Sleepless Nights 60 - Kashmir; Again.

I want to go to Kashmir. I have no idea why, it must be the fact that these fucking books are giving me a serious case of wanderlust, it's not enjoyable any more. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I've finally finished Shalimar the Clown, took exactly a month. Disappointing of course, considering I finished half the book in the past 3-4 hours. Procrastination is being my new fucking mistress now.

Before I forget, I'd like to thank the people who actually rate my post-disguised rants. It brings me much joy, whoever it is, I thank you and urge you do more. I don't think people know how I appreciate this blog being read (And read. And commented. And loved. And used as material to get the love juices flowing down to the sides of the thighs. Call me.), it gives me something to do. I realise I don't thank people enough. It's the ego probably, the incessant psychological foundation in which I believe that I'm extremely independent. This could of course be a rue to actually lure more readers in hopes that they fall for the tough-guy-blooming-heart routine, which come to think of it is highly probable given the fact that I cannot arrest my need to be constantly manipulative. I digress. Where the fuck was I?

And I.... I.... Fuck, where was I...

That's Prachi Desai. One of the hottest fucking creatures to roam the earth nowadays.

I now have a portrait of Audrey Hepburn up in my room. The extent of her beauty is such that it falls into the category of sin, no woman should be that fucking beautiful. It's extra-ordinary. It eats one up, making one reluctant to move from one's bed, where one could get the full view of her smile as soon as one wakes up and restricts one from going to class. Honestly - And this is meant for both genders - could you actually have the fucking heart to break away from a smile and go to class when the smile looks like this:

No you can't, you cunt. How could you even consider that fucking thought. No you can't. Doing so would be going against the rules of motherfucking nature.

I believe I'm stuck in that void where women's beauty are accentuated in the event where they don something traditional. It does not matter what kind of garment it is; it could be a kebaya, salwar kameez, cheong sam, kimono, whatever, point is that if they do, I'm a sucker for it. Bonus points - No - A hundred million fucking stars for them if they actually act as polite as they look. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. Give me a goddamn gun already. Cultured. Yeah, that's how they should come.

Suddenly, a wave of depression as one realises that they are no longer made as they were used to.

Ah well.

My mind is so fucking boggled nowadays with the thought of what to study for the oncoming surgery exams. No, I'm not that much of a retard so as to not have a clue at all, I'm just confused considering there's also a fucking oral exam. This unnerves me. Quite a lot.

Someone asked me about my take on adoption before. I shrugged it off, probably because I don't actually care much about the topic or it must've been the inquirer was not someone I was fond of. No matter, the subject has piqued my interest now.

I guess the simplest way to say it would be that a person would have to walk over my cold dead corpse before he or she could manage to convince me to adopt a kid. Call me shallow, call me an insane cunt, whatever. I have an abnormal hatred towards kids in general, and by general, I mean those who are not connected to me by the bond blood. I cannot, under any circumstances, take in a child who shares nothing with me and call him son/daughter. I find the thought two inches short of being revolting. How am I supposed to take this... Being whose history I know nothing of and teach him or her things that has been passed down to me from my very own ancestors? Perish the thought. Out of the question. Sure, call me an insensible husk of a human being but when it comes down to certain issues, I honestly do not believe in any compromise.

What the fuck is with this ramblings...

Eargasm of the day: The greatest song to have ever been created.

Sleepless Nights 59 - Farewell Blues

No, no, don't consider this blog deserted. I'm having a tough break at the moment and my brain is too clogged up to spew up some ideas to write and ponder upon. Or it could be that all my creativity has been sapped by the fucking novel and I'm now left dry and limp and... Well, you get the point.

I think I'm having a fucking mental breakdown over all these shit. Surgery, Internal Medicine, the Novel, myself in general, lack of productivity, all of them are fucking coming at me with fucking swords. Paranoia is on its way, or hell, it's already here innit. There's just too much to fucking do in a lifetime. Too fucking much.

Okay... Chuck Wilson is going on the list of people to avoid and possibly murder while out on a stroll.

A few days ago while I was in class, the teacher started to go ahead and tell us about different surgeries and all that shit I knew nothing of. It's like a fucking slacking alarm bell, ringing just exclusively for me. Other people are nodding and asking shit while I'm wide eyed at the back wondering what the fuck is the goddamn  contents of the spermatic cord. My fucking Anatomy was flushed down with all the other theory years shit the day I got the news that I passed my exam. Fucking hell man, surgery is fucking nuts.

I can't even seem to read a book properly lately. I've been at Rushdie's Shalimar the Clown since the 31st of December. Can you even fathom that? Reading a book for almost a fucking month? It's bollocks.

Possibly his best after Midnight's Children. Goddamn this book is awesome.

Thing is, it's not like it's a boring book or anything. It's fucking awesome. There's so much romanticisation of beauty in the book to the point that it's fucking absurd. Still I take a fucking month to read it. Goddamit all.

I'm not ready to grow up. I'm content with the fact that I still like to do things that I have been doing ever since I was a kid. It's not like growing up is a bad thing or anything but I've seen so many people losing the essence of their being when they decided to be fucking mature and all that jizz. I need to keep a part of me insane and carefree to even fucking function in society.

Then it's the fucking novel. You know what, when I first wrote it, I had the idea of writing our story. It will be epically magical, a realm of fact nesting on a bed of fiction and only few would truly know what they're reading. I want to let them know how great it was but holy fucking shit, now I'm finding it so hard to tell. It's like being exposed, being robbed, being fucking torn. This was our story, and here I am showing them what it was like. Being fucking naked, more like.

But it's okay. Things will work out. As the fucking optimists love to shove down our throats.

Eargasm of the day. The only thing that actually fucking relates to the fucking title.

Sleepless Nights 58 - Notion of Romance.

It's fucking amazing how facebook could manage to annoy me so nowadays. Fucking pictures with quotes decorated with glimmering shit and what's said does not even make sense. Then you have retards going 'TRIPLE LIKE' or 'THAT'S SO TRUE OMGWTFBBQ' and all sorts of other bullshit. I am, of course being rather light on them because for some reason, none of them could spell any more. I digress though, I'm here to talk about other things.

OMGWTFBBQTRIPLELIKE

I don't mind the quotes really, some of them are pretty well thought out. Most are cliché of course but so is your Mom.

Wait, no, really. I can't stomach that.

The truth of the matter is that all these fucking quotes are made up by cunts that got their hearts broken along the way and decide to publish their newfound faggotry for the whole wide world to see. "Oh, I will marry the other woman even when I'm already married to the epic love of my life. Why? Because my Mom wants me too and I'm awesome and I can fucking sacrifice her feelings and shit just for the giggles."

That's from Ombak Rindu. A film so fucking Beta it should be reincarnated as a man and be crucified.

I had am argument with some acquaintances previously about this very thing, and they were all about 'That man is a strong one, since he can let go and make everyone happy.' What. What? How does that make any fucking sense?

If I were to have to choose between my Mother's choice of woman or the love of my life, then the answer would be simple. I'd leave my paramour, say no to my Mom and fucking live my life as a celibate monk. That's what I told them. So they countered with the fact that now, not only have you messed things up for yourself, you've destroyed another person's life.

Look. One of our magnificent human character is the ability to forget and actually move on. It would take a while, no shit, but at a point it'd happen. We humans also have the ability to receive and give so much love that it's fucking impossible to not find another person. So, I'm not destroying another person's life, I am merely depriving her of the love and care that under suitable circumstances would have been given freely. Sooner or later, she'd find someone else, have fun etc. I honestly believe that this is fucking better than me actually getting married to another woman while she watches from the sidelines. Two-timing is still two-fucking-timing and my God that spineless cunt of a bastard child should be murdered in cold blood. The injustice of it. And you have people applauding him. Women; please. Have some pride. (Ready for feminine shitstorm mode activated!)

Fauziah Ashari must be shot.

Problem is... It's so easy, you know. Giving up on true love just cause of a major bump in the system.

I actually do believe in the notion of a true romance. Sacrificing everything for that one other, it really does seem fucking noble to me. I believe that while it's hard, it'll be worth it and most of all, I believe one must not falter when it gets unbelievably fucking hard. Most of the time, it does not work but when it does, it's magic. The concept of soulmates is not as far-fetched as people would like to think, why is it so hard to trust in the fact that some people are crafted to fit each other like a ball and socket?

When it comes to expressing it, I honestly don't see the point in putting pretty words together and making one's significant other blush in awe. Saying things like 'I can't go to fucking sleep because I keep on thinking of you' is a fucking lie for fuck's sake, or else we'd have humanity fighting for survival of the species.

The simplest way of saying it is this. Tell a lady that you don't think about her twenty-four hours. If she cannot appreciate the utter truth and simplicity in this matter-of-fact sentence, then dump her ass. If she does however inquire further, then tell her the truth. Tell her that even when that is so, the moments that you spend with her is so fucking intoxicating that nothing worldly or otherworldly could ever make its presence heard. Tell her that yeah, you do actually think of other women but when she's there, not even Zooey Deschanel could distract you. If she does seem sane and accept these notions, fucking wife her.

I've met and known some people that are insanely epic when it comes to the matters of the heart; my parents and grandparents are in that group too. When you see the connection in these people that's when you feel so utterly inadequate for even thinking that you know what a real romance even looks like.

Fucking sappy post innit?

Eargasm of the day:

“Don’t leave me,” he said, rolling over onto his back and panting for joy. “Don’t you leave me now, or I’ll never forgive you, and I’ll have my
revenge, I’ll kill you and if you have any children by another man I’ll kill the children also.”

“What a romantic you are,” she replied carelessly. “You say the sweetest things.”

-Noman and Boonyi; Shalimar the Clown by Salman Rushdie.

Things That Actually Piss Me Off.

Immensely. I shit you not on this and I swear it on the soul of a star and the body of the moon with mortals as my witness and the earth; my judge. (That actually sounds pretty fucking awesome. Oh, me.)

Anyway, since I haven't been updating as much as I should (Should? What is this should?), I've come up with a list of the ultimate acts of fuckberries that tend to poke at the demonic being sleeping in me. Think Azathoth. Wait, I forgot. You don't know who Azathoth is, do you. Oh, you.

1. Slow walkers.

Why: Because they are a pest on the street and should be swiftly exterminated.

I'm not talking about people who take leisurely walks. I do that, everybody does that, what I truly fucking mean is how some people tend to walk in groups and since their embryological development must have been arrested  at just about the time things like manners and consideration began to form, the fact eludes them. Hog the street by fucking walking alongside each either like the great wall of motherfucking fuckness and ignore the environment.

This is what I feel like doing every single fucking time. Also, guy on far right looks like an elephant.

That's not the worst of it, the ultimate uh, G-spot of anger stimulation is when you pass them and they give you a look as if you're the biggest fucking candy-ass in existence. At that point, it seems as if you're the one that's actually in the fucking wrong, not these fucks that hog the goddamn pavement like it's their goddamn fucking gift to mankind. And when that happens, my wrath escalates to a whole new fucking level.

Fucking cunts deserve to be flayed and thrown into an acid bath.

2. Indecisive Speech.

Again, no, I'm not talking about how you tend to think about shit before you actually do it. I'm talking about people who... Fuck, let's take an example.

A: *Playing video games or raping a 75 year old mastectomy patient*
B: Dude, what the fuck man, you should *Insert carefully planned instructions here* and then you'll get there.
A: Right, okay.
B: Oh, but you know, that's what I think, if you don't want to do it then it's okay.

Look, I generally absofuckinglutely abhor people who tend to tell me what to do when there's so many other ways to do it. Like when you can go left, he/she berates you about the benefits of going right instead. So while I already am offended and pissed, he/she suddenly acts all saint-like and gives a little bastard laugh with the words: Oh, but you know, just from my perspective. Well fuck your perspective you fucking cum-guzzler, do you honestly think that I actually need your guidance doing something which one needs no special skills to master? It's like telling a guy how to hold his fucking cock while he takes a piss.

In contrast, I'd appreciate it a fuckload more if you'd shout at me like, at least then I'll have the excuse to elbow you in the goddamn mouth.

3. Bad Table Manners.

This one is fucking simple, yet so many people fuck it up. I don't particularly blame the participant to be honest, it's their upbringing innit? Still, it pisses me the fuck off, more so then anything else. If you still don't get what I mean, here's a scenario. You're doing something which more or less needs little or no concentration at all. Then comes a person who sits beside you. Said person has some sort of foodstuff and yeah, you admit, you feel quite hungry at the time too. Then he starts to eat, and then this:

When I'm angry, I start to fucking do a form of destructive ballet. Also, holy shit, the curves on that lady.

Why? I understand your obvious confusion reader(s?) but allow me to explain. The moment said associate starts eating, the noise that starts to be emitted from his/her mouth is not only fucking nauseating but also fucking infuriating. I can think of at least ten more verbs but let me just stop myself. It's amazing to discover how the human mouth could make such squelchy fucking noises but most of the time, my meagre admiration is swiftly and brutally murdered by the overwhelming wrath.

The thing is, okay, I get it, you're used to eating with your mouth open and have mastered the art of SBUM (Sonic Booms Upon Mastication) but is it really that fucking hard to close your goddamned mouth when you eat in public? Yes, I actually am being fucking anal here and this is one of the times when I think that I'm allowed to be a fucking cunt.

4. Runny Noses.

This is the pattern. Easy maladies that can be overcome with a bit of cheap materials but people don't do it cause fuck what everybody else experiences, I could care less.

I actually know what it feels like to have a runny nose that fucking leaks every half a day or so. Been there, nothing special about it. Yeah, okay, drugs make you drowsy, fine. What about tissues then? There'll be too much of them lying around? Okay that seems legit, after all, who wants shit like that. What about handkerchiefs then? You're allergic to them? Yeah, now I'm allergic to your fucking presence.

No, you refuse all of these fucking solutions, turning instead to snorting that shit back up your nose and making a fucking racket. Every three fucking seconds. I don't know man, to me it seems like a pretty simple thing to combat. Blow your nose. That simple, really.

5. Parasites That Make a Mockery Out of The Art.

Ah yes. This. Well then.

I don't think I need to explain about the parasitic nature of yours truly. What I want to outline is the fact that some people try to be parasites and end up making a fucking fool out of themselves.

This came up as a search result. Oh sir Google, you know me all too well.

As much as it seems unrealistic for a fellow parasite to follow a set of rules, it's true. It's mostly logic of course.

i. Always have a backup plan. You know, just in case what you want for free becomes unattainable without some sort of compensation from your pockets.
ii. If you're leeching off friends, never aim the same place twice in a week. That saves you the fucking misery of passive-aggressiveness. Also, seriously man, are you that daft?
iii. Never ever reveal your intent e.g. 'Oh man, you should give me some free food.' or 'I'm going to your house for dinner and then I'm going to leave without any feeling of shame'.
iv. Never fucking leech off your permanent contacts.

The final one has always been my favourite. People whom you know will be there for a long fucking time, you don't fuck around with them. For me it's family. You don't fucking parasitise upon family. Or be picky with them. Of course, I'd like to say that everybody should follow the guidelines but I guess some people are not really built for it.

Nowadays you have these buggers that go around proudly exposing the fact that they're parasites with utter disregard of any fucking decency. Fucking cunts. Rot in the tenth circle of hell.

6. Hygiene.

If you have known me, or at least known my good friend Common Sense, you'd know that when it comes to hygiene, I'm not the champion of it. I am, however extremely particular about a few items.

You wish you could get up in the morning and fucking look like this while taking a bath.

My rule is simple. Rooms can be as dirty as you want them to be, hey, go fucking nuts decorating your walls with faeces, I don't care. What I do care however is the condition of the toilet and the fucking kitchen.

Really, is it that fucking hard to clean up the dishes or fucking keep the WC in a soothing condition? Fucking dirty dishes, hair in the sink-hole, are they really that hard to dispose off? It pisses me the fuck off, holy fuck it's a fucking plate for God's sake, fucking wash it already.

7. Whiny Little Fucks.

You've got problems. Yeah, I get that. You need to talk it out and vent, yeah I kinda get that too. What I don't get is the fact that you must, YOU MUST continuously repeat the fact that your fucking life sucks mega-proton-metsu-hadouken-balls to me. I am actually boasting here and the truth is that I'm a pretty good listener but going on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on...

About it does not make me any fucking wiser about the matter at hand. Yes, I have an impeccable understanding of the situation now but no, I do not know what to do even if you tell the same fucking thing a million fucking times. I get pissed off and when I get pissed off I isolate myself and when I isolate myself, you no longer have a fuck-buddy place to rant and when you no longer have a place to rant, you call me a selfish cunt.

... Apparently... A band...

Two things which piss me off about it. One; you find the need to actually tell people about your problems and fucking drag them into the chasm that you yourself haven't climbed out of. This is forgiveable actually, no matter how much a cunt it makes you seem like. Two; the fact that you have not even tried to fucking resolve the problem on your own, in fact, you do absolutely nothing about it, non-whatsoever. You don't even try to help yourself and your first fucking impulse was to seek out the nearest fuck and tell said fuck all about it.

Fucking cunts, the lot of yous.

Eargasm of the day: Fuck, I keep forgetting this fucking segment in.

Sleepless Nights 57 - How I Spent New Years Eve; From the Eyes of a Still Morbid 20 Year Old.

Yes. This.

Again.

A bit more differently though, a bit of recap is appropriate, no?

Let's see, big things happened in good ol' 2011 didn't it? The biggest thing for me being my decision to stop photography for the time being. It's a necessity I guess, lest I be driven fucking crazy by it.

2011 was a year of utter insanity. I made it into clinicals after three motherfucking years of endless theories and biochemical reactions. I went to the UK with my brother, something which I will always hold dear to me because we finally found a way to actually talk to each other in some way that does not require some sort of mediator. Well, it's a start. I'm grateful for that.

AIEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!

There were fucking babies born which are related to me by blood. There's one on the way which would probably cause the family to implode with utter fucking joy, and there were of course deaths. Cycle of life eh.

More than anything, 2011 taught me how fucked up it is to make decisions. Writing or photography was one thing, to let go was another. Getaran Jiwa is my parting gift to you; I might be about three years late but if I don't do this - Telling the world the story - I will never be able to truly move the fuck on. Ah, you get it don't you.

Tried a few relationships; failed miserably. Not enough spice, insanity and philosophy or I'm just picky. Take your pick. 2011 is a year where a few things were made clear, I know what I must do and while there's still so much that's veiled and left in the dark, I'm grateful for it. Also:

Dude. Dude. Dudeeeeeeeee....

Considering I have a short term memory and an even shorter attention span; I shall now proceed to forget about our good lady 2011 and fucking start living in 2012.

So. 2012.

If today is a template for the future, then I am rightly, justly, truly and verily fucked. A 12 hour marathon at Uni, with a fucking 'Elective compulsory' class to boot. Now what am I doing? I'm searching about brain-dead people giving away their liver and the fucking compatibility of em all; as if they're god damned motherfucking lego blocks. And coffee. And oranges. And a fucking subclinical shit brewing in my body.

You're out celebrating aye? Of course.

Tomorrow or actually today, I'm going to be a fucking emcee for some goddamn programme that require me to concentrate.

This pattern of having so much shit to do during new year's is quite disturbing.

What. This actually happened.

Happy 2012 motherfuckers. I actually mean that in a polite way.