Enter: the Dugong

Been nagging myself to start something productive. Could be good for me. I’m only 24 yet I’m already secretly digging for a hide away where I can hibernate and eventually burn out. Probably I’ll die by artistic combustion. It’s actually happening now. Well, probability isn’t my thing so I’ll state it with a period and in present tense:

I am dying of artistic combustion

.

That’s a given. But then I won’t allow it now when there’s a lot of love I can share (annihilation of harmless species is more like it).My neurons are getting deep fried by thoughts of music channels’ lack of good music and harsh craving for bulastogs.

I wish to write the saddest song that one will doubt its credibility.

Like when you made something real but you know it’s too good to be true and people who’s too preoccupied with preoccupation of unreal stuffs starts dissing you. Smile. Big big smile.Like you mean single curves and shine of it.

Smile because you’ll have your names lining up with the likes of Lennon, Warhol, Hendrix, Van Gogh etc. before you hold you last breath. Or maybe after the last gasp.

Aaah the dream. But for now, I’ll settle with this.

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