90 days. During 90 days i was the king of the world. Now im just staring down on my empire of dirt and just want to destroy all the memories of purpose. Sleeping is for the weak. Empty bottles are tenants in my bedroom. I lay next to a guitar I never played. The ceiling is the only thing staring back at me nowadays.

The nights have grown cold, and the days colder.

Being alive is a metaphor.

Home is just another place I don't want to be.

Being heartbroken is like having our soul being held at gunpoint.

Except you're the one pulling the trigger

Now being awaken by a kiss means you've been dreaming.

Now dreaming has become a curse.

Now the only music that could express your sadness is silence.

When you have a double bed and only sleep on one side of it.

Sigh. Anyway.

Alexandra leaving

She made me listen to this song the first time we met. "Its a song about me", she said. These memories of her overshadow my life nowadays. Everything is in black and white except when I close my eyes, and see her looking at me again. I've turned into a blind man, drinking his sorrows away, hibernating from all the outside world. Even though I sleep in 12 hour intervals, I still feel tired, I feel like the world is crushing me from the inside out. I just... fuck. She was the one. And I feel like I blew it. I was waiting for a girl like that for almost 10 years now, and she's gone now. I still love her. I would just stop everything now to be with her again. Being alive is against my natural instinct, and its slowly driving me crazy. God... I didn't cry at my father's funeral, nor at his death, but I would just whimper like a kid if I just see her again.

I cannot study.

I cannot breathe.

I cannot blink.

I cannot live without loving.

I cannot live without being loved.

I am the eternally cursed poet.

I am the senseless romantic.

I am my own downfall.

I am as good as dead when she's not there.

The road is leading to nowhere. It’s cold and the window’s open but hot air is still whipping my face, as I maxed out the heater. Nightdriving is always better when pointless, the rabbit in your headlights being solely a reflection of self. An aching heart numbed by the sifting landscape insulting the notion of knowing – getting lost in your motorized living room. Swigs of cheap liquor make me forget the numbing stings of waking up alone and needy. I am alone with the world, not on a racetrack, but on a railroad. A clink and I know the cigarette lighter’s bright coil is crispy. I stare at it, not knowing if I should brand my skin with a scar or burn up the cancer stick stuck between my lips. The thought of the smell of burning flesh makes me shiver, so I enjoy a drag of the tobacco, even though I know it’s a bank loan on my longevity. Fuck it, I spend more time trying to avoid life than actually going through its gears – I guess I’m literally living the dream then. Another car drives by, and I imagine myself colliding with it, seeing my face crashing on the wheel, brains spewed all over the windshield, the seatbelt bruising my skin, breaking my rib cage as my insides are turned to mince. Nah. I couldn’t stand being responsible for the death of the soul in the other car, seeing the barely recognizable face of a crying woman whose mascara dripped down her tear-ridden cheeks as she exhaled her last breath. No. Just focus on the road and don’t let the crazed driver kill you. Just let the road forget about her. And please. Don’t start sobbing.

Bahahaha!

Un excellent blogue de jokes historiques... si vous voulez vous régaler.

Commencez par cette page, la première BD est tellement drôle:

http://harkavagrant.com/index.php?id=145

Désolé, pas le temps d'écrire comme tel! Peut-être plus tard, dans une semaine peut-être...

-Jack-

En passant - encore

J'reviens à Riki pour samedi le 21. Semaine de relâche!!

-Jack-

BTW

Nouveau post sur Maestro, musique après tant de temps. Enjoy.

-Jack- J'écoute un mashup de Feist et de Eminem haha. Girl Talk rules.