Hic Sunt Dracones

the smylere with the knyf under the cloke

Posts Tagged ‘selfish

The Catherine Tate (the Other) Show

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Dr. Who

Am I bovvered?

“Don’t play with fire,” she warned. “Selfish and greedy!” She blared.

She tagged her neighbour’s wallpaper with Banksy-esque stencil graffiti. Caricaturing the public with black and white gospel of her own.

She waxed philosophical about being eccentric as equal to being generic, escaping the gravity of irony altogether. That’s good. That’s bad. The lanky chav concurred, “It’s the strewth! Huzzah! Hallelujah! Bravo!”

Satisfied with the compliment. She drivels again — looking plastered.

“Am I bovvered?”

“Look at my face, is my face bovvered? Face? Bovvered?”

At a point you really wish David Tennant (Dr Who) shuts Catherine Tate (Lauren Cooper) with his Sonic Screwdriver — screwing her self-absorbed mind shut.

“What a fuckin’ liberty!”

don’t call me selfish

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when you yourself can’t even take a portion of your afternoon to be there for me. don’t call me selfish when you have to resort to picking up pieces from the past just to make your case. don’t call me selfish when a nap is more important to you than being there for me at a time when i could find nobody else. it is you, my not so dear, who are being selfish. thank you for wrapping up my day with this taste on my tongue.

The post was deleted from Elly’s blog — was it out of regret?


Yeah, I got it from the cache. Thanks, for the Love Stories #1.


And, yes. Having to wait at Seremban’s commuter train station during weekend is pain in the ass. At one time, her bro boarding the commuter train to KL and back at noon; and I’m still sitting there on that excruciating bench!

Written by cthulhu

March 2, 2009 at 4:53 am

Never the Twain Shall Meet

Your relationships are requiring more effort right now -- you need to invest more

Since I’m on self-imposed extroverted probation, I think investing more for the sake of horoscope prediction would be both hypocritical and nonsensical. (Who’s the astrologer anyway? Venture capitalist part-timer?)

Wishing her a happy anniversary (tomorrow) would be such an investment. A laudable effort during this stint of pessimism.

It won’t be much a happier time — not a sad one either — a reminder of past good time, and the reminiscent of sentimental recollection.

There’s nothing much to celebrate. It’s not a significant event of cherishable memory to date. It’s been whole month of hectic days and when I got allotted time of 3 full days of a time off — no house mate, no courses, no work, full 3 days to spend with her — she unfortunately had had to have this time of the whole month to be on her own. “To have a time of her own.” At [his] place, nonetheless.

Yes. She had issues.

No. That’s not selfish of her.

Rather, it’s selfish of me to get too excited with the overindulge anniversary celebration: the night out with the view of the urbanism gone haywire with shimmering artificial light that runs with power plant that uses USD100 per barrel oil; or a dinner at the fake Italian Pizzeria over the hill overlooking the cityscape with the menu of pretentious Italian flavour of cheap virgin olive oil and questionable ingredients. Then again, she hates Italian food — when it involves herbs, eggplants, olives, onions and not-so-fresh-tomatoes. She’s finicky with her gastronomic experience, and people wonder why I had a trouble to please certain aspect of the investment.

The day after, domestic animals slaughtered by the herd. Sanguine blood drenched the soil as the muscle convulsed painfully — denying death. Flesh gathered for the masses in commemoration of the willingness of an ancient prophet to sacrifice his son.

I bleed frustration as I willingly sacrifice myself.

Morning kisses, midnight embraces and sweet nothings in a text base may not be as analogue as the real thing that she revels [with] when she retreats at her safe haven of cohabitation. No wonder there’s no need of toleration over the need to commensurate the affection. It’s a reverie of immaterial. Come to think of it, why bother with the prolong poetic rhythm at unappreciated value.

Ah, but when it comes to that. I was labelled as callous on so many level. The scenario is, I barely can get in touch with all the restriction she imposed herself when she’s at [his] place. The best and long conversation usually involves confrontation or a token call out of boredom or when [he] isn’t available. This, not including when she-needs-to-talk occasion.

My call often treated as an interruption since it’s an intrusion of her space and needs: during her odd hour of sleeping time, during the rush hour to and fro from [his] place and her break hour during her work. Classic demonstration of my egocentric.

In summation, that’s one deficit investment.

I rather invest a whole lot more for my own tangible needs: Italian Mares wetsuit and diving mask; Italian Cressi buoyancy control device (BCD); Swedish Poseidon regulator and octopus; Bob Evans Force Fin scuba diving fin; Finnish Suunto gauge and dive computer; Californian CamelBak hydration pack, Canadian Arc’teryx softshell, San Francisco The North Face adventure gears, French Salomon running shoes, German Deuter backpack, German Leica camera and Cupertino Apple MacBook Pro.

Now that’s profitable tangible investment.

Relationship investment will be kept at the most minimal and economical effort. I’m back to limited celibacy. I got to think about myself since I got into this selfish business. I might been promoted to something more sinister just after she read this.

I can’t barely read between the line of these cliché phrases: “fine”, “whatever” and “nothing”. Because I’m dense like a brick.

Our path of safe haven is a reminder of our own priorities. She and her needs. Me with mine. Shall our path cross, a simple hi won’t hurt a fly.