Constellations.

Shards of diamonds littered throughout the sky, like petals of flowers wilted from the gardens of heaven. Clouds of sparkling goodness, mysteriously creating lofty symbols and pictures of greek gods and roman goddesses. Truly, the cascading hair of beauties mire the sky with drops of perfection. Most declare fervently that these nocturnal speckles of goodness are their sources of inspiration.

PFFT BUTTOCK STARS.

For one, living in a city that's designed after a female's brain, star's are simply as blocked out as though non existent. Thanks to the comfortably polluted air in Kuala Lumpur, many are hard pressed to see even a firefly much a less a star.

Perhaps even if there were stars, twinkling in their arrogant goodness, how on earth do people derive inspiration from them? Its not as if we could crack open a star as though a fortune cookie. True, the little farts in the sky might be beautiful as they are, and I do understand that some brighter individuals than I might derive their meaning from these balls of gas; but I simply can't.

Lately, I have been out of inspiration, for about a day, and wondered if my source of revelation could come from the stars; however, tough luck. All they do is laze around, barely pulling their weight in the mass of black, thinking that the planets revolve around them. Pouty arrogant balls of gas, and mind you, that's exactly what they are, balls of gas, nothing solid, nothing firm, completely lacking any back bone.

Perhaps I'm just bitter those blasted shards of sky poop aren't inspiring me.