digress & obsess [v2]

ive had a ridic past week; once again, nothing new here.

so, i guess, some sunday introspection is timely.

good friends zaida and mathew were back in town last week, spurring on my undying adulation of the kl night life.

and now that theyre gone,

the stillness has finally given me some time to wonder, of how many more years i have left, till i finally settle down.

at the rate im going, it seems to me as if im down the inevitable path to premature aging.  you know, those haggard, wrinkly spinsters you would rather fuck a horse than them. 

oo—er.

O_o

ok. anyway.

my point is.

lately, my line of thoughts have culminated into a growing affinity towards the subject of silence.  silence; in essense, or the lack thereof.  it is obviously not the ‘lack thereof’ that i fear, but its swooping, convoluted presence.

silence around me generally implies one of two possibilities:  either, a great deal is happening, or, not a lot is happening.

infer as you will, but my PR report and DDP thesis is staunchly refusing to write themselves, which is causing me much anguish and irritation. 

and ive been feeling very very fragile of late — a ferment of idiocy slowly erroding at the shreds of willpower i have left;

the braindrain of academic jargon and the repurcussions of my ill-chosen-choices crystallizing into terrible focus; senseless needless sorrow — i am now, beset by a sense of inevitability, resignation and smallness.

i now live in a realm of irony — whereby, saying things like "thou shalt not party so hard, and wake up the next morning like the living dead anymore", will all but ensure that i will.

its safe to say, folks that ive lost most of my control over thyself.

——–edit:

i currently feel like im stranded in a no mans land.

its one of those impossible nights when a heavy leaden sleep is gently pressing itself on everypart of me, except for my mind.

which cannot seem to sit still at all.

its one of those nights where my eyes are clamped shut from genuine exhaustion, but no sleep in forthcoming.

and that is an odd little thing - odd enough to provoke me out of bed into this post. 

you see, im always at a loss to distinuish between the closed eyes of sleep and of sleeplessness, since from an external point of view, the two are exactly the same.

but from the inside, from that dark hemisphere behind your eyes, the difference is a substancial one.

how the heck does the closed eye go from seeing/conscious/awake to unseeing/unconsious/asleep?

i have on many occasions, attempted to stay conscious so that i might this confounding transition.  needless to say, this proved counterproductive, and i never fall asleep.

the best ive been consciously able to notice, is a kind of shadowed, velvet-y haze that blooms up the insides of my eyelids, and a vague sensation of physically drifting downwards as various muscles unknot.

on the rare occasion that i do catch this sequence, in the process, i’m then consciously able to say that ‘i am about to fall asleep’.

irony is, any overt articulation of this fact in my head yanks me all the way back to a more conscious state, which means

‘i am no longer about to fall asleep.’

and so that vicious cycle grinds on.

the nebulous country between the conscious and unconscious state is, annoyingly,

uncharted and unchartable territory.

however, given my disgruntled, sandy eyed mental restless-ness over the last two hours up until this moment,

its a place id very much love the to inhabit now.please.thankyouverymuch. onehopes.ohfuckit.goodnight.

am i really missing in action?

im currently on a time constraint, seeing forth that my laptop charger has been left sprawled in a wrangled heap elsewhere, whilst i try to make the most of my 2:19 hours of battery sustenance.

oh shit.

i have, in a (non) pragmatic sense, been missing in action.

with little time on my hands to sleep, rest and eat, let alone blog.

last week was markedly a hectic one; showcasing to all present, me, a woman on the periphery of insanity; hedonistic and perturbed.

by that i mean, random bouts of flopping about like a helpless chicken, alternating betweeen a ludicrous consumption of ciggarettes, then, running up and down the building trying to meet deadlines, followed by speeding from sunway to kl to bangsar….assignments, errands, castings.

thursday was abysmally more helter-skelter than usual. 

with a presentation at 8 am the next morning, i amazingly managed to squeeze in a birthday tiramisu dinner, and a ghetto heaven night out @ zouk, w toddy, sya, and two, mad (would be an understatement) "kaki-botol" women.

i havent been to ghetto heaven @ zouk for yonks and yonks now.

seeing that the crowd has slowly but surely morphed into a scourge of "mat-rempits" and the likes.

but i told myself "fuck it".

ended up having a fucking awesome time, bouncing about to some RnB music, whilst dodging those two, mad, (by that time) stinking drunk women in their advent mission to get me equally as hammered.

i proudly staved of the alco, long enough to spot the corporeal gyrations of a staggeringly gorgeous dancer on the podium. 

i knew it was her! we’d partied together a few times before, hence the growing affinity towards her. she looked amazing even under the unforgiving shards of the zouk spotlight glare.

she waved.

i smiled.

and ended up shamelessly gyrating my hips against sexy hers on the podium as well.

like a firm foot of conscience, sya later poked a bit of fun at me:

"just when i thought your slutting days were over".

damnit.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

fast foward another hour or two bouncing about to RnB music;

our cummulative manpower finally managed to drag the two, mad, (stinking) drunk women out of the club at 3-ish am.

hazily tottered back home at 4,

before hauling my poor aching 70 year old body out of bed at 6:30 am on a friday morning for a 8:00 am presentation.

FUCK ME.

the later part of the friday was spent passed out into the oblivion of day and night. 

_____________________________________________________________

my aching loins were still giving me hell on a saturday.

absurd.

as much as i was tempted to go out and bounce the night away at heritage row

i didnt.

my night somehow ended up in my resident hell-hole that is bangsar.

the polluted, convoluted, congested bangsar.

the bangsar that seemed eerily quiet on a late saturday night.

there is something to be said about having friends you can have the following conversation with..

"i went for a drink late last night — everything seemed so still and empty and i became all existentialist and fretful" said I.

she replied "oh, as usual".

-_-

so i resigned to rationalising it here:

As my malleable behind plastered itself uncomfortably on a callous wooden chair, hunched over a table at nirwana’s, my troubled mind began to meander to my surroundings.

people eschew the night because it is existence at its most elemental — silent, empty.

my eyes stopped short in the middle of the road –

night sky ringed w strange, awkward constellations, the trees throwing its grey shadows down on the white of confetti bird droppings and the stark black tar, the distant streetlights with their eerie orange penumbra —

and then i thought, wot is this? all of it?

(my thoughts were abrupty halted by my obligation to inaugurate a conversation w the person sitting opposite me.)

but they quickly came back, the thoughts, striking down like a ten-ton-brick, whilst driving back home.

the silence seemed unbearable.

thick, dark, convoluted.

i peered outside.  fleeting images washed past my eyes like one of those flash animation thing-a-majigs.

there was a dented fire hydrant; a mars bar wrapper; all these people slumbering in their uterine houses; planets turning phlegmatically overhead. 

–

it was all almost as if it was too much, this silent night, this strange foreign life.

i shant elaborate so much on my new drama until i finally settle down, and get some work done.

why is wednesday always the day that something detrimental occurs to ruin my rest of the week?

im really trippin’. again

i nearly got into a bitch-fight w a psycho-fat-bitch today, over some nonsensical futile issues.

in my defense,thankfully, i didnt start it. 

and even if i did, i wouldnt have physically survived the fight, seeing forth that the ghetto bitch was 3 times my size, (excluding the ghetto attitude, and ghetto hair, and ghetto junk-in-her-trunk).

that flop of lard would have quite literally flattened me like a steamroller, lest she snap me into half.

oh man, ghetto fat women can be so fucking scary.

O_o

oh dear.

i doubt i will ever pull off enough ghetto attitude to retaliate,

nonetheless, i cannot deny there is a little bit of shaniqua in me just screaming to get out.

aahhhhh….im still keeling over today’s drama.

oh fuck! my nerves are rattled,

hence the dire need for some alco, good music and ‘less-ghetto’ company.

somebody help me!

ive been bed-ridden (literally) for most of the weekend.

missing. in. action.

sick as a dog.

ive desperately been to two doctors already; useless mooks, have done nothing but drain me off my funds dedicated to my much beloved shopping quota.

this monday, more mundane than usual, has evoked my deep-rooted feelings of restlessness,

ive been fidgeting furiously for the past hour,

switching interchangedly between hiding underneath the covers, and rocking about animatedly in my armchair,

with nothing much to do but adopt a heavy smoking respite to dilute my qualms.

curiously, i look into my mug of crappy instant 98% fat free chicken soup, to find maggot-shaped sorry pieces of ‘noodle’ depressingly floating around in the msg-infested liquid.

chicken soup for the soul?  hardly.

my fever is getting from bad to worse, lest i fear my eye-balls will eventually sear into my sockets.

a hollow, sharp pain runs through my chest and stomach, like parasites feasting on a dead carcass

my head is stricken w a hellish migraine - stunningly instigated the moment i hobbled to take a peek at my reflection in the mirror.

oh fuck!

i was met w a pale pasty cast, swollen red eyes set atop some grusomely garish blue-black eyebags.

all blood has been drained out of my lips,

and my hair looks and feels like a tepid heap of straw. limp and dead.

if there was ever a one time, i was at my lowest, resembling a hell-wrath of the living-undead.

it was now. 

my reflection peers helplessly back at me, willing me to do something.

i quickly grab a brush an attempt to weave through my locks.

limp golden strands when met with the brush,

fall out of my scalp like feathers from boiled-pre-plucked chicken.

horrified in my confoundment ,

my drama-mama tendencies causes me to hurl the god-be-damned hair brush across the room.

______________________________________________________________

all i can think about now, how i yearn, and miss 

his hands, a craft of the stuff that is magic,

his artful touch running melifluously over my skin, like a trickle of heaven-like ecstasy down my spine,

paradoxical to his sturdy arms, almost stifling in its fervent resilience, always compelling me to capitulate, 

his soft, dry lips meeting mine in fiery temperament;

how i long to exist once more in his affinity, not a care in the world; only a heightened sensation of things.

his hot breath caressing the creek of my neck.

and the inevitable of all there is to come, in that fleeting, but lurid moment of time and space.