Well? Will ya?

I rambled rambled rambled at 1:00 PM

Dear god, grant me the courage and the sanity to kill myself. Because living is insane. But I suppose you meant for that. Whichever god you are. I'm talking to all of you. Why else would you let wars happen? You preach wisdom and love. Well, if wisdom is gained from mistakes, and mistakes could destroy love, then what the fuck were you talking about? Stop being flaky, god. I use to be you. Now I'm just flaky. You talk of importance of family. But you take them away. Immortalize them in memory, perhaps you would argue. But memory, even happy ones, once they're memories, will always be accompanied by misery, regret and anger. Do you preach those too dear god? - Dear god, I'm talking to a fake myth. Spite me with your wrath. Burn me in hell. Cause this sure ain't paradise.

Do you know why we look up the heavens, and stare down into hell? Because the sky, is where you are at peace. The sky is where no one else is. The sky is paradise. Where we're all at, grounded, is hell. I guess if there is a god, that's why he designed the world this way. Cause none of us are free of sins. So all of us should be in (or rather ON) hell. Some of us, we visit paradise from time to time, but never for long. As long as a long-haul flight will bring you at least. Some of us, those who just can't take it, will jump into paradise but fall flat and splat onto hell. Some of us, has hell in us. Only because we had paradise and we gave it away. Or because we see paradise out of reach. When that happens, the devil turn the little knob of his, and the oven we're in, burns so much hotter.

We are devils and the birds are gods. And you know what? the devil wears prada and god shits on us and our cars.

I rambled rambled rambled at 3:05 AM

I'm in muar, malaysia. Our first stop was the hospital before we actually went home. My grandma looks so fragile. Anyone who knows me, knows I'm not family oriented at all. Always wanted to run as far away from them and live my own life. But, to my own shock, I cried the moment I saw her. I don't think my brother or my cousin realised though. Silent cries. Sigh. But she seemed so weak. It seemed like she was fighting for every deep breath. And it's like, with every deep breath she took, I'm reminded of memories of her. The picture she took wearing shades and smoking, the knowing look she had in her face when she talked to me after i stole money from my mom to buy tamiya, when she would speak english and act like she can speak it well, when she gave me 50 ringgit, and tell me its to pay for university. All those memories, accompanied by laughter, admiration and regret. I'm sorry I never talked to you much when I visited. I hope you'll get better. My grandma's so strong. 90++ and still fighting. I only hope she has the will to be stronger. I only pray for more fighting breaths in her. Each breath for each memory. and God please, if you grant her more of those breaths, I'll try to have more memories of her. If I could, I'd offer you some of my years. If you can, please take it. Be well grandma. Live to a hundred.

I rambled rambled rambled at 1:55 AM

She's happy without me. Boring with me. Distant. So little affection. I asked for it. Careful what you wish for.


Did you hear the story about the sniper?

His name was Adam Jeffwall. Spent his whole childhood playing sports for his school, travelling during holidays and getting straight As in class. A happy childhood. But it changed. It all changed. In a single night. He just turned 18, his parents had gotten him a brand new car. A nice car, a nice muscle car. The girls he could pick up with that car. Not that he had any trouble picking up girls with his wit and his looks and his brains. No, no problem at all. His problems came from elsewhere. His problem came from that one night. It came from that car of his. His brand new mustang. His happy childhood, lead to him running over his sister. Dead. Instant.

His parents ostracized him. He wasn't drunk, wasnt reckless. His sister had been riding bicycle at night, and suddenly rode it in front of his car. Bang. Dead. Instant. His neighbours looked at him different. His friends, tried to be there, but he looked at them different. Because he looked at himself different. He didn't deserve to have friends. He didn't deserve to have family. He didn't deserve to live. It wasn't the guilt that made him feel this way. It was the lack of it. That night, when he ran over his sister, he felt an adrenaline rush. He felt, alive. Something no sports, no backpacking, not anything, has ever given him. Everything came easy to him. School, sports, girls. Life. It all came too easy.

But this, this was different. The fight against his own morality, was a challenge. A challenge he craved. On his 18th birthday, he became a man.

Without a reason to anyone save himself, he joined the army. That came easily too. He rised up in ranks, in skill. A marksman of the highest standard. Then he dropped out. Without a reason to anyone, save himself.

He had contacts. Old friends who hung out with the bad crowd. No, we're not talking street gangs or drug dealers. We're talking higher level. The ones in suits. The ones every authority in the government wants to nail, but can't. Either because they're elusive, or because the government uses them too. The ones that has international level crime records. No, we're not talking street gangs or drug dealers. Definitely not. These were the group he joined up with. No, not joined up... worked for. No, not really that either. He was freelance. They met his demands. Because this wasn't work for him. This was sport. This, was fun.

A professional hit man. Any target you want. Anyone.

I rambled rambled rambled at 12:37 AM