Tatters and Rags #1

So, as you can see, yes, I did change my template again.

I can’t help it; I go all gaga when I see a new template.

And look, it’s all pretty, that you just want to caress it, in a very platonic way.

But I also like the previous on too :(

And therein lays my dilemma.

Which, my fellow readers, do you like best-est?

Apart from that…what was I going to say?

Oh yes. I’ve decided to make a category of posts called ‘Tatters and Rags’, where I would put together the splints and wisps of my thoughts to constitute an awesome filled ramble for you to read.


And so begins Tatters and Rags #1:

I am listening to sick guitar solos, and dying peacefully.

I swear, they are SO incredibly awesome, that you could just sink into them and wait for the apocalypse, with a 'no boredom guaranteed' warranty.

Sexiest shit ever, guitars. *Dreamy look*.

They own, in every possible way there is to own, and then some.

They own, like it’s nobody’s business.

They just own, okay?

So I’m currently happily Facebooking, and holyshit: they’re really all kinds of creatures in the vast space outside, called earth.

I mean nothing says variety like Facebook. Really.

You see them all.

The ones whom you might as well live with, because they insist on telling you what they are doing all the time.

The ones that keep forcing you to be exploited to disgusting lamenting romance songs sung by hillbilly High school dropout bimbos.

The retards with the ‘gangsta’ statuses: ‘Ama go bang bang, aiight?’.

Pft, you should go die die, aiigh?

And the corny couples that keep writing disgusting stuff, all overfilled with hearts and gay endearing words, that could make honey melt.

Sheesh, just ‘cause you signed up for stickiness a-la- carte, doesn’t mean we have to endure it too, yeah?

And they’re all such small people, they should do themselves a favor and just die, you know?

It’s for the better of the planet, and things beyond the planet, even. Heh.

But no, they continue living anyway. Because even if you did tell them that they suck more than Lady Gaga’s hair, hell entire 'iconic' figure soaked in neon pink paint, and then decorated with yellow glitter, they would still exist, if for nothing else than to plague you.

Lady Gaga should die too, did I mention that?

She’s like a cross section between a small time Chinese noodle -seller and a Korean French-wannabe. ‘Ga ga oh la la.’

I tell you, the world is not okay.

The world will never be okay.

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A Temporary Keeping.

There is not much you get to keep in life. There is not much that you can really call yours.

But it’s those few things that you do, in fact get to keep, that maintain your hold on them ever so strong, your grip ever so tight, and your will to never let go, ever so focused.

Yet as time passes, you start to ponder, if even those keep-able things can ever really be yours: if they’re worth keeping after all. Because as the clock hands make their daily rounds in such casual airs, you come to realize that maybe you keep nothing.

Maybe all you do is borrow, and it becomes a temporary ‘keep’.


Yes, that must be it.
It would explain why things go, why others stay.

Maybe life is a sign out sheet.
I sign you out.
I sign it out.

Then at the due date, we all return to our places in the shelf, until something else comes along; until someone else comes along:

And it becomes the start of a new temporary keeping...

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