It's 2:19 am. I am drunk from vodka mixed with coke and Red Horse as my appetizer. And it's sad that my brother makes me go to sleep or to my bedroom everytime I get drunk. Yes, I am drunk. He makes me go to my room when I've had enough, or have done enough. Maybe I've said too much. And now I'm left alone in my room. My face is numb. I can't feel my lips. So kissing me won't really accomplish much. But having Richie around would still be good though. That way I have someone beside me when the world's spinning around, I always get scared when that happens. But now, there's no one here. I leave my bedroom door open to reassure me that there's still a world. Everyone's singing offkey but they all sound beautiful.
I just read Krystle's message on my tagboard, I had to read it 12 times to understand because it came to me as fragments then it finally came to me as a sentence. I miss you too Krystle. You know how to find me. Not where, because I can be all over the place if I feel like. You know how to find me -- you blink twice to see if it's just a mirage, then you blink some more, until you see that I don't have four eyes after all.
They're over in the next bedroom watching Coldplay's concert. Everyone's drunk. Pretty soon, everyone's gonna be stoned. And my uncle's just outside, he looks a lot like Typecast's lead vocalist right now. Damn, it's like everytime he does something with his hair he looks like someone from a band I like. Before he seemed to look like Brandon Boyd. Then he looked like Rico Blanco. Now he looks like Typecast's lead vocalist. I don't know his name though. My uncle is Morpheus.
Karlo just brought his sister along with him, and she sings the same way she talks. So natural. It was wonderful. It was orange. I hope I make sense when I'm finally sober enough to read this and understand it. It's a surprise I haven't made any typos. Probably because I've been reading everything I typed every now and then. The doors are slamming though mine remains open. Loneliness becomes my Sandman.
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6:12 am
I found myself lying asleep and waking up to my brother's violent banging on my bedroom door. it's 6:12 am. And sad to say, most of what I wrote really didn't make sense at all. But I posted the darn thing anyway without bothering to revise it. I remember a strong desire to sneak out of the house before I finally dozed off on my beaten up bed that still insisted and struggled to accomodate more than one person but failed many times. It still insisted on trying to live up to its purpose. It's good that the darn thing at least knows its purpose. But before that strange yearning, I remember green, blue and yellow neon lights dancing while Coldplay played some of its familiar songs. I remembered myself taking pictures of four silly boys trying to do the Magnum and Blue Steel but ended up laughing at themselves because they just realized they all looked like shit. Oh right, I remember why I fell asleep and never got to finish what I was trying to write when I was drunk -- my uncle came in my room to show some videos of some bands during their live concerts, I got to see Marilyn Manson playing live while he wore nothing but a shabby piece of clothing covering his waist and a thong. I remember him bending over and I actually remember finding it quite brilliant. Everything appeared so extraordinary last night (or rather several hours ago).
Now for some reason, everything seems to look ugly. The event from last night left a bad taste in my mouth, like I just drank a whole bottle of medicine syrup. Strangely enough, I found every fingernail nibbled down to its last chip of keratin until my teeth can no longer get to them. Something seems different about this morning. Maybe it was the violent banging made by my still-drunk brother that interrupted my sleep to install some game in my computer (He kept shouting Star Wars when he really meant Warcraft). People get wasted too often in this house. Some people come over. More people come over, this time with bottles of alcohol in their hands. Someone starts to put on some music on my brother's computer. And they all get rowdy until they've finally had enough.
I've had enough.
