morgueville,heartland living.

it's twelvethirtyfouram.

my legs seemed to have lost all will and might to possess even the slightest possiblity of life. and my feet is burning. those boots ain't made for walkin', baby. i think i should sleep since i just bathed, smelling really strawberryish. but the night is still young. it's either i watch alice doesnt live here anymore or read the first of my the sandman collection. the air of late is smogging up my lungs with godknowswhatbutitskillingmexide. those burning of whatever need to stop. should i sleep? i can finally sleep in late tomorrow. do some reading and take some photos somewhere. which reminds me, i've got to collect the holga shots at peninsula. balonglong. i could kill for a can of ice cold soya bean, straight out from the vending machine at tekong. i must be mad. i think i gonna rent who's afraid of virginia wolf? and rewatch sunset boulevard, again. "i am ready for my close up." and this morning during the fucking route march i stumbled upon a revelation: i am into the whole idea of how being warped is perfectly normal. dysfunctionality is human. yet to some people it just doesn't exist in their dictionary. perfection is their constant. oh please, get real.

it's twelvefortysixam.