Sunday, August 23


Sri Lanka is beginning to feel like vanvaas. Time seems to have very little meaning here. Nothing seems to matter, there are no pressing concerns. Even work never seems to attain any sort of sense of urgency and the world seems to be taking it for granted that everything will sort of neatly finish itself eventually. This is not as relaxing as it probably sounds. It's a strange sort of vacuum where nothing seems to get through. It's like I know in my head that the universe is out there and there are people, people I know, living the same lives I'm so familiar with beyond all this water. But it seems like that only, a concept within my head or some sort of vivid dream that comes about as a result of a severe chemical imbalance.
I spent all three mornings / afternoons of my three day weekend with the curtains in my room drawn. With these curtains drawn it feels like it might as well be 3 AM or 3 PM outside, there's no way to tell the difference. My bed is a king sized cloud and I spent all three mornings / afternoons drifting in and out of a daze, vacillating between complete clarity on the POA and struggling to retain a single train of thought, trying to get some quality brooding done and failing. Most of all I'd keep unconsciously thinking of the way things were in the past, way back in the past before anything mattered, and the way I felt and was back then. Now I can't seem to shake it and I can't seem to bring myself to care. Living by the ocean is probably the easiest way to stop giving a shit about everything and everyone. I'd eventually realise that my mind is completely blank and there isn't anything that seems to need to be thought of and I'd draw the curtains and the entire room is flooded with light. The motherfucking ocean, man. It's like living on the brink of my future, with my past and present dissolving into each other and losing their identities. It's like constant sniggering at my expense. At the fact that I'm pretending to be a different person, or maybe trying to be a different person. At the fact that I like to waste hours pretending to be distressed about problems, while what I'm going to do about them was already decided before any of this began. At just how much I seem to enjoy being this person who is truly dedicated to these concerns. The problem is I think I may actually be all these things. I have spent too many days being by myself, repeating things over and over in my head till they've lost meaning. And now I can't seem to remember which is the made up bit.

Saturday, August 15

What does one speak of when times are confusing and emotionally overwhelming and generally thoroughly disorienting? Cellulite, naturally. Internet, I have a lot of cellulite. Bits of me are completely dimpled and ripple gracefully when I so much as move. Also, it’s not exactly bits of me. It’s most of my thighs and all of my ass. It’s a highly disgraceful state of affairs. I really ought to do something about it considering I’m only 23. Now that I’m here in Colombo, with precious little (except really intense stuff) to occupy my unnaturally large brain, my day is broken up into two discrete parts. The morning and early afternoon when I feel fantastic about the cellulite and my general hotness and the awe-inspiring scope and savage beauty of my game. The second half is late afternoon onwards when my game becomes limited to the creepy old men in my hotel, who are naturally chubby chasers and attracted to my resemblance to a nautical vessel :| Internet, am I doomed to never find the answer? Is it my inherent whoriness compensating for Cellulite City or the awe-inspiring scope and savage beauty of my game?

Now I have suffragette city playing in my head, except Bowie’s singing to my ass.

Don’t lean on me man
Cause you ain’t got time to check it
You know my cellulite city
Is outta sight
She’s all right