Fuck you. It’s Me.

I think Marco’s a fuckboy.

He blue ticked me for 24+ hours after I told him I dug him and Kanini says they matched on Tinder and he messaged her first.

Fuckboys…fuckboys everywhere. It’s in the trash can with this one. Blocking is such sweet sorrow.

Is it sad that I’m kind of heartbroken? I didn’t think he was the one or something but I thought that he was at least kind of into me too.

I need to stop acting crazy like this over guys, but you know when this happens, it feels like a personal rejection of my personality. Like maybe I’m not good enough. Like there’s something wrong with me.

And Jesus Christ, I know I’m perfect, so what is it? what’s so wrong with me that everyone I’ve ever dated can see that I can’t?

And therein lies my problem. Deriving my self worth from how cute & dumb a bunch of fuckboys find me. Like it changes anything.

Like it should change me.

I know I’m beautiful.

I know I’m intelligent.

I know I’m witty.

I know I fuck like a fairy on acid and strawberry covered chocolates and mushroom steak and 2011 merlot.

Failures, we love it (SKins)

And if that scares people away, good.

Kanini can have him.

Je Ne Regrette Rien

Dear me,

(Probably in a near far dimension)

Today, I bit my mirror,

It felt like cotton ball over a diamond,

I breathed crystals into my palm,

And fed them to the creature in the centre of the brass cuboid.




I just made up a new language,

It’s that silent hum from the forest,

Blue ice water,

The air tasted a more green in blue-green.




How do birds see through my blue aura of divine light?

Hovering still mid-air like an apparition I once knew,

I fed them bread crumbs,

Parmesan and a little croissant,

French Riviera, 1989.

You know now.

I regret nothing.

Stop Looking At Me.

He sat by the rock pool and collected his samples.


It was a windy day by the beach; it’s always windy at the beach. Mikael didn’t mind, he liked the wind.

I liked watching him, I liked watching the tight curls of his hair blow ever so slightly. Whenever he put down data, his brow furrowed in concentration.

He bites his lower lip when he writes.

The muscles in his angular jaw tighten.  He scratches the 5 o’ clock shadow on his chin.

Then he looks up,

He looks at me.

-Allow me to break from this narrative to expound on something-

Now, I have been looked at about a million times before, by various people I have encountered in my 19 years of existence.

I’ve been looked at by my parents, by teachers, by doctors, by friends, by former lovers, by countless strangers.

It’s in our nature, to look at other humans. It’s just something we do.

To cognize them for future encounters, to show that you’re paying attention to them, to analyze their clothing, features; it’s just something we do.-

“Come on; stop looking at me like that.” 

-And we’re back.-

He averted his gaze and his brown eyes furrowed in slight embarrassment,

“I’m sorry,” he says. He picks up a dead sea urchin and scribbles.

Because when he looks at me, my ears start ringing and I cant hear the howling wind over the silence.

and when he looks at me, an orange glow casts over me. I dont know if it’s the setting sun or the blood rushing to my face clouding my vision. And my better judgement. And my rationality.

And Mikael, hunched over his A3 moleskin notebook with the unsettling ocean crashing behind him, is so still.

And so lovely,

I look at him,

“Don’t be.”

Say What You Need To Say

OK Google:



Recognize the impermanence of everything around you. The birds chirping on the tree will one day, grow old and die.

So will the tree.

So will I.



Nobody can save me but I & time. It will definitely take time. All I can do is feel it go by.

I’m the hero of my story, caught in a riptide.


I’m skidding.

The cars are coming fast. I’m hooting at them, “Stop! You motherfuckers. Stop!”

It’s silver: The one I’m about to hit head first. The fear in his eyes as blinding as his headlights.

He’s looking at me now. I bet we’re thinking the same thing. He’s probably thinking, “I should have kissed my wife good bye today.”

He thinks, “Darn. I shouldn’t have raised my voice at mom last week.”

He says, “Damn. I shouldn’t have run over that dog that one time. It could have made it to the other side, I should have slowed down.”

He shouts, “Shit! And I definitely should not have slept with Cathy last month.”

Burning rubber. “Twice.”

Whispers, “I shouldn’t have spent my life marching through this dark abyss with no purpose nor direction.”

Horns blare. “A mindless interloper.”

The screech is sharp. A distant scream, it pierces my blood. I think its coming from me.

“I’m a failure.”

He swerves.

Another One

You don’t comprehend the full complexity of having another person in your life. You think you do, you don’t. Sorry.

Another. Someone. Someone else. Meaning now you have to deal with someone else’s bullshit besides your own for a change. And like it.

No, I don’t think a lot of guys want another person in their lives. What they want is a one dimensional female supporting lead in a Marvel movie.

black widow

Or some kind of nanny/maid/personal-sex-machine combo. Not another person. Not a person at all but a seamlessly constructed robot, perfect in every way. (Perfection is an illusion but we’ll save that for another time, let’s?)

A personality created to puzzle piece complete his own. No consciousness. No awareness of self. No dreams and ambitions of its own. I mean- it’s a robot. It was created for this sole purpose so what fucking more could it want?

If it starts malfunctioning:

” Does your Female Device have a bug? Is it doing unpredictable things? Things you didn’t see coming and absolutely did not give approval for? Not to worry! We’ll have rainbows and butterflies pouring out of its mouth again like one steady projectile of pink, fluffy vanilla scented vomit in no time! Call Ali 07-22-34-xx-xx”

So he takes it to Ali’s Woman Shop to be fixed; to have those bugs straightened out so that it can be perfect like before. If that’s a duster, he can just have it decomissioned and at a discount, purchase a newer, better model. Updated software so it knows exactly what it’s meant expected* to do.

*Expected – What everyone else thinks is the right thing for me to do.

Meant- What I know is the right thing for me to do.

Point is, bros want an it. They don’t want a her. Another person.

A soft skin endoskeleton being with experiences, thoughts, fears, dreams and a life of her own.

She doesn’t come with a power off button. Poleni. I wish I did. Trust me, I’ve looked. So if you want me and you think you want me and you say you want me, you need to get ready to be stuck with me the way that I’m stuck with me.

Come. It’ll be beautiful.

Belle, Nigel Thornberry

For my 20th.

Because it’s fine- states of mind change

And I’m sitting here in my room crying along to the bitter sweet melodic styling of the YouTube No Cry Challenge,

wanting to watch Fred Rogers-Be Yourself next once I finish the challenge I have failed so miserably because it looks the kind of thing I so desperately needed to hear when I was 5 years old but didn’t, so here I am-

-on the verge of 20 watching my childhood and trying to reshape it into something that can help me be who I am and was truly meant to be, today.

Troubled Confused Afraid Donnie Darko

I just had a whirlwind of a weekend, sober dancing, cutting feet on glass but thinking its just the movement of the floor beneath you, showing you how much it loves you; it just wants to be inside you,

Spicy flat bread and the ocean and dogs that lick my elbow when I play guitar egging me on or telling me to stop I’m not sure.


I christened a road and made it mine and I sat on it and told it my life so it can know who we are.

Who am I?

Who do I want to be?

Opening up

Why is it so hard to be when that should come to us as naturally as we exist?
Existence and being are two separate things. I know that now but-






Streams of consciousness like musical notes being sucked out of my soul by a death eater and into something that can be seen in this pitiful material life we live but without material, we die

…but we are happy

…but we die.

Shouldn’t that be enough though, happiness?


I don’t know what people want from this life anymore. I don’t understand it but I’m really trying.

Lol. 7 billion people and you had to be stuck with me here.

Hello, please won’t you stay?



I promise to start making sense eventually, you’ll just have to give me a little bit of time to find myself but I promise when I do, it’ll make sense.

It will all make sense.

The Best Man (1999) Dir: Malcolm D. Lee

Harper Stewart, author, reunites with his old college gang for his best friend’s, Lance’s, wedding in one emotional roller coaster of a weekend.

Taye Diggs sexy turn.gif Let’s take the time to objectify this beautiful man for a little while.

So in this 90’s chocolate tale of trying love and forehead kisses: Harper Stewart is an author publishing his debut novel which is a fictional recreation of his college days and the events of simpler times, not so simple.

Jordan Armstrong, fictionalized as Kendall in his book. Harper’s big ‘what if?’ The one who got away.

Mia, his best friends’s fiancé. Sweet and charming one dimensional Mia who just goes to show that no one is ever really one dimensional.

Robyn. Harper’s girflfriend, whom he is not sure he wants to commit to.

The Best Man when Robyn knew “What am I doing with this idiot?”

And of course his band of brothers:

Lance. Devout Christian, celebrity football player who loves his wife with enviable intensity and passion but seems to think the karma of his past misdeeds and infidelities won’t catch up with him.

Quentin, slick and sly. He knows everything but he just won’t tell you, he’ll let you figure it out for yourself but not until he has a little fun toying with you.

And Murch, sensitive and kind but afraid to stand up for himself; with an overbearing manipulative girlfriend- I have no idea why those two are even together but they are so I’ll just go with the flow I guess.


Harper  leaves town to attend his best friend’s wedding with a book coming out, a girlfriend he’s closing himself from (Robyn’s a hopeful optimist but a girl can’t wait forever) and nostalgia for Jordan, the girl who got away, hoping that she is the love he really wants and deserves.

But at the bachelor party things don’t go down too well. Lance, has an early copy of Harper’s Book, “Unfinished Business” which he was taking his time flipping through until Harper tried to steal it but it fell out when a stripper took his coat off to dance with him and Lance seeing it sticking out of Harper’s crumpled coat pocket thinks, “What’s this nigga hiding?”

Lance knows the book is about them with some things tweaked and embellished according to Harper’s fantasies (And maybe regrets) so it doesn’t take our log headed jock too long to put 2+2 together and realize that his best friend slept with his wife to be, Mia, in college during one of their breaks.

I mean but can you blame her? Football player boyfriend knee deep in groupie pussy and she, knee deep in heart break every time one of his mistresses tells all or demands a paternity test.

Mia wanted revenge, swift and sweet just like her, so she picked a target she knew would drive the point home- cue Harper, her man’s best friend and Journalism club President, and made him her first time. Then she went on with her coying angelic life knowing that justice is a dish served sweet and silent. Good girls are the worst kind.

Mia Good Girls dont tell Nia Long dont make me hurt you

So Lance figures it out, loses his shit and beats the living daylight out of his best friend- of course, hypocritical, considering his own numerous infidelities- leaving Harper trying to figure out where it all went wrong and trying to salvage the pieces, and his tender bleeding face.

Harper beaten up facePoor baby.


Harper learns that his idealization of the past was an illusion, blinding him to the present and the good things he already has. For some reason, Robyn still loves him despite him almost sleeping with Jordan and just generally being a tool. Such patience.

“Your girl, she must be real patient…or real dumb.”

He does that whole down-on-one-knee-in-the-middle-of-a-slow-dance-at-a-wedding proposal and Robyn was just like, “Whatever Man” but smiling so she’s digging it but she’s still mad so even though she says yes, Harper needs to step the fuck up.

Lance learns that he can’t hold people up to unrealistic standards. Mia isn’t perfect, and if she could forgive and stay with him through all his infidelities and the shit he put her through, he could forgive her one betrayal. Nobody’s perfect, he should know that over anyone else.

Best Man Dialogue 1 Best Man Dialouge 2

Best Man Dialogue 3 Best man dialogue 4

Murch learnt to grow a pair and accept the love he deserves and kick mean old Shelby to the curb.  He’s such a nice guy but nice guys finish last unless they say what they mean and mean what they say.

Quentin didn’t really learn anything. He’s the aloof wise Casanova asshole who served as a catalyst for all of this. I’ll have to admit though: the way he slid that garter up Shelby’s leg had my own left thigh tingling.

Best man quentin shelby1 best man quentin shalby 2

best man quentin shelby 3 best man quentin shelby 4Why do fuck boys have to be so sexy sometimes?

The female characters weren’t as well developed. I’m not sure what Jordan learnt besides that she’s beautiful and successful, she doesn’t need Harper in her life hovering about like the ghost of a missed connection.

Nia Long Spraying

Robyn learnt to see things for what they are and know when she’s not being appreciated.

Mia stays cute and sweet.





If the guy in my best friend’s life is giving her a difficult time- I’d sit her ass down in pajamas with popcorn and we’d watch this movie to show her that for real, we only accept the love we think we deserve.

If I didn’t define myself for myself, I would be crunched into other people’s fantasies for me and eaten alive.”