i thought i found my golden september in the middle of that purple june….

i just found out a song i am going to listen to from now on until end of march. or until david can shook me off it. (thanks to Andre who introduced it to me through his blog entry)

there is just something about sad songs that kills and resurrects me at the same time. i truly believe listening to sad songs is the closest thing we —people who would never commit suicide— can do to killing ourselves. we know, at the back of our minds, that nothing is worth killing ourselves for but oh, how liberating dying would have felt in times we are hurting!

funny that i should be talking about this. i haven’t been hurt for a long, long time. well, not with the kind of pain that pushed me into drowning in melancholy music or finishing a bottle of Campari in one sitting or wishing a blinding light or a shot of snow to erase the object of my affection from the ironic face of the earth.

i mentioned this to foo in skype just now (he is that bloke who resides next to my apartment) and he remarked, “i do not get it. not my kind of song…”

“ahhh, you’re not into melancholy…i know.”

“i can’t get past that.” he replied and i could imagine why. he is not that type of person. “maybe thats why i like photography… prefer it.”

And for one crowded hour, you were the only one in the room
And I sailed around all those bumps in the night to your beacon in the gloom
I thought I had found my golden September in the middle of that purple June
But one crowded hour would lead to my wreck and ruin

augie march’s voice was booming from my gigantic headphones straight to my eardrums and to my naturally-troubled subconscious. and i said to foo, “we’re lucky. if you’re heartbroken, you pick up your camera and click away. i write and drown myself in a bottle of campari. we have something to bag the sorrows and pains into. i wonder about those people who do not have anything else they can run away into…”

“i cannot poo when i am sad.”

he is a very good friend and an intelligent man. but yes, he’s particularly not the best candidate for a confidante when one’s heart is breaking.

two days ago, david asked me how i wanted to be loved. his sister has lend him this book about loving and for some reason, he was particularly so keen about it. as for me, i like reading fiction better. anyway, he asked me how i wanted to be loved.

i honestly didn’t know how to answer him. and so i got mad. he was supposed to know how. or… or… he was supposed to just love me. it is supposed to be that easy. that spontaneous.

i still do not know how to answer him. the firsts are always the hardest.

nobody asked me that question before.

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