Saturday, December 18, 2004
Do You Really Think So?
My mind has been befogged. I have been accused of something I wouldn't even dare thought of doing. A complete abhorrent act, I refuse to entertain such idea. Somehow, I have been seduced into an acceptance of this accusation. Residing deep therein my hippocampus I know I am not guilty.
At first, I went beserk. I shouted, I kicked, huffed and puffed and cried bitterly as the final resort. In my mind I was livid but confused. How dare you, how dare you, I say. Furious at your monstrous ability to puppet me into thinking that I would do such thing.
The sudden upheaval of exhausting dissent on my part had later, thrown me clapped out on the sofa with the telly blaring Top of The Pop countdown. This is probably just about the only program I'd watch on Friday night, even so, complete anhedonia prevailed on my part.
Joss Stone new single hummed away from my Labtec speaker, merged with the amplified cheered from the maddening-crowd in the telly to become, bright and brighter interspersation of whiteness.
Loud but muted to allow each crescendo of my inhalation to pierce through the bottle neck in my auditory canal. Do you truly believe that I am a liar? Does it not hurt you to say that?
Have you found the button to my insecurities and weaknesses? You seemed to know when and how hard to push. You seemed very caring, attentive and thoughtful. Anything but agressive.
Your tone of voice never reached half of my pitch but, somehow I felt a tinge of force. Coercing me into submission. It's all up in the air. I can't use a finger to point at anything objective as an evidence to validate my feelings. Alas. It's all gut feeling.
While a sweeping gut feeling greeted me, whispering to me that you might be a ruthless conniver, my head told me that you must be feeling wounded and hurtful underneath. I hate to think that I am callous and insensitive.
I don't want to even suspect that you are harbouring on any malevolent intentions. I want to give you the benefit of the doubt. Why oh why do you think I lied? I 'm confused, can you not see?
Without any other bigger group of muscles apart from the reciprocal medial and lateral rectuses I glanced at the clock and I knew I wasn't going to use the remainder of my quarks of energy to clamber into the car and drive to Chicago Rock Cafe.
I have no interest to join any sort of hullabaloo assocciated with Christmas at this point. One of the important tenets of being me had been doubted. I feel dejected. I am in no shape to party. They can sod off for all I care. Oh I am sorry.
At first, I went beserk. I shouted, I kicked, huffed and puffed and cried bitterly as the final resort. In my mind I was livid but confused. How dare you, how dare you, I say. Furious at your monstrous ability to puppet me into thinking that I would do such thing.
The sudden upheaval of exhausting dissent on my part had later, thrown me clapped out on the sofa with the telly blaring Top of The Pop countdown. This is probably just about the only program I'd watch on Friday night, even so, complete anhedonia prevailed on my part.
Joss Stone new single hummed away from my Labtec speaker, merged with the amplified cheered from the maddening-crowd in the telly to become, bright and brighter interspersation of whiteness.
Loud but muted to allow each crescendo of my inhalation to pierce through the bottle neck in my auditory canal. Do you truly believe that I am a liar? Does it not hurt you to say that?
Have you found the button to my insecurities and weaknesses? You seemed to know when and how hard to push. You seemed very caring, attentive and thoughtful. Anything but agressive.
Your tone of voice never reached half of my pitch but, somehow I felt a tinge of force. Coercing me into submission. It's all up in the air. I can't use a finger to point at anything objective as an evidence to validate my feelings. Alas. It's all gut feeling.
While a sweeping gut feeling greeted me, whispering to me that you might be a ruthless conniver, my head told me that you must be feeling wounded and hurtful underneath. I hate to think that I am callous and insensitive.
I don't want to even suspect that you are harbouring on any malevolent intentions. I want to give you the benefit of the doubt. Why oh why do you think I lied? I 'm confused, can you not see?
Without any other bigger group of muscles apart from the reciprocal medial and lateral rectuses I glanced at the clock and I knew I wasn't going to use the remainder of my quarks of energy to clamber into the car and drive to Chicago Rock Cafe.
I have no interest to join any sort of hullabaloo assocciated with Christmas at this point. One of the important tenets of being me had been doubted. I feel dejected. I am in no shape to party. They can sod off for all I care. Oh I am sorry.
