i tore my heart open, i saw myself shine

My heart is steel; my heart is nothing but cold, hard steel (repeatedly chanted).

And what's brought upon this latest turn of events? I'm sick and tired, frankly, more so with me than anything else. I'm tired of being infatuated with people, sick of being enamoured of interests, fed up of attractions leading to deeper feelings.

Inevitably I end somewhere in between crashing and burning, and getting my fingers caught in the cookie jar. Regardless, both spell out one word: unrequited. Which is classified under 'Epic Fail', to borrow someone's oft-used phrase.

So I've had enough. I really have. How long more can one go on like this eh?

Admittedly, I tried steeling myself sometime back, endeavoured to harden my head and my heart against all feelings of affections of the loving kind. I confess, sigh, that I failed. Then. I don't know; maybe it was faith, or hope or even a lingering suspicion that I'd get another stab at the Last Chance Saloon. I don't think it'll come to be. I think I've been wasting precious time hoping for the impossible.

As it were, I had been chasing the dream. Never one to settle for anything not up to my fine tastes, that's me. Much to my detriment, in hindsight. But even with knowing the stars are beyond my reach, I still can't compromise. So, rather than lull myself into just taking anything that would come my way, I'm putting an end to this ridiculous delusional fantasy called love. Why does that sound so fucking melodramatic? Okay, let me rephrase that: this ridiculous delusional fantasy called emotions of the romantic nature. There, I'm more comfortable with that.

And I think my resolve is made stronger by, ahem, 'A Guide to Steel-Plating An Emotional Heart'. I really do see where I've been fucking up. After a while, love, lust, affections, attractions and god knows what else all merge to create one hell of a fucked up potpourri.

But yeah, I'll get by. Emotional freedom, that's what I want. Free from the tuggings of my heartstrings. Free from the contemplations in my brain. Free from all the despair, and disappointment and depression.

Just free.

sing when you're drinking

It's been ages since I last posted; more than a week constitutes ages in blogland, I reckon. Just didn't have the mood, the drive, the mental capacity to write anything beyond the darkest shade of black. Which would have bored most of you, I'm sure. Oh no, not another morose post, I would have heard you sigh. So does that mean I'm in a better mood now? Hmm, by the merest iota of difference, yes.

Some credit has to go to the Famous Grouse. Yes, that scotch bird who looks out furtively over every bar shelf. And it's not a bad drink, by any means. One of the more under-rated drinks, if there ever was one. Whether with soda, coke or ginger ale, it goes down relatively smoothly. Then again, after five shots, everything goes down smoothly.

I wouldn't say I've fallen off the wagon, but I'd say I've missed getting sloshed and having my brain cells die in the rushing flood that is booze. And momentarily submerging all the demons in the swirling mixture of malt and barley and rye and God knows what else. The fact that sobriety is constrained to the day is even more liberating, for some convoluted reason.

So yeah, only time will tell how long the drunken debauchery will last, but while it's alive and kicking, then all I can say is "kampai".

Here's a completely random piece of text; a verse from The Smiths. Can't find the video for the song, though.

Loved and lost
And some may say
When usually it’s nothing
Surely you’re happy
It should be this way ?
I said "no"
And then I shot myself
So, drink, drink, drink
And be ill tonight

i wonder how, i wonder why

I'm chilling.

I really am. Just easing back and letting the current gently carry me along. I guess I shouldn't be swimming against the flow all the time. Neither should I hope to dig in and stand my ground against the incessant stream. So, I'm chilling now. Que sera sera.

Then there's the question, for how long? Should I be forever chilling? Is there a statute of limitation of chilling? Or have I stopped chilling my asking myself these questions? I really shouldn't be so serious about everything; I should stop being so anal about things when they don't go my way.

Why can't some people cover their fucking mouths when they sneeze, I wonder. Is it so hard to have a bit of consideration for others who may not be enthusiastic about breathing in droplets of your contaminated breath?

A most unwelcome distraction. Back to the matter at hand. I shall take the advice given and chill. Probably till the end of the year. Then we'll see how.

On a related note, I've finally found the word that describes me currently: jaded. A lot of things have lost their colour, I see mainly grey these days. Sort of "yeah, whatever". I haven't really found anything new that interests me, and I reckon it's showing. I don't think I've reached a stage where I can say "been there, done that" to almost anything in front of me. It's more like "nah, not interested". Which is making me come across as some boring old sod.

But yeah, where is the excitement, where is the adventure. Where are the unforgettable weekends, I ponder aloud. Okay, perhaps the last line came out rather pretentiously dramatic. Let's just say the weekends are getting more and more predictable. I know, I should diversify, expand my interests yah-dee-dah, but words occasionally flow easier than actions. Only occasionally, mind you.

I guess the lack of a welcome distraction is also a contributing element to this jadedness; something to occupy the mind, and heart. I thought I had it for a brief moment, before I came to my senses and realised there'd be almost zero ROI if I were to pursue things further.

Back to the drawing board; there's the starting line again; three steps back to 'Go'. Admittedly, I do have a tendency to bark up the wrong tree, and I'll hazard that there'll be at least a couple more wrong trees in the near future. How barking has changed over the years (smile).

But you know what, I'm chilling.

ever so rarely, i can be an idiot

I guess the current 'campaign' is heading nowhere; nowhere near where I want to be. I'm oscillating between knocking my head on the wall and knocking my head on the table. Either way, it's knock, knock and yeah, knock. In many ways, I should know better. I really should. Is it any wonder I have all these bite marks?

So now that I've ascertained that the wall in front of me is way tougher than the one they had in Berlin, it's back to the drawing board. Knock, knock and knock. I could easily avoided all this balderdash if I'd screwed my head on a little bit tighter. And been more sensible about things. I don't jump, I plunge. And plan out my moves after I'm below the surface.

Okay, that's the end of the self-recriminating rants. Onwards march, I reckon. First on the agenda, a clear head. Hmm, perhaps something else should be first. Alright then, first on the list, ermm, a make-over. Yeah, that sounds like what most self-help wannabes would regurgitate. Next, go out more often. The streak stands at 8 consecutive weeks; that's two months' worth of weekends spent polishing the bars, sweeping the dance floors and gargling my mouth with ultra-sweet fizzies. Which reminds me, I really need to find a healthier alternative to the Cokes and Ginger Ales I've been guzzling down; I'm thinking Soda Water. I'm sure it has minute amounts of sugar and trace calories. I hope. Third, and most importantly, fuck everything. I'm just doing it my way. Like Frankie said. Yeah.

Once I've done all that, and patted myself on the back, looking rather smug, then I'll go clear my head.

All which means there'll probably be a similar epiphany within the next couple of months.

Yeah.

and then there were none

Sometimes, I wonder if it's worth playing all these mind games.

Is it really beneficial to chart your moves, to analyse every action and plan for the next step? Are feelings nothing more than mere chess pieces, to be moved and captured with the sole intention of triumphing in the end? And what is this triumph? What do you get out of this, other than the opportunity to bask in the egotistical afterglow of some self-damaging contest? Where's the honesty? And what about the axiom of expressing one's true emotions? Measly pawns that are sacrificed to achieve what is inevitably a hollow victory.

And yet, there's the question of risk. How far is one prepared to go in order to 'seal the deal'? What if only one hand is clapping at the wind? There is no rewind button, no 'Previous' icon to click on. What's said will remain said, and no amount of backtracking will change that. How far will you go? How far will I go? The awkwardness if faced with a resolute 'No'; the deafening silence that follows; the tension that forms a perpetual wall between the protagonists; situations that create hesitation in the most daring of gamblers.

I reckon the risk of rejection (or should I say, fear?) is inversely proportionate to the degrees of separation between two people. The more layers there are, the more inclined one is to spilling the beans. Direct contact (close friend, colleague) brings the biggest risk. Can you face someone every day, knowing he or she sees no future with you? Would I be able to sit down and have coffee with a group of friends, knowing one of them is privy to my inner feelings, and is not reciprocating them? Take a minute to think it through, before spewing out oft-used phrases like "just do it" or "you gotta do what you gotta do" or even "go with the flow".

The two main weapons missing from most people's armoury (and definitely mine) are confidence and a thick hide. The former to express yourself, the latter to survive potentially damaging rejection, both psychologically and emotionally. I can only speak for myself when I say it only takes a few minutes to swiftly unravel what has been carefully nurtured and protected over the years. To avoid that, you and I wait and see. We play a waiting game, collecting positive signs and explicit signals, accumulating them until there is no doubt whatsoever that we'll receive an affirmative response to our propositions. You yearn for a gentle gesture, I anticipate a revealing word; anything that resembles a carrot to which we can pursue with renewed hope and youthful zing.

But enough of these purposeless laments, these needless groans and moans that will eventually be quite grating even to me. I'm shrugging off the dusts of disappointment that litter my mind; I'm putting events into perspective. I'm reaffirming my commitment to ambivalence, which is comforting in some sadistic form. Or is it masochistic?

After a while, who cares.

it had to be valentine's day, didn't it?

Oddest thing, I can't seem to recall even one memorable Valentine's throughout my life. A good one, that is. I've had a couple of utterly horrible ones over the years (15 and counting). But never one which really justified the exorbitant prices paid on the day. Just one of those inane things, I guess, like never having flown or gone to the beach before. Am I bothered? Not really.

Okay, so here's the plan; which is by no means a walk in the park. Since it's been said that everything comes in threes, I've decided to have one more love affair. Which implies that I'm disregarding earlier relationships. Yeah, sorry. So strike two, and I'm batting at base (or whichever baseball term used to describe one last throw of the dice). One more crash, and it's the highway.

Now I just have to find a party to my love affair. See, i told you it wasn't easy.

Anyways, to those celebrating their love or feelings or whatever it is they celebrate on 14 Feb, Happy Valentine's Day.

And for those who aren't, whiskey, cigarettes and a dance floor.