Damsel in distress. Lured into the old fart's lair in the late of the night (rain had always had the effect of addling her head), she wakes up to the unfamiliar sound of a three-digit combination lock being locked on the outside. She approaches the door with caution and slowly turns the knob. Click. She pushes the door. Clank. It doesn't budge. The damsel is left to stare at the great white door in disbelief. Men. She finds her contacts (her 'eyes', as she likes to call them) and looks around. She is left with a TV, a brand new pop-up tent, and eight copies of a thesis on democracy and terrorism. She sits down in a heap on the floor and sighs. How to get out of this predicament? The old fart had already left home to make his daily rounds and wouldn't be back until after sunset. The two open windows - gateways to freedom, if freedom meant falling from the second story onto badly constructed cement roads - do naught but taunt her. Though a recently realized expert at climbing over walls and breaking into rooms (in three inch heels, I might add), the damsel had no experience what- soever in escaping from such places. She sighs again. Reluctant as she was to admit her weaknesses, she decides to send a message for help via wireless technology aka the cell phone. How ironic, she thinks as she waits for an answer, that one person could be an old fart and a knight in shining body hair at the same time. Fairy tales. Can you get high off 모기향? I'm sitting here and, though I can't find any plausible reason, my mind's all wandering off into inner space again. I'm naming my future kids and you know it's pretty bad if it's gotten to that point. Can someone please turn my brain off? Or at least put it into another gear. I just read an old entry from March 5th. I don't know whether to be sad or just laugh it off. The writings bring back a lot of memories. "wake me up when september ends.. because probably by that time you will be gone from my life and i'll stop all this fussing about you and me and us and what to do about it. yes, i am guarded, but only towards those that i truly care for. (that includes you, genius.) i know what i'm like but i wonder, does that maybe intrigue you or does it just annoy you. i guess, deep down inside, i know i still haven't decided.. how or even if to open up to you. it's nothing more than a bunch of feelings, isn't it? and feelings are so temporary.. or are they the ones that last the longest. how would i know, when i pride myself on not fiddling with the luxury. i won't hang on when you leave. i'll be cool about it, low maintenance to the end. i'll be sad but not devastated, and i'll make sure the tears come only after you've gone. and more than anything i'll be thankful to have had someone like you, if only for a very short while. you poor, poor man. what could you have possibly done to deserve a closed-up, adolescent, ticklish wretch like me. you make me feel so small. not in the inferior way, just small, like i want to hide from the rest of the world. you asked me what i thought about us. my answer, the one you'll probably never hear, is, if the rest of my life was being here in this room with you next to me, just like this, i'd still be happy. maybe even happier, who knows. i'm going to save my tears for this coming summer, so i can have a really good cry after you've gone. maybe i'll cry into a bucket and just drown myself. (wouldn't that be the funniest most pathetic thing ever? me with my head stuck in a bucket in the bathroom, drowned in my own salt water?)"
fairy tale
Damsel in distress.
Lured into the old fart's lair in the late of the night (rain had
always had the effect of addling her head), she wakes up to
the unfamiliar sound of a three-digit combination lock being
locked on the outside. She approaches the door with caution
and slowly turns the knob. Click. She pushes the door. Clank.
It doesn't budge. The damsel is left to stare at the great white
door in disbelief.
Men.
She finds her contacts (her 'eyes', as she likes to call them)
and looks around. She is left with a TV, a brand new pop-up
tent, and eight copies of a thesis on democracy and terrorism.
She sits down in a heap on the floor and sighs. How to get out
of this predicament? The old fart had already left home to make
his daily rounds and wouldn't be back until after sunset. The
two open windows - gateways to freedom, if freedom meant
falling from the second story onto badly constructed cement
roads - do naught but taunt her. Though a recently realized
expert at climbing over walls and breaking into rooms (in three
inch heels, I might add), the damsel had no experience what-
soever in escaping from such places.
She sighs again.
Reluctant as she was to admit her weaknesses, she decides to
send a message for help via wireless technology aka the cell
phone. How ironic, she thinks as she waits for an answer, that one person could be an old fart and a knight in shining body
hair at the same time.
Fairy tales.
Can you get high off 모기향? I'm sitting here and, though I can't
find any plausible reason, my mind's all wandering off into inner
space again. I'm naming my future kids and you know it's pretty
bad if it's gotten to that point. Can someone please turn my
brain off? Or at least put it into another gear.
I just read an old entry from March 5th. I don't know whether
to be sad or just laugh it off. The writings bring back a lot of
memories.
"wake me up when september ends.. because probably by that
time you will be gone from my life and i'll stop all this fussing
about you and me and us and what to do about it.
yes, i am guarded, but only towards those that i truly care for.
(that includes you, genius.) i know what i'm like but i wonder,
does that maybe intrigue you or does it just annoy you.
i guess, deep down inside, i know i still haven't decided.. how
or even if to open up to you. it's nothing more than a bunch of
feelings, isn't it? and feelings are so temporary.. or are they
the ones that last the longest. how would i know, when i pride
myself on not fiddling with the luxury.
i won't hang on when you leave. i'll be cool about it, low
maintenance to the end. i'll be sad but not devastated, and i'll
make sure the tears come only after you've gone. and more
than anything i'll be thankful to have had someone like you, if
only for a very short while.
you poor, poor man. what could you have possibly done to
deserve a closed-up, adolescent, ticklish wretch like me. you
make me feel so small. not in the inferior way, just small, like i
want to hide from the rest of the world. you asked me what i
thought about us. my answer, the one you'll probably never
hear, is, if the rest of my life was being here in this room with
you next to me, just like this, i'd still be happy. maybe even
happier, who knows.
i'm going to save my tears for this coming summer, so i can
have a really good cry after you've gone. maybe i'll cry into a
bucket and just drown myself. (wouldn't that be the funniest
most pathetic thing ever? me with my head stuck in a bucket
in the bathroom, drowned in my own salt water?)"