Overcaffeinated Random Thoughts: Part 4.00

Morning has come again, left the dawn. And we’re getting closer to twenty. At least we will be something: twenty something. With so much repetition. The same music, the same bad news, and we can’t even arrive on (sipping the coffee) Port Moresby.

So many destinations in this earth that they make a spider web. A vast vast vast spider web. At least it’s a proof that we’re not alone. Even when we die, and buried underneath a miles square of beautiful green grass and white cross signs, we’re not alone. Many have come before us and after us. Maybe more. Maybe less. Mabe the same. The same bad and heartbroken.

Overcaffeinated Random Thoughts: Part. 3.80

I feel not like stop writing right now. There’s so much time left on the empty bench of surrealism, too much space to see the stars, too cold air for no more cup of coffee. The words are still gifted to me that I worry I have to clean my wardrobe and have some cm squares empty so I can save some there. Oh well. I don’t need it anyway. I think I want to draw. Just right now.

Overcaffeinated Random Thoughts: Part 2.00

Rushing the street back to my room, with whole wheat bread in my hand and a pack of chocolate milk. Plus a joy of thought of being full, and some heavy rains of words.

Well I feel it sometimes. When words are like tornado around I can’t even catch a butterfly. Like wisdom of:

“Fashion doesn’t make you less intellectual. It only makes you less cynical about this bullshitism of capitalism.”

Well, I don’t know where they come from. Just like I see them on the red brick wall, on the dark path, on the broken street, on the empty region because most of its temporary citizens are back home.

I’m facing the second cup/mug/glass of coffee and I can’t resist the temptation of another slice of bread. I ate it with my left hand and feel like an asshole.

I wonder if that I’m that abnormal that people quietly wonder if I’m that abnormal. Well, maybe yes. Maybe I have different angle of life viewing or heartbreaking, but I still love carousel. I still love the sky. And I still love the guy who has wit, charm of dorks, and some photography madness.

Well, am I and indigo child?
No. I know that I’m white. Mother-tongued-ly without H. And in English, it’s without both H and E.

Overcaffeinated Random Thoughts: Part 1.37

What is it about China or being exaggerating about love? I don’t know maybe I have a kind of right brain disorder that words often pop out, and pop out, and gone. We all are ready for the plastic pink comb and blonde, then some vintage pin-up. WE all like making history and tagging some pages in The Future Dictionary of Hawaii. We all are mad that we sing Beatles’ songs in French and writing them in misery. We all are like that every afternoon, and then we run. We jog. Then we stop. And we don’t even see the traffic light or get shone by the nearest street lamp. We don’t do salsa dance mush often, but we get hungry because of it. Then what do you think about sleeping so late tonight so we can stroll upon the city and enter the pubs everytime you are thirsty.

We all are sunshine and what comes after us is some dust from the overburnt cigarette and smell of the stale coffee. We don’t do much repairing but we still come.