I want you (tam tam tam tam tam)
I want you so baaaad (tam tam tam)
I want yoouuuu (tam tam tam tam)
I want you so baaaad it's driving me mad, it's driving me mad.
Hahah okay. I might be going mad after all. All your fault, with your pale blue eyes (don't start singing again) and your fasdjfaç. What is it about you? Shitttt how this sucks.
I love how you say love. I love how you say just about anything. Me and accents, oh well. You might change my mind about something after all, and I hope my friend's wrong about you and that boy (in a rock and roll band la la la la). Shitttttssss.
I had a dream last night (heeeey another song?!), which I can't even bring myself to repeat. I tried to say it to the one friend who'd understand what it's like to WANT but I ended up telling her about the other dream, the stupid dream. You're the dreamy dream I should be talking about because holy shittt how faslkfja you are.
And hey, just for the record, wanting is different from love. I am not in love. I am in wanting, I guess. And I want you (tam tam tam tam tam). Bad.
*
Monday, November 30, 2009
Sunday, November 15, 2009
"Putting Out Fire... With Gasoline"
I'm not sure Bowie's song (see title) is really the best for what I want to say. I'm not sure about anything at all, actually. I mean, how can I be sure if what I'm feeling is so unsure and contradicting and "twisted and deranged" (yeahhh Arctic Monkeys) and simply... crazy?! I haven't been writing anything at all because I feared it would come out like it's coming out - simply... crazy.
Anger: for having to stand up for my uni's reputation in the middle of a World War III (a.k.a. Family Dinner). Hell yeah we party hard, but it's not like you say it is AT ALL. We do study, we do have lectures, we do know what a library is. And for your information, we also do become this country's most influential group of people, no, not because we're filhinhos de papai or bratty heirs, but because WE WORK OUR ASSES OFF FOR IT.
Happiness: for standing in the middle of a dancefloor, buzzing with alcohol but not drunk, being pulled in a trillion directions by a clutter of very different arms. Arm 1: random and annoyingly cute guy who doesn't stand a chance. Arm 2: drunk friend punching the shit out of Arm 1's boozy face. Arm 3: Hopeful person I won't even mention here because I want things to work out. Arm 4: crazy girl who dragged me to a corner and pulled my dress down to check out my *¨&(%. Laughs. Lots of Laughs. And I promise I'm not mad, it was funny as hell. Arm 5: increeeedibly hot guy we sadly suspect is gay. Oh well, sigh.
Disgust: for cheaters, sluts, double sluts, hypocrites, fuck-heads, junkies, and coke-whores. No wonder I don't use my middle name.
Love: for Arm 3. I'm Hopeful and you're Hopeful, and I won't say a word because I don't want to screw this up - and I am known for screwing this up, either because I want too much too fast or because I fall in over my head and end up losing myself in the process. Linger on... those pale blue eyes... Ahhh fsadkljfas you're so pretttttty. I want you. I want you so baaaad.
BOTTOM LINE: confusion. curiosity. madness. anger. the horror. lust. love. hope. peace. smiles. laughter. nakedness. arms and legs. faces. eyes. blue eyes. pale blue eyes. pale blue squinty eyes.
Here's Sylvia Plath, before I go mad. "I am. I am. I am."
Mad Girl's Love Song
"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"
Anger: for having to stand up for my uni's reputation in the middle of a World War III (a.k.a. Family Dinner). Hell yeah we party hard, but it's not like you say it is AT ALL. We do study, we do have lectures, we do know what a library is. And for your information, we also do become this country's most influential group of people, no, not because we're filhinhos de papai or bratty heirs, but because WE WORK OUR ASSES OFF FOR IT.
Happiness: for standing in the middle of a dancefloor, buzzing with alcohol but not drunk, being pulled in a trillion directions by a clutter of very different arms. Arm 1: random and annoyingly cute guy who doesn't stand a chance. Arm 2: drunk friend punching the shit out of Arm 1's boozy face. Arm 3: Hopeful person I won't even mention here because I want things to work out. Arm 4: crazy girl who dragged me to a corner and pulled my dress down to check out my *¨&(%. Laughs. Lots of Laughs. And I promise I'm not mad, it was funny as hell. Arm 5: increeeedibly hot guy we sadly suspect is gay. Oh well, sigh.
Disgust: for cheaters, sluts, double sluts, hypocrites, fuck-heads, junkies, and coke-whores. No wonder I don't use my middle name.
Love: for Arm 3. I'm Hopeful and you're Hopeful, and I won't say a word because I don't want to screw this up - and I am known for screwing this up, either because I want too much too fast or because I fall in over my head and end up losing myself in the process. Linger on... those pale blue eyes... Ahhh fsadkljfas you're so pretttttty. I want you. I want you so baaaad.
BOTTOM LINE: confusion. curiosity. madness. anger. the horror. lust. love. hope. peace. smiles. laughter. nakedness. arms and legs. faces. eyes. blue eyes. pale blue eyes. pale blue squinty eyes.
Here's Sylvia Plath, before I go mad. "I am. I am. I am."
Mad Girl's Love Song
"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"
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