, this lady who had all along matched me in grumpiness, read an incoming text message and just smiled to herself. i couldnt help but smile too.

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by all rational reckoning i should be happy.

but then again, by all rational reckoning i shouldnt have done it. i feel terribly wretched.

"it is the 12th of march 2009, 1521 hours. he walks up to the fourth floor, looks over the railing and jumps. he dies."

you always say "oh vince, don't say what you don't mean." i'm beginning to think that that's a bad idea. and i pray that you, wherever you are, whatever it is you're doing - sleeping, i hope - are alright.

there are just so many things flooding my head when i think about you, like now. everyday i have more things that i need to tell you, but never do we actually talk. you're busy i suppose, i understand. not so busy that you can't talk, of course, but i will rather wait like i always do. it's not fair to you to have to mollycoddle me.

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and then there's you. dammit, i dont want to write anything anymore.

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and i don't know how to be fine when i'm not.

everyday now, i feel a little more like a hobbit.

in my mind's eye i see epics unfolding, but i dont chase 'em, and they float away much like how those beautiful, vividly dyed squares of cloths - those that Arabic merchants always sell in their festive marketplaces - would. i dont really mind, it's just a pity sometimes.

and then i read books that go like this: 

"certain things last," i say to myself. "One might make things a little clearer. One might even imagine a man, say a Negro, going along a city street and humming a song. It catches the ear of another man who repeats it on the next day. A thin strand of song, like a tiny stream far up in some hill, begins to flow down into the wide plains. It waters the fields. It freshens the air above a hot stuffy city."

brilliant stuff isn't it? and i dont even try to find them. i got this quote from a book i picked on a whim in the library, an action so lacking of consciousness that when i was asked "wow what book is that?" i am forced to reply, "i have no clue either. the title was, uh, i dont know, actually"

and life is so dreamy mm.

""Have you ever been in love? Horrible, isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens your heart and it means someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses. You build up this whole armor, for years, so nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life. You give them a piece of you. They don't ask for it. They do something dumb one day like kiss you, or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so a simple phrase like 'Maybe we should just be friends' or 'How very perceptive' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a body-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. Nothing should be able to do that. Especially not love. I hate love."

~ Rose Walker "The Kindly Ones""

now, the only reason for these unsightly punctuations is that im quoting this quote. i wonder where she finds all these beautiful lines from hmph.