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Kissing The Lipless

Garden State.
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With lives like these, who needs dying?

I've been so unproductive lately. Time wastes faster than the regret that sets in afterward. My days feel numbered. I assume the logic my brain uses is since I'm not doing anything productive, why continue breathing? I need a short-term goal to fill my time. Yep. That sounds good. And no, I haven't been reading any motivational self-help books. I'm just worried with the fact that I can't remember the last thing I felt satisfied about achieving. Especially since someone told me that eating one large pizza alone doesn't count as being 'productive'. 

Off the top of my head, a list of things I want to do before the end of the year:

1) Be able to write with my left hand.
2) Learn enough Tamil to carry out conversations which make sense.
3) Figure out how to speak in an Australian accent.
4) Climb a wall.

No joke.
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Closed Doors

'Love of mine, someday you will die, but I'll be close behind. I'll follow you into the dark.'

Death has its perks. Firstly, well, you're dead. You don't have to bother your mind with the petty nuances that we, the living, get bombarded with every day. It may have something to do with you being dead and losing the ability to think, but it's a fair trade I'd say. 

Secondly, you're one step closer to Heaven. Or Hell. The latter isn't really a perk, but for the sake of this argument, let's just assume you've been a nice little human while you were alive. We're told that heaven is the place to be, the eternal party in the sky. Seventh Heaven. It even sounds like a club. 

I'm a little confused. My mind is so disjointed. I was supposed to tie this all in with a grand, emotional third point about how people only remember you once you're dead, but I realised halfway through writing this that it's not a perk when you can't even enjoy it. We're so stubborn. To me, post-humous recognition is an insult. A farce, an insincere afterthought merely capitalising on a person's passing. It's a shame really. 

I'm unsure about dying. It's not something you prepare for, is it? The fragility and balance of everything somehow possesses me to think that it's all a matter of time before everything goes awry. 

I think I'll appreciate my boredom a little more from now on.
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Fear is relative

I have an obscene fear of snails. The slime, the translucent trail it leaves as it pointlessly squirms along at that unbearably slow pace. They freak me out. Oh, and don't forget the goosebumps I feel when I unintentionally crush them under my foot. I don't know where this came from. They're just so snaily. 
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Days Like Masquerades

“Hey you, this is me. 
The idealist inside that holds your love on a string,wound and tied like kites to all your hopes and dreams. What a tangled mess that they’ve turned out to be. Take a breath, and ask yourself what matters.”

-The Academy Is...
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I Can Feel A Hot One

'I could feel a hot one taking me down
For a moment, I could feel the force
Veiny to the point of tears
And you were holding on to make a point
What's the point?'

We go to school to get a good education to get a good job so that we can earn enough money to pay back the loan we took out so that we could get a good education in the first place. It's such a redundant cycle.

Eighteen going on extinct. I'm almost at the point where I start earning my own living, relying on no-one else but me. All those years asking myself 'What do I want to be when I grow up?' comes down to this. And yet, I still have no idea. I'm still asking that same question. Well, not exactly. It's not what I want to do that's hard to find. Writing, acting, music, I have a ton of interests. But you can't live off hobbies. A stable job means a boring job. Something I'd never feel fulfilled by. Maybe I should just take the risk and try and do something that's actually meaningful to me. I might end up homeless though.

It's like the world was programmed so that we'd never be satisfied with anything.
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In general

Nice is boring. People use that word to describe something, or someone, when no other words suffice. And not in a good way. It's used to describe something so bland, so devoid of essence or presence that the only word that can be used to describe the utter dryness upon seeing said object is... nice. 

'Nice guys finish last. I guess I win then.'

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Sally can wait

'I like cliches. They're comforting. They're like a constant to run our lives by.' 

Recently I've been trying to break out of this relentless monotony. The days feel like they've merged, lines blurred. A quick glance over my shoulder to the past weeks provides nothing but a look at how my repetitive routine, however redundant that sounds, is starting to get to me. A few moments shine in recent memory. Unfortunately, I'm unsure on how long those will last before I have to create new ones to satisfy my mind's late night addiction to fleeting feelings and wishful thinking.

I'll assume that one day I'll miss today. I'm safe in the confines of school, home and thought. Or thoughtlessness, rather. You never know what you have until it's gone. I hate that saying. It's so overused. A pointless summary of a lesson we never learn. A grim reminder of how enough is never enough. I hate that saying too. Cliched, well-known, but never taken to heart. It's just representative of how repetition causes us to remember the words, but lose the meaning. Those words are empty. When people look at them now, tomorrow, whenever, they'll recognise exactly what to expect. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Maybe that's what's been on my mind. Maybe that's why it sparked up when I noticed that my routine has become cliched as well. I recognised the fear that if I allow myself to continue, I'll become like those sayings I despise so much. Empty, having lost its meaning through monotony and familiarity. Another footnote, another statistic listed for the sake of numbers and for the few who actually care about those tiresome details. 

Or maybe I'm just bored nowadays. Yawn.

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Dr. Sundown

There's just something amazing about one of my favourite bands covering one of my favourite songs written by one of my favourite bands.