Tell It With A Fist?

Sometimes i feel kind of left out, even with friends around. I do joke around and always get tagged in the facebook for being the funny one.

But its my mind that contradicts what my body's behaving most of the time. Like trying to destroy the image that i'm building on. There is this certain imagination that never stop ticking even when i'm walking, eating or talking.

Its a torture... because it got so downright disturbing even for me. Like when someone is telling me something, i'll be tempted to give them a hard punch or a kick so hard just to see how they'll react to it.

Something random. You get the drift. It happens to almost everyone. If you're thinking of whether i had that thought when you once talked to me then you're probably right.

I'm kind of getting nervous for the session on next monday. I'm not sure how should i phrase it or where should i start. I'm anxious about his answers, hopefully something will make sense.

The Sea Of Silence, 2009, production still

But.. you know.. i like to write poems. I feel so content. Its like encapsulating a certain emotion in a bubble. So fragile. So surreal.

Because its just a matter of time before it'll burst.

"Can i come over?

I need to rest.

Lay down for awhile.

Disconnect."

Fever Ray, Triangle Walks.