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I write because I talk, excessively.
My favourite smell is skin.
I am a homebody.

visitors, since 2008

May 2005 June 2005 July 2005 August 2005 September 2005 November 2005 March 2006 May 2006 May 2007 July 2007 August 2007 September 2007 October 2007 November 2007 December 2007 January 2008 February 2008 March 2008 April 2008 May 2008 June 2008 July 2008 August 2008 September 2008 October 2008 November 2008 December 2008 January 2009 February 2009 March 2009 April 2009 May 2009 June 2009 July 2009 August 2009 September 2009 October 2009 November 2009 December 2009 January 2010 February 2010 March 2010 April 2010 July 2010 August 2010 September 2010 October 2010 November 2010 January 2011 February 2011 March 2011 August 2011 September 2011 March 2012


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what?


“We waste time looking for the perfect lover, instead of creating the perfect love.”


Bienvenue! Nice to eat you.


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3:14 PM
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Gimme the beat boys, and free my soullll
February is brilliant, minus a few outliers, but I shall not talk of that.

Again I tire of the uniform small talk. Amidst faces I like, my mind freewheels, I am strange and random. My life is half encapsculed in my phone, and it delights me when a whatsapp notification disrupts a game of Air Control or virtualand Scrabble. There's a storm brewing at home, but I don't really know who to talk to about it.

The opening line of a Leo Tolstoy book I read last night goes:

Happy families are all alike, every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.
Vrai ou faux?

I suck bone marrow as I type this.

I love bone marrow.


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9:50 PM
Saturday, February 05, 2011
the red week
BEAUTIFUL JANUARY! Is over. Beginning to enjoy being accountable to n o o n e.

My youngest brother is sprawled on the cream couch. He stares at his new watch, all ready for army; " A good watch makes a good day." Then he peels open the wrapper of a milk candy and mumbles that a rabbit a day keeps the doctor away. -.-

I really like this one:

You said you were peopled with other personalities; I knew them all as one,
like coloured sections of an umbrella that meet at the spike.
Under the shade of your muted colours, I stand in the rain,
talking to myself on the phone.

- Emily Berry