A Small Price To Pay.

For the first time, in a long time to come, the path in front of her came into focus.
The past became a vague blemish of gray.
And the air was forever tranquil.

She tried to dress in black, but found herself attracted to those brighter shades - to those yellows and reds.

A vibrant outside.

Her mind deduced she was better off.
Her eyes magnified indifference.
Her body felt forever light.
Her conscience numbed, retreating inwards.

Her inner self breathed its last words: “Rest in peace”, and then spoke no more.

A still inside.

They clashed - stillness and vibrancy.

She smiled and frowned throughout it all. It was all the same.

They clashed again – vibrancy and stillness.

She chuckled and wept throughout it all. It was all the same.

A small price to pay, she thought.


“What’s wrong?” a familiar voice asked.
“My heart died,” she replied.
“Oh. I’m sorry for your loss.” the voice said.
“I’m not. ‘tis not loss, but a great gain,” she claimed.
“I see. Might I inquire as to how it died?” the voice implored.
She shrugged, “the autopsy report declared its cause of death to be ‘over freezing’.”


Yes, her heart died.
And in its place lay a black veil in silence, recollecting memories of a colorful inside.

Yet, her outside is forever vibrant.
Her body forever light.
And the air forever tranquil.

A small price to pay indeed.

The Boxer Effect.

Why hello fellow earthlings that are way too cool to be on earth.

About time for that new planet to appear and whisk us all away with its magical forces, eh?


So I was sitting in my overrated, life-sucking, death-advancing, sanity-stripping, soul-deteriorating, time and space –consuming eleven o’clock class.

The walls are white, the tables are white. The ceiling is white. The tiles are white. The professor’s hair is white. Surprisingly though, the chairs are black. Talk about spur of the moment. Heh.

My location? Second row to the right.


'Cause I always sit in the middle row, 'cause I'm cool like that.

Nah. Its ‘cause in the third row, I wouldn’t think twice about falling asleep - to hell with decorum.

And first row. Well, first row is divided into two parts.

First row left is saved for that special class of people who nod when the professor is talking and smile when he cracks a joke that is lame’s long lost ancestor and think no one can see them. Little do they know.

First row right is saved for the imbeciles enough to show up very late.

Such detail, you say.
I like detail, so sue me. Hmph!

The row in front of me fills out to be an all testosterone infested row.

So I sit, well more like wiggle around in my chair, to try and find that comfort zone. It doesn’t work, and I end up squirming like I have to pee the whole way through class. It’s not my fault the chairs are so hard!

I think they should adopt beanie bags, and screw ass-flattening chairs!

The lecture starts, and I can hear bits and pieces….

Then fifteen minutes into it, my brain and ears just give way… and my eyes starts absorbing petty detail like how many lights there are in the classroom (12) and how many dots on each tile of the ceiling (45).

I then look in front of me, and I’m blinded by an entire row of boxers surfacing to inhale fresh air. All colors, and sizes. I'm assuming boxers have one standard look/shape. If not, well...I don’t know ;( . Anyway... so a whole row of boxers! Imagine that.

If I was any different, I’d blush and look away. Sadly, I’m not.

Instead, I realized that pubescent boys or ‘men’ (I believe that’s what they go by these days, correct me if I’m wrong), find, with great zeal, the concept of a shred of their boxers flowing out a very capital sex on stick idea.

Apparently their asses need to breathe? Meh.

And then, I get this idea, and it makes me all jumpy.

I’ll share I’ll share- I swear.

Here goes:

Imagine they have jokes (yes, little Timmy ones included), or little puzzles at the back of each pair of boxers?

I for one, would find myself forever entertained!

I mean, the boxer sticks out anyway...so it's just efficient use of material!

As a result, when you look at someone's boxers you are no longer disgusted, but want to fixate them till you can coherently read the puzzle/joke.

And if they’ve got the right goods, in the correct proportions, you can check out their ass sans getting caught in flagrante delicto, and maybe ask them for the answer?

And thus concludes the Boxer Effect :)