You search in a field for the perfect flower,
In a sea of beautiful colours and fragrant smells.
Everything is beautiful, but you’re a perfectionist.
The one she picks, isn’t the one you wanted.
I think she found a weed in a field of flowers.
You search and search in this great sea of colours,
Searching until your hands bleed but she wants The Others.
They are no good, they can never be as good as flowers,
But weeds are stronger, they last longer,
No matter how hard you try, they will still linger,
for whatever reasons, like being with their lover.

oioi...

this blog has been left unattended for a while...I wish I could post more often, but i feel a little lost at the moment...like i don't even know what im doing or if i'm doing the right things, but i haven't given up on this project. i still scribble down ideas here and there and everywhere so the words are still coming out but just not posted. I've got a lot of things in mind, so much that i can't get one started cause everything sounds good to me. bad...bad bad...its like my mind wants to conquer me, conquer the world(ha!) when the weather is stable and sunny i'll be doing some wheatpastes. that should be fun...my blog...i will show you pictures of my wheatpaste project when its up. I should probably start sticking stickers on every bus i take too. Accept I kind of gave up last time cause i stick one on every bus that I take daily and I still haven't seen one with my sticker on it. stupid bus cleaner people/ graffiti remover person. wish i had a pic to post but i don't want to post the digital typewriters. drawing them by hand is quite time consuming, last time it took me 2 hours and i was ALMOST done, like THAAAAAAAT close and i fucked up on ONE letter. had to start allllllllll over again. little fucker. this blog will sooner or later become an art blog and you can't blame me cause where else am I going to put the art works on? besides they won't sell untill i'm dead. If i'm lucky.

well...ok i need to pee.

rrrRrrRRRRRRRR

You either get it or you don't.

lazy much.

Haven't posted in a couple of days but its okay. I do this for myself only so I don't have to keep anyone happy by posting often. I'm sitting at Blenz, drinking coffee, with a laptop listening to my playlist mixed with the bad radio music that is playing here. it's 6:55pm as I'm typing this. Another 3 hours to go. I wish it was raining outside. There is just something about being in a coffee shop when it rains outside that turns me on. Anyways, this song that I'm listening to, kind of reminds me of this poem that wrote. So i went through my files and found that one poem, one the first click, it's #4. lucky me...heh. I read it once, read it twice and I can just feel the emotions that I went through as I was writing the poem a year ago. I remember writing it at my friend's house when i stayed over. Couldn't sleep and it was pretty late at night. I wanted to talk to someone, but I feel weak when I do. And I don't want that. I don't ever want anyone to know how I look when I'm weak. Anyone I'm not comfortable with I guess. No one needs to know how much of a coward I can be, or how many thousand pieces I can shatter into. And so what if they do? So what if I can find someone to talk to it about? Nobody can help me. Nobody can save me from what was going on except for myself because why? I'm the only one who's constantly keeping myself in the ditch. I saw the opening I saw the ladder, but I didn't want to leave the darkness. As if things would get better if I stayed there long enough, and everything would go back to normal. As if someone would hear me cry and save me from my own misery. Nah, it doesn't work that way. But I saved myself, and I'm glad I did it alone. I'm a stronger person. I think my life is better than what I had before. I moved on from where i was two years ago and from what happened a year ago. I don't know about you. But I thank you for what you've taught me, I can never be passionate about things the way I am now. I'm still slowly learning, there are still things revolving the thing/word/feeling/whatever "love" that I'm trying to figure out. So thank you, for showing me that it is okay to let others know about my feelings and how i feel towards others. I'm living a great life, with great love. And it would never be what it is now if it wasn't for the things you've taught me.

And as for you....

- ---- --- --, I'll eat you up.

My sincerest apologies.

This is #7, the latest typewriterpoetry. I have more than 7 poems in hand, it's just that, some I'm satisfied with and like them enough to call them complete. Others are just random ideas flying everywhere and I forced them together and its just a big piece of well...different brands of gum all pulled and kneaded together. I transform most of the poems into a digitalized version just incase anything happens to the original. This one though, I haven't gotten a chance to draw it out yet but thought I'd post it anyways cause I like it and it is recent. I'll post a drawn version of it later when I can sit down and draw it.

Does it ever happen to you, when you do things to someone and they look at you like you're just the weirdest person alive? And they just can't seem to understand that you did it cause you love them everything? This is what this is about. Hope you (imaginary follower) likes this.

kee.

a typewriter trying to be poetic. a "poet" trying to be a typewriter.

This is my typewriter poetry blog, everything on this page (with a lot of exceptions) will be my quirky/ doesn't really make any sense/ this is boring I'm going to go make a sammich/ amateur grade 2 typewriter poems (promise most of this blog's content will be about typewriter poetry if I can help myself). You will notice that the poems aren't actually written on a typewriter. Unfortunately, I do not have a typewriter pet, so I try to make myself feel better by writing these poems within a drawn piece of paper coming out from the typewriter drawn on a piece of paper. Ermm...did that even make any sense? You will also notice that the typewriter poetry are numbered (not sure about future though). I don't give them titles because sometimes I can't think of good titles and thinking about it turns my head into a big scribble. Numbering them just keeps them in order.

This first typewriter poetry is #2. No, I don't feel like posting 1 or 3 or 4 or 5 and so on...I just felt like posting this one because it is not as personal.