sex born poison

“Let’s end this,” I said. “Are you not comfortable with this...

Mon, 17 Jun 2013 00:09:00 +0800

“Let’s end this,” I said.

“Are you not comfortable with this arrangement?”

“No. I’m too comfortable.”

I sat on your bed with my back facing you and I said it really slowly - only because I don’t know how else to see you and say to you. I’m not sure how easy is it to pull away from familiarity and ease but I can’t let an empty spot revolve my entire life. Do you see it? I’ve been letting an empty spot dictate my possible futures. And of all the possible, infinite futures that I could have created, you were still in it.

And yes, I’m still mad, and when you’re mad at someone you love, you just can’t finish them off. And I’m mad that I can’t finish you off once and for all. I’m mad that I don’t have that energy anymore. I still want to kick your face to the ground and make sure that you never exist in the other timelines that I exist.

And then you take my face and say, then see, what’s so bad about us?

I say, I’m a bad person. And you’re a sick person. But mostly because I’m a bad person with little regard for you because you’re not the most important person in my life, but I let you pretend that you are. You say, “it’s okay, it’s okay, we can pretend for as long as it takes.”

“I’m just afraid we’re too comfortable pretending all our lives, you know?”

“Is this it?” you say.

“Let’s try and make this ‘it’.”

It’s countless, this kind of conversation that I have with you. At the end of the day, I still climb back up the stairs and bang on the door when I’m drunk and ask you to let me in, or you come home drunk slumped out on my lap. I don’t know how to stop revolving around an empty space. I don’t know how to.

Photo

Thu, 13 Jun 2013 01:16:00 +0800

- Why did you call me at the office today? - I had nothing to...

Mon, 10 Jun 2013 08:38:45 +0800

- Why did you call me at the office today?

- I had nothing to do. I wanted to hear your voice.

This morning, I sat up by the side of the bed and I turned behind to look at you. You were half...

Mon, 10 Jun 2013 01:05:00 +0800

This morning, I sat up by the side of the bed and I turned behind to look at you. You were half awake and reaching out for me to get back into bed. I turned back to the front and I felt your fingers slide down the knobs of my back slowly one by one. And I wish you could simply reach in to tweak buttons and controls for the right permutation of reactions for us to be happy together. Instead, all you got was a broken machine whose only spare parts are lost in an old junk yard.

When you stay mad at someone you love, your anger will never cease. You can’t forgive them, but you can’t bear finish them off once and for all either.

I told you last night between tears, that I was so angry, I am still angry and I’m not sure if this anger will ever cease. And I”m stuck between a limbo of love and hate, forgiveness and revenge. Other people have moved on and moved in, so why haven’t I?

In the end, I fell asleep with my glasses still on my tear-stained face and a whiskey glass still in my hand. You took both away from me and we slept sitting up on the couch. In the middle of the night, I woke up and realised what you did. I touched your face and you woke up and said, “Let’s go in to bed”. I nodded. Warm bodies are all the same.

Before drifting back to bed, you asked, “When will you forget about it?” I replied, “Never. I think never.”

toniiu: Winter Light dir. Ingmar Bergman, 1962

Sat, 08 Jun 2013 23:28:16 +0800

toniiu:

Winter Light dir. Ingmar Bergman, 1962

Photo

Sat, 08 Jun 2013 10:07:30 +0800

I drank outside tonight and I drank even more before slamming my fists on your door. You opened up...

Sat, 08 Jun 2013 02:06:00 +0800

I drank outside tonight and I drank even more before slamming my fists on your door. You opened up and I cried and I said I didn’t want to be at home tonight or tomorrow morning. I said please, I don’t think I’m going to survive tonight alone.

With my face very close to your chest, I whispered, he’s getting married tomorrow, he’s getting married tomorrow and I don’t want to see him from across my home getting into the car in his suit and bringing his bride home. I’m not sure if you heard it but you pressed my face into your chest and wrapped me tighter around. And when finally I feel your limbs drop and your hold on me loosen, I slither out of your touch to sit by the couch to drink some more. Was it two hours ago or just merely five minutes when all that happened?

Photo

Thu, 06 Jun 2013 23:02:42 +0800

There is also a scar right down your palm when you smashed your mug against the counter one night...

Thu, 06 Jun 2013 00:09:00 +0800

There is also a scar right down your palm when you smashed your mug against the counter one night after we discussed something. I saw it play out in slow motion in my head and I felt like I could reach out to stop your hand but I knowingly let you smash it down with a force you could not fathom.

In another timeline, I”m not sure if you would have smashed it across my face if I had stopped you. Or if in another timeline, you might have dropped the cup entirely and sat down. Or still smash it anyway, this time a shrapnel entering my eye. I don’t know, but in the present, your mug smashed into pieces in your hands and walked away while I sat there trying to hold the pieces of my soul together.

When the elevator doors opened on your floor, I realised that it is with repetition that things...

Wed, 05 Jun 2013 23:16:07 +0800

When the elevator doors opened on your floor, I realised that it is with repetition that things happen over and over again in the most painful of details. Today, the elevator doors open on your floor and I step out. Tomorrow, the elevator doors open on your floor and I step on a piece of gum. The day after, the elevator doors open on your floor and I fall down. The day after after, the elevator doors open on your floor and I step out.

And with that opening of the doors on your floor, that I realised that we’re forced to go through the details - the most minute, most mundane and the most painfully boring of details that we don’t wish to sit through. If life was like a movie, it would be a box office flop. But it is also through the opening of elevator doors that made it so clear that this is an eternal loop of punishment. And that most importantly, I also have the choice to tell myself that the future is a loop of punishment and I can get out of the time cycle anytime I want to. I just need to step out of it and bow out of life’s movie.

cr: sehuna // do not edit

Sun, 02 Jun 2013 21:48:24 +0800

cr: sehuna // do not edit

菜卷儿还是那个TTM菜卷儿

Sat, 01 Jun 2013 17:22:00 +0800

菜卷儿还是那个TTM菜卷儿

“Hello?” “It’s me.” “What’s this number? Why are you calling in the middle of the day?” “I needed...

Fri, 31 May 2013 14:39:00 +0800

“Hello?”

“It’s me.”

“What’s this number? Why are you calling in the middle of the day?”

“I needed to talk to someone.”

“Why is it me?”

“Because you adore me a little more and know me a little less than most people?”

I cried at the balcony but this time it all happened in my head while I whispered into the office telephone so that no one would hear – even if everyone was out for lunch. The warm sun, the peeling table, the tears, the heartache, the displeasure of mediocrity, the dilemma of restlessness, the impossibility of perfection and the inevitable end all crumpled into one big, tangled ball; I had to slowly unravel it for myself before understanding how my own feelings work. So I explained in 3 minutes what I would have done if you didn’t pick up your phone. Sit at the balcony and cry except that maybe it’s all in the head.

Then you said, “Did you sleep last night?” Yes, I did, I drank myself to sleep and then I woke up to two cups of coffee that you didn’t make for me. “You said you’d stop drinking,” you slowly said. But I couldn’t do it knowing that you were doing the same thing, I said. You laughed and said silly girl, you’re not that bad. If I could punch you in the face through the phone, I would – because I am that bad. I am the worst.

There was silence for a moment and I wondered, what were you doing on the other side of town? Were you looking at your computer screen analysing numbers or eating lunch at your desk? Then your voice pierced through and I heard, “I’m sitting next to you on the balcony with coffee okay?”

I told you to fuck yourself and hung up before I burst out in tears.

Photo

Fri, 31 May 2013 13:58:11 +0800

“Hey, stay over today.” “No. I won’t have anything to wear tomorrow.”...

Thu, 30 May 2013 00:58:50 +0800

“Hey, stay over today.”

“No. I won’t have anything to wear tomorrow.”

“You should bring some clothes over next time.”

“I’m not your girlfriend.”

“My mom has some clothes over here and she’s not my girlfriend.”

“… Was that supposed to convince me or to discourage me? Cos you’re doing it wrong.”

“Just stay.”

“Maybe tomorrow.”

Did you put something in our alcohol? Because we were funny tonight. We didn’t reference sad movies, didn’t bitterly laugh at each other’s career dead ends, didn’t play games, didn’t force each other to share the truth, you know? At one point you were tickling me and I kicked you in the shoulder in an attempt to run away. I felt 18 and I remember being like this when I was with boys previously. And then… and then…

How long does young love last before it expires slowly like perishables in the pantry? Wouldn’t it be funny if we had to be bitter and sour for us to be preserved for a long time?

changchens: Happy Together (1997), dir. Wong Kar-Wai

Thu, 30 May 2013 00:40:33 +0800

changchens:

Happy Together (1997), dir. Wong Kar-Wai

mustear: “All I wanted was to sing to God. He gave me that...

Wed, 29 May 2013 23:47:15 +0800

mustear:

“All I wanted was to sing to God. He gave me that longing… and then made me mute. Why? Tell me that. If He didn’t want me to praise him with music, why implant the desire? Like a lust in my body! And then deny me the talent? ”

今晚回家的路上，只有我们两在公车站等着。想起当时我真的很想跟你说：“够了，收手吧。我们回家了。”...

Tue, 28 May 2013 02:04:53 +0800

今晚回家的路上，只有我们两在公车站等着。想起当时我真的很想跟你说：“够了，收手吧。我们回家了。” 但我却默默的生气着一个走人回家。直到今天。

Don’t we create our own demons? Two nights ago I laid in bed with you and I heard what you...

Mon, 27 May 2013 01:55:00 +0800

Don’t we create our own demons? Two nights ago I laid in bed with you and I heard what you said in your drunken, sleepy state. It was a little secret that spoke volumes about you, and your relationship with me and other girls. And in my drunken, sleepy state, a lot of things suddenly made sense.

By no means are we anything, but we’re definitely something, no matter how small and little. I’m not pushing for anything - never, in fact - I’m not mature enough to handle an adult relationship. In fact I think I recoil when you ask for more. There are things that only you know, simply because you’re still a stranger, yet huge realities that you don’t see and know simply because you’re not a part of my life.

Don’t we create our own demons? Two nights ago I tried to slowly dig deep into your heart and I tried to see what it looked like. I imagined it to be a winding path of complexities, compact and neat in a box that looked like a cute coconut. Instead all I got was layers after layers of messy muscle, tendons and blood after ripping flesh too quickly apart. Halfway searching, you grabbed my wrists and told me to stop. Not because it hurt you, but because you said I wouldn’t be prepared to see what was really in there. And I snarled and said, “are you fucking kiddin me? I slowly made an incision so I could dig my fingers into my own chest so I could rip out to see my own to see if something was wrong with it. I know what gross is. I know what disgusting is. I know what reality is.”

That night, you too, reached in to pulled my heart out of my mouth and flung it in a corner. “It’s broken - get rid of it.” you said. I reached over to close the gap between us and told you to fix yours first.

"Women are afraid of meeting a serial killer. Men are afraid of meeting someone fat."

Fri, 24 May 2013 01:06:43 +0800

“Women are afraid of meeting a serial killer. Men are afraid of meeting someone fat.”

-
When Strangers Click, a 2011 documentary about online dating.

It reminds me of that famous Margaret Atwood quote: “Men are afraid that women will laugh at them. Women are afraid that men will kill them.” It also reminds me of something written by one of the mods of Sex Worker Problems: “Misandry irritates. Misogyny kills.”

I mean, it’s just true.

(via tealeafprincess)