i haven’t seen this day before

The next February 14 falls on a Sunday. One last chance to say ‘Sand is overrated. It’s just tiny, little rocks’ at Montauk before it’s over.

last dance

something’s brewing. something epic. i’d tell, but i don’t want to give it up yet. stay tuned for the following months

again

i don’t know where we are headed.

but that’s just life.

mungkin nanti

abit busy these days. but all is good in the hood!

joga

not going to get philosophical. but you’re still the same like you were when i left. but you’re still hot. i’m so conflicted.

no internet

no internet at home. excuse the lack of updates.

The Summer

The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes “Awww!”

- Jack Kerouac

Whatever it takes

I hope we can start anew.

Because I think what I’ve been looking for all this while has always been you.

I need a Girl (Part 2)

When your soul is pregnant with so much emotion, what is the correct path? Do we correct ourselves by the self-medicating offerings of drugs and alcohol? Or do we then finally see the purpose of art? Is it then the purpose of art to be the wastepool of the soul’s emotional excrement? Is this the true destiny of the arts, to be a festering pool of emotional excrement?

I don’t know.

nothing compares 2 u

I could write something vulgar, crude and offensive. Or I could write something that tries to reach, but seemingly never, the upper echelon of writing immortality. Try as I may, I don’t know if I can make it.

Perhaps vulgar, crude and offensive works for now =)

ps. Yes. I am writing again. Seriously.