Morticia Morgendorffer

The rich one. The similar-AF one. The super-people-hater. The ho. The 'What-is-sex?' and 'Porn-makes-me-puke' one. The thief. The one with the clingy boyfriend. The mom. The super-religious one. The cook. The gym freak. The 420 friendly one. How many of these have you had? How many normal and strange boxes can you check? If you've had any different types, please tell me and I'll add those to the list, heh. For all those who've ever lived in hostels, flats and paying guest facilities, this should come as no surprise. We've all had our fair share of weird-ass roommates and flatmates who've made us feel that we grew up way normal than they did. I for one, have been mostly very fortunate when it comes to roommates. Thanks to all the good Karma I've garnered petting and feeding dogs on the street, Satan has blessed me with good people all around, no matter where I go. But every once in awhile, tragedy has befallen and I've ende

Hello, friend. So... I was going through some of my old lecture notes when I came across something I wrote on the back cover of this one notebook. Thought I might lose the page, so I decided to put those down here and leave its digital footprint all over the internet(can't get any more millennial, amirite?) I decided to put the time and the dates of these as well for you know, dramatic-ass effect sake. Also because when I look back at these, I remember exactly what was going on and why was it that I felt that my soul was a little more cracked than usual. 05:13 p.m.  22.08.2018 May I remain disturbed and unsettled until I achieve what I am destined for: a better life. 02:05 p.m. 05.12. 2018 You're on your own, honey. No one cares for no one. It's you and your music till the end of the road. Remember, people always disappoint but you can't disappoint you. 09:05 a.m. 22.04.2019 1.  For days that you feel purposeless and alone like right no

August 07, 2019 02.42 a.m. I sit in the balcony of my seventh-floor flat, smoking a double switch Marlboro with my friend the Penguin and listening to Cigarettes After Sex's 'Crush'.  Yeah, don't get too excited. There's no sex here. I put out the cigarette after smoking half of it. Oh, but I'm not alone. There's about an entire colony of mosquitoes trying to eat me from the legs and I feel like I should probably move inside and try not to look like the picturesque writer smoking in the balcony, writing stupid rants while a stalker in the opposite building watches silently. The sound of crickets (and other gentlemen and ladies performing the concert) reminds me of a very creepy scene from American Horror Story, but at the same time makes me realize how beautiful this world is, and how every day we miss so much of it because we just can't get enough of ourselves. But something's amiss. Something I wish would go away. I can

"So, 45, what do you think?" Sitting right opposite me, peeping from behind his Macbook, Mr. B put the question to me. His almost round head resembled a lot like that of Agatha Christie's Poirot minus the mustache. His bespectacled eyes and the stubbled face accompanied by his calm voice and clear baritone, his funny colored socks, immaculate clothes, and shoes made him something someone with my taste would take a moment to admire. And oh, the resemblance between him and the late Chester Bennington was spookily uncanny. Every day we would sit in the classroom, huddled at a table and discuss literature. For a bookworm, a fan of fiction and a follower of all things art, being there was like a dream come true for me. We’d discuss books, movies, TV shows as well the grand shit-show running out there. One moment we’d be talking about Louis CK and the other, Jon Stewart. One morning would be about how much Mr. B was like Dr. House and the other about how men getting harass