Monday, 15 October 2012

Entangled in your web,
I cry.
Amongst your sheets,
I scream.
Wrapped in your arms,
I lie,
Breathing your love,
I dream.

I found you on a tuesday night,
made love to you on wednesday,
cried like an idiot by 4 am thursday,
became one with you on friday.

Saturday came and rolled without you,
sunday found me back to you.
Monday came and went with you,
Tuesday and wednesday again us two.

Who would have thought that you,
a specimen entirely different from me,
a boy man of twenty five,
would make me feel complete?

I am not saying,
that this week has not been amazing.
But some things are to be devoured quickly,
savoured at the moment,
then discarded appropriately.

Now you are a memory one week gone,
and the smell of your skin on mine,
all washed.
But our times spent together will always be found,
in my memory lanes, in a special corner;

Colour Me Green

Green, used to be my favourite colour in high school...chose it as a career in university, then somewhere in the maze of life, I got lost and believed it was not possible as a destination. Now Green has re-appeared in my life and with it, hope. But, Green is also still far-fetched, still a dream. My background is Geography, more accurately, Geography and Earth Sciences with a Special Focus on Urban Planning. In reality, I have no such focus. The focus was more of the type of classes I was taking in my last year of university. Then I added my minor of Economics which I then turned into a major, something that still requires me to finish one class for me to be eligible for my B.A. My academic failures are being felt, even more so now in my desire to change or define a career path. I would like to pursue a master's but who would accept me with such marks? And to find a job in the sustainability market seems as feasible as flying to the moon. Or is it? Canada talks of a growing green job market, but U.S. seems the real force behind it. What do I do, o-internet-world? How do I approach this? How do I win this? I hope Green can answer...

In retrospect, I wish I had never fallen in love and that I had actually stayed for my OAC year. But alas, we cannot change the past, only the present. And my present, seems adamant to want to stay stagnant...despite my many futile attempts.

Sunday, 23 September 2012

Guilty Kisses

At the back of the room, in a tunnel vision kind of moment, you appeared. All blue eyes and sweet smile, looked at me and somehow grabbed my attention. Perhaps it was the fact you were a girl. Perhaps the fact that I felt something at that moment. But then we gravitated toward each other, we danced, grabbed hands and smiled at our souls. Then we danced in our drunken stupor and while I stared into the blueness of your eyes, we kissed. Yes, I kissed a girl and I liked it.

Now, let this moment be the first towards me breaking my threshold of sexual limits.

Sunday, 9 September 2012

"She believes what she says. But she only believes what she wants to believe. And only for that moment."
Parade's End

Monday, 3 September 2012

Little girl, big girl complex.

I stumbled upon a cutesy, seemingly cheesy teenager movie while I was on youtube today and feeling in a girly mood, I decided to watch it. Surprisingly, the movie was cute, well-written and with some marvelous performances from its young actors. But one thing kept kind of pinching me throughout the whole movie...the realization that not much has changed for me in terms of inner behaviour. I seem to be experiencing my teenage years in my 20s because when I was in my teens, I was too busy trying to act like I was in my 20s. And so, here I am, regressing and digressing about regressing. The main thing I was trying to say is that I am still like a fact, I feel like now more than ever, I am a teenager. I want cutesy things, am completely lost as to who I am or who I want to be, I seem to constantly be angry and yelling at my parents and I cannot hold a boy for the life of me. I also seem to have many friends but no real perhaps, unlike the standard teenager movie where a girl apparently has three best friends, I don't even have one...well, kind of a half one. But she is more of once-a-year-when-i-have-a-problem kind of best friend, you know, the kind that you end going to only when you have a major crisis or they do.

Anyway, I must admit that the channels of life as a woman approaching 30 are goddamn tricky and fuck me, fucking strong currents in some cases. Like for example, the channels of finding a job, pretty strong to navigate. The channels of finding love, pretty fucking shallow and rocky. The channels of figuring out what you want, pretty deep and dark. The channels of avoiding marriage talk by parents and cousins and friends of parents and other people who are and the rest of your engaged or married friends; pretty fucking murky and full of unwanted dirt.

Basically, being a woman nowadays is a fucking blast...but a constant pressure to be perfect. It is no longer necessary to just be beautiful, one must be good at just about everything to even attract a semi-decent dude nowadays 'cause let's face it, we wall want someone better than us, right? So if I'm a loser, who the fuck will want me? Oh wait, a properly equal loser...wrong!! Even a loser doesn't want a loser. You need to get your shit together so others can notice. Yeah, that's right, this post is bitingly rancid, just like my life and me....Nah, I love writing rancid, I seem to be best at it. But who is entertained by happy, seriously? I kind of get turned on by my own emo-state sometimes, my darkness inside, my edgy sarcasm, my prejudiced observations and my shockingly honest humour. If only I could translate these into something financial-worthy or love-worthy, I would be golden. Where can I find someone to pay me to be starkly honest and brilliantly bitchy all the time? God, it feels good!!! I want to write my own bad-ass character so I can play it and enjoy living it. Hmmm, I will spend some time character-creating.

Sunday, 26 August 2012

"I can't make you love me, if you don't"

"I can't make you love me, if you don't." are the lamenting words of Bon Iver and as his music weeps, she weeps with him and I watch her tears fall down; slowly, hotly, painfully. She just had her heart broken tonight and I am her primary witness. What a mess, love is! What a fucking pathetic emotional creature, women are! And what a useless, impatient, selfish friend, I am. I wish I could make her feel better, make her stop crying...but nothing can, so I join her. She was deceived, and we share that. Her face is contorted by pain, her mascara all over her face, her hand clasping her heart, her body trembling from the pain and front of her a statue that stares back and feels utterly useless. I look at her cry and pray to God that it will be the last time I see her this way. A higher power must help this human being, this deeply beaten being by life, bad luck and too-much-love. My dear girl, tomorrow you will breathe, you will wipe your tears, put your make up on and falsely smile at the world so they can't notice the cracks. You will eat, you will drink, you will laugh, you will love, you will live!

For you, Vjola Miloj

Saturday, 25 August 2012

Another one bites the Goodbye...

He came and left;
like a mystery,
like the fleeting light of dawn,
like the fluttering of a beautiful, monarch butterfly,
like the memory he was supposed to be.

He stayed awhile;
trapped me in,
hosed me with his charm,
wet me with his desire,
burned me with his flame.

He crashed me in;
buttered up my soul,
enraptured my mind,
befuddled my senses,
and made love to my complexes.

I was in him,
like he was in me.
Now, he is just a bittersweet memory...
Floating eerily in the halls of my mind,
like an enigma out of time.

Tuesday, 14 August 2012

So many stories...

How can I explain the world this sadness I have within me? How do I extract the hurt out of my soul? Erase the wounds in my heart? No one knows the transmutations of emotions within this tired body,  the overwhelming firing of overly analytical neurons and the interlocking hurt of this soul's choice of mistakes.

"All of these lines across my face
Tell you the story of who I am
So many stories of where I've been
And how I got to where I am"

Wednesday, 18 July 2012

The sexy sound of Dirty Laundy


" What's the fun in playing it safe?
I think I'd rather misbehave
Your way "

Monday, 16 July 2012

If only I could be sexy and irresistible with just my words, my brain and my ideas. But we are visual creatures and so, visible body imperfections cause an instinctive repulsion that we cannot help. I guess, this is part of mother nature's cruel legacy of survival of the fittest; in this case, the prettiest.

I had these thoughts when I came across, yet another artsy, HIGH FASHION picture of yet-another magazine editor who seem to have such pressures in keeping up with the industry's parameters of the edgiest, sexiest, most fashionable women. Can't there be an editor who does not care if she is cellulite-free, or if she is wearing the latest edgy design by the fashion designer of the moment? Must we always fall under the fallacy that we have to personify what we preach? Is this a fashion ad hominem or just common sense? Or just pressure? Or just the way things are? Can you reach a conclusion through these questions? I don't know, I know I can't!

Credit: Interview magazine editor and Naomi Campbell (photo taken from Interview Magazine).

Thursday, 14 June 2012

Of course he is no longer there. There being the serene, sunny, loving place of emotions where we were basting for almost two days together; 32 hours to be precise. Of course he would no longer want to make efforts to be there. Perhaps it is the fact that he is leaving in two weeks, perhaps the culprit is the setting where we get to meet, the group of strangers he is surrounded day and night at the hostel, or perhaps the doubt and confusion as to how to be with me.

Of course I want him more. The rejection adds to the enigma, and subsequently to the attraction of him. Of course his doubt hurts me. But I understand him, I understand him very well, although the pain makes it harder. He is not a child, like I am. He is a lost boy, a mature man that knows when to flow with his impulses, and when to reign them in. While I, am like a crazy puppy, drunk on the delicious taste of his lips, his touch and the love he so easily gives.

Ahh, women! Why are we such slaves to emotions? Why are we easily misled by the tsunamis of feelings that wash us over in the momentum? Why do we sell our hearts so cheaply? Our compromises, so dearly? What is it about this damn heart and romance that turn us women into gelatinous fools? Why the obsession? Why the stubborness in pursuing the same continuous mistakes? Some practical woman, must know the answer.

Tuesday, 12 June 2012

Today is tuesday, a very rainy day with strong winds. Poland is playing Russia in Euro 2012 right now, and my brothers are discussing which movie to see for movie tuesday; you know, the half-price day at cinemas in Toronto. I, on the other hand, am talking with an old online friend, trying to get him to say more than two words to me. I realize that those two words he says, are realistic enough to shut me up and make me think about me and about my life. Inexistent reader, what's your life like? Do you have mistakes you linger on? Regrets you secretly and perversely play back in your mind? Dreams you talk about but you let rust in your drawer of "not good enough, not possible"? Lovers you are too afraid to sleep with? Friends you keep just to not feel lonely, even though you know they don't like you? Jobs you know you could get but you don't apply to just because you are lazy? Do you watch sunsets and feel some of the sadness thawing inside of you? Do you engage in conversation and lose yourself in thought? Do you, inexistent reader, feel that you live? I feel that I live, but I don't live successfully. What do I mean by that? I don't know, ask the capitalist society!

Saturday, 31 March 2012

My MDMA night...

I took the half pill and washed it down with some cheap lemonade, hoping the bitter taste would not hit me. The pill refused to go down so I had to drink some more. I took another chug, and another and then...looked at him, as if waiting for instructions for what to do next. He said - "Wait 30min and then it will hit you!". I said ok and began waiting, meanwhile looking at him. I moved from the chair, I went to the window and looked outside at the foggy view of skyscrapers all around, at the lights shining hazily and the clouds brushing the top of the BMO building. I waited some more and decided to take a picture of what I was seeing; I wanted a preview of my before so I could compare it to the after...

We talked about the filters I could use in showcasing my picture and waited a few more minutes. We kissed, we talked, we lied on the bed and we discussed when it would hit us and while I was on top of him, it hit me. It began as a haze, as a dizzy feeling, as a nauseous feeling, my head heavy with clouds, my pupils dilated and wide-open, my mouth dry, my feelings heightened. We decided to go for a walk, to clear our heads, straighten our walks, air up our lungs with the sweet smoke of a joint. I walked in zig zags as coming out from the elevator and felt light-headed, pupils dilated, breathed heavily and continued to walk straight in the lobby full of party people coming back from the clubs. It was 2:15am and we were outside on the cold, walking the street beside the hotel, looking for a spot to smoke our joint, clear our heads, enjoy our high. We found a stranger, borrowed the lighter and lit up our joint. We were feeling it, we were welcoming it, enjoying it. He was worried for me, but I brushed off the nonsense by saying I was all good. I looked at the man who was to be my lover and thought life was wonderful. Not because of him but because of the feeling the pill offered. I felt excited, sad, happy, melancholic, hyper all at once. For a brief moment I thought of the man I once loved, but brushed the thought away. I focused on the face in front of me, dark eyes with big eyelashes, like those of a girl. We went upstairs, brushed our teeth, washed our hands and we began what we came there to do. I was on top of him, the pill hitting me in waves, waves of different mixes of emotions. I kissed him wondering what he was thinking, feeling...felt myself leaving my body and heard myself talk...but only as a third person. I felt weird, afraid, beautifully lost in a tornado of emotions, images, memories; everything all at once. Ah, what exchange of bodies! It made me weird...or did it? Who knows...but perhaps him?

I just spent the night with the man who has been trying to "court" me for the past four months and now that I gave him all I got, I feel not wanted anymore. I analyze the male-female relationships in this city and cannot help but have a bitter taste in my mouth. It is all rotten, all rotten this business of getting to know or date somebody in this city. Why are people so quick to judge, so slow to open? I feel drained, misused, misunderstood, always the same chain of events...

The more time passes, the more love seems like an illusion; a beautiful, elusive illusion. When will I meet someone who is not afraid to share who they are? Perhaps it is me who is the weird one...but who knows when it comes to romantic dealings? We all feel inadequate somehow, always overly criticizing ourselves or justifying our behaviour. I want some peace, I want a heart of stone, I want and want and want...and always seem not to get. But I do get...just not what I need.

Thursday, 19 January 2012


I wrote a letter to my inexistent reader today...but it didn't go through.
So I am posting it here. What do you say?

""To be honest, am not sure why am writing to you. Perhaps because I feel so lonely and lost at this moment, or perhaps today feels like one of those days where a person is slapped hard into reality. Why is life such a lonely world for those that think too much, analyze too much?

I am not sure how your life is but here, in this big, vast, multicultural city, I find beauty everywhere. Yet, I cannot seem to find peace, nor love, nor fulfillment. I spoke with a colleague of mine yesterday for close to an hr and she is big on spirituality so her words about feeding the soul with silence and contemplation resound so loudly within me today. I have lost myself in the sea of people, in the chaos of forming relationships, twisting them, arranging them, manipulating them and ultimately, losing most of them. Nothing lasts here. Everything is disposable. Everything has become a cliche. All morals and beautiful truisms of life are plastered everywhere and preached by everyone but I am not sure just how many practice what they preach...

They speak to me about love, forgiveness and beauty in small things. But I haven't seen a single person to stop and smell the rose (which I do), nor a person speak the truth about cultural realities or emotional disarrays. Life here is a beautiful jungle, made up of inconsistent concrete, a mish-mash of people, a mosaic of cultures and a hidden iciness of loneliness. Politeness is ubiquitous and yet cruelty, seems its constant companion too. Niceness and kindness is only on the surface and so is their pseudo-sensitivism. not sure what else to say, my inexistent reader. Share...I like reading your beautifully woven words. And yes, I equally would like to have a pen-pal. There's something therapeutic about it, I think.""

Wednesday, 11 January 2012


I found her scattered amongst her ruins.
Her photographs all around her.
Her clothes lying helpless on the floor beside her.
Her old records playing whiny sounds just for her.
Her lovers in her mind, vividly and quietly tormenting her.

I lost her all around me.
She moves swiftly like the wind,
an impermeable light that I can't seem to grasp.
She's impulsive,
flickering like a candle light,
but I know she can be a rock of love and support,
when she is not in flight.

I want her.
I want to be her.
I want to engulf her.
I want to gorge her psyche and dissect her.

She is an incorrigible sentimentalist.
Won't let me do what I must.
I muster the strength to contain her,
but her energy dissipates through my fingers.
She is flimsy like a summer dress,
a light, a caress.

She is me. Or she is you...
One and all, love will come through.