Hurting Too Much to Care

This is the season where everyone harps on caring and sharing (it is Christmas afterall), but is it just me or the fact that caring really hurts.
For those who believe in unconditional caring and loving (like parents and saints) I salute you.
For the simple and ordinary me, I really don't think I am up to it.
Caring less means I will hurt less, and hurting less sounds just about good to me for now.

Cheers.

Love Lost In A Hail Of Gunfire

The only love I know is the violent kind
Lost in the liquid red that stains the snow fields
Every emotion I've ever felt
Loaded into the chamber of this gun
The only declaration of love I know
I proclaim with a pull of this trigger
Till the sands are written with my calligraphy of blood
My love is declared with a dynamite blast
In my mutilation
I know my love is made pure and clean
In a hail of self righteous gunfire
My message of love is made louder still
I transcend all and forsake all
My ultimate sacrifice
My life for my love.

Proseac: Say no to terrorism. Love enough to live, not to die.

My Rationale on Everything

I deduce that 'Everything happens for a reason';
Some reasons are acceptable and some are not.

Applying the theory that 'for all action there is an opposite reaction';
'Everything also doesn't happen for a reason'
Again, some reasons are acceptable and some are not.

It is also a well known fact according to the 'laws of perception';
A reason can be viewed as an excuse from a different perspective.

Hence my rationale,

Everything that happens or doesn't happen is caused by a good reason or a lame excuse (or a good excuse or a lame reason for that matter), that is either acceptable or unacceptable depending on your perspective.

Proseac: And that is everything really.

Hope Lost

It is pretty sad to see people losing hope.

Generally, my take is that nothing in life is predictable or is anything for sure. Some people have it easy, some people experience a flush of bad luck, where mostly people just suffer from self-inflicted injuries.

Still, I've always thought that it is wiser to just sit back up, spend a little time to wallow in the pain, daze a little bit and then its time to shift the butt and move on. It takes a lot of determination and will to accomplish and definitely it is something easier said than done.

Nonetheless, life is a continuous stream. There are just milestones in which we evaluate ourselves. There is no perennial failure, only continuous self-inflicted pain. Learn to make the right choices. When we grow wiser, there will be less pain.

In all, life is about hoping. When hope is lost, life is lost.

Your choice really.

Beautiful Moments

The beautiful moments in life are the ones that last the shortest.

The explosion of a firework,
The lush pink and purple of twilight,
The candlelight on a birthday cake,
The glow of a firefly in the night,
The first snow drops from the sky,
That moment of genius on a football pitch,
A baby's first word from its mouth,
That moment of vows exchanged in a wedding.

Cherish it while you can. The beauty only lives in memories.

Memoirs of a Deadman

I wake up wondering what time it is...
Looking out the window, it's twilight. The sun looks like it's setting, or perhaps it's rising. I have totally no more recall of time, space and date.
I've had a heavy trip. I can still feel the taste of puke in my mouth. The worst part of tripping is the reaction of the body to the atrocity that it has to endure. Sometimes, it doesn't take kindly to what it's been given.
The stomach churns like a whirlpool and the head splits. Everything is too loud. Sometimes, I can't bear to open my eyes. The vision always returns like an oil painting awashed in solvent. It starts coming back in whirls of technicolor. More often than not, it just encourages the body to react as violently as possible.

Can't seem to get up and walk. The best I can muster is a pathetic crawl to the washroom.

I stare into the mirror now. Somehow I don't recognize myself. I can't remember myself being so withered. My eyes are bloodshot. I look bruised and battered. I wonder where did I manage to get that cut lip? Must've been an accident. Things like that happen when you're tripping. I've had worse falls, sometimes, face first on to the concrete floor.
I turn on the tap and wet my palms. I need to wash my face. The wetness stings my cut lips. I flinch a little, and then, I continue washing. Feeling the pain is better than the emptiness.
A smell comes to my nose. The pungence is suddenly so striking, it almost gives my stomach another reason to purge itself. I must've been sleeping in my own bile and urine for the whole of my trip. Then I realise the stink is not of the overnight bile and piss. I just shat myself. Somehow, I've not yet retain the fine motor functions that control my bowels.

This is so pathetic. So very fucking pathetic. I feel like waste and I know I look far worse.

I slowly strip myself, taking care not to agitate my already broken body. I turn on the tap and let the ice cold water wash my body. I feel suddenly pierced by icy fingers that jolts me into consciousness. Suddenly I am aware of my wasted frame.
My body is shattered. Blisters and scabs from the frequent hits cover my arms. Most of them are not even healed yet. Some of them are slowly rotting away at the skin. All of them, didn't hurt anymore. I let myself wash in the water and tears.

The cacophony of pain envelopes me.

Why am I fucked up this way?

I heave a sigh.

I dress up and lay on the mat. I really don't feel like doing anything at all. I curl up, holding my knees close to my chest. I cannot control myself.
It started with a sob. The volume of sadness amplifies louder. It ends in tears running unabated. I cannot help myself. I cry hard, shuddering,choking on my tears.

My throat feels parched, my lips are cracked and dried. I reach around and took hold of the nearest liquid. Per chance, it happens to be a glass orange juice. The glass is chipped. I take a sip of the orange juice and cut my lip even more on the chip. The blood flows on.
The juice tastes funny. Probably its fermented. Probably its just how orange juice tastes like when mixed with blood.
It didn't matter. I doubt anything much that I consume will actually kill me now.

I am mostly dead anyway.

I spit a wriggling maggot out of my mouth.

I feel the urge coming again. The withdrawal. The all too familiar cold sweat that breaks from my brow. The shivers coming all at once. I need a hit. I need to feel alive again. I rummage around. Good, there is still enough here for one more hit. One very heavy hit. Very very heavy hit. Maybe my last ever hit.

Like a ritual, I even out the grains expertly, prop the contents on to the crude aluminium foil and set the candle alight. Slowly, I rim the foil containing my life over the candle flame. I stare at the dancing flames as if in hypnosis.

I remember someone calling this shit "Angeldust". How ironic.

Slowly, I watch the powder melt in the crucible. The beautiful white now settles over the foil in the form of a rich dirty brown liquid ooze. It is slightly charred black at the sides, but it does not matter.
I grasp a spent syringe from my side. Greedily, it sucks and slurps the rich liquid as I draw it in like a pump. I inspected the needle point. It is slightly blunted, but still usable. It might just hurt a bit more, that's all. I pump the syringe a little bit. A fine thin stream of liquid sprays out of the needle point. I smile, satisfied that the passage in the syringe is unblocked.

I look at my arms, searching for a spot not stained by scab or wound. Found one. Right there on my right arm. I strap my arm up with a belt to stop the blood flow a bit, so I that can see my veins where the beautiful sharpness will impale in a while more. The shivering is getting worse. Mucus starts to drip from my nose. I need to get this over with fast.

I smack myself a little bit. Smacking works like antiseptic. It lessens the hurt a little. I flex my right arm a bit and smack myself a little bit more. The skin over my arm starts to redden. Good, that should do.

Slowly I insert the point into my flesh. It stings a little at first, and then it was alright. I pulled the trigger and pumped it slowly into my blood. I can feel the gush. It feels so good. I pull the needle out.

After that, I just pick my spot and lie there. All the pain, sorrow and sadness is slowly disappearing.

I see flowers. I see her. She just stands there. She wilts, petal by petal. She looks at me. She beckons me. Everything feels alive now. Everything is beautiful. This is my world where no hurt will ever touch me again. I see the distant light. It feels so warm.

I drift and drift away.

Delirium de Infinium

It has always just been me,
Facing the night that goes on and on,
The heart of frost, an eternal winter,
Wall of silence left unpierced.

In my mind I fall inwards,
Drifting inside further away,
Spiralling, twisting vertigo,
Reality torn asunder.

I have lost the hold on me,
Going under the surreal waters,
An ocean of sorrow, a lake of tears,
Drowning in this sea of despair.

I fathom those that are real,
I fathom those that are not,
This is my invitation to me,
Into my delirium,
Into my dementia,
I shall be be swept with my friend of misery.

I've Changed A Lil Bit More

Well, how shall I start this off?
The past few days have been a real test of character. Sudden realization strikes me that I changed a little bit more. Strange, how people never realize the change in themselves until they are given a test of character.
I have to admit, I used to be a pretty brash person when it comes to relationships. Relationships as the boy and girl kind. I used to just jump into relationships, head first. I dive into a relationship without weighing too much about circumstance, potential and the long run. I've always stuck to the belief that 'If it feels so right, it can't be wrong'.
Always believed in playing by the ear. Working things out as it goes along. Tolerate a little, compromise a little out of love and everything will be dandy.
The last few days opened my eyes, to what I have become.
I've actually tried to start a relationship with a 'potential chick'. Knew her for a long long time. In fact, it was an ex-girlfriend. She used to be quite messed up, until I met her again recently. She seems quite changed. Setting off on a bright career, ambitious and certainly more in control of her life. Perhaps I was relishing to get to know her all over again. To fall in love again with a girl from a whole new different perspective.
All was dandy, until she confessed that she was embroiled in another relationship that she wanted to walk away from. Apparently walking away wasn't easy for her. It's not so much that she's torn between choices, but more of like ending up stuck with a bad choice of boyfriend. She got stuck with this mentally instable guy that is giving her hell if she left him. The kind of hell on offer is as bad as far as the stretches your imagination can take you.
I heard her distress call and sometime inside me snapped.

Something seriously snapped.

Was it disappointment that the facade of her cleaned up life fell through?
Was it the emotional baggage that she is going to carry into this new relationship with me?
Was it my selfishness that I really do not have the heart or time for this sh*t?
Was it that I felt disturbed as I am helpless to do anything about what she is going through?

Maybe it was a mixture of all those reasons. One thing I do know for sure, is that I do not need all this right now, and the fact that if this relationship started, its all going off on the wrong foot.
I promptly offered the option to stay friends.
Looking back, I suddenly became conscious of how pragmatic I have become. I am very convinced that my choice is a right one. I also knew, if this was me back a couple of years, I would've just went ahead with this relationship anyways with all the usual gusto and gung-ho.

Cold realisation.

How times have fly on by. How times chip me away and shape me.

How I change with each passing minute, even if only by a little...

I am afraid of...

Cockroaches.
I am irrationally spooked silly by them itty, dirty, ugly looking creatures that scurries (and sometimes fly) around making my life miserable whenever we are in the same room.
When I think about it, cockroaches are exceptionally good at making the most out of my phobia. Don't it seem weird where they just start scurrying around you or flap and fly around you while you are frantically trying to get it to go away? The more you are spooked by them, the more they seem to want to irritate the hell out of you.

"He fears me. He FEARS ME!! Heh, this should be fun. Lemme try to make skin contact."

The flying ones irk me the most. They always go flying at you like some sort of kamikaze operation. Whats more infuriating is the fact when I start waving my hands around trying to drive it away and accidentally smack it dead. Along with the corpse of a crushed roach comes that the dreaded smell...

I hate the smell of roaches when I whack em dead. You know that mushy smell. It also never seems to die with any elegance. The crunching sound when I crush a roach never fails to make the hair on the back of my neck stand up. The worst of it all is the damp bits thats probably the entrails, squeezed out of its frame when its squashed. The bit of white intestines and liquidy substance mangled in the black carcass. Disgusting.

Roaches are big enough for you to notice em when they scurry across the surface of your skin. Big, black and silent bastards. The fleeting sensation of them gliding across my skin, only for me to notice that its a roach never fails to send me jumping (and cursing and flailing my limbs and involuntary wriggling in spasms to get rid of it).

Unfortunately, the survival and reproduction ability of the roach is mythical in proportion. If there is one thing that will survive a nuclear holocaust, you can bet your dollar that its a cockroach.

Tough luck for me.

Erotica (Almost)

Right, this is a story about sex.
It will unashamedly describe the erotic escapades of two people, a male and a female.
This story will contain explicit material not suitable for those under 18. (or 21, whatever your law says)
Yes, this story will describe in extremely vivid detail the activities of two people that's (probably) under the blanket and (including but not limited to) on the bed.
The aforementioned individuals in this story will eventually end up nude and naked. (notwithstanding lingerie thats possibly not fully discarded for added erotic effect)
This story will involve the two characters ending up physically entwined.
It is only right to state, that the story will narrate extensively on both the male and female anatomy.
The story will also be peppered with euphisms and sexual innuendos just to spice up the narrative of the bodily functions, description of anatomy, positions and activities.
The story should also be liberally scattered with cliches that are familiar with the erotica reading crowd.
This story might include a standard opening, narrating drunkedness whereby is the starting point of this entire story. (I will decide later when I actually start telling the story)
It is also fair warning, that this story may contain explicit and downright 'dirty' languages (that come across as more corny than actually offensive), just to add to the realism of the story in part.
Wrangling of hair, gnashing of teeth, battle of lips (with tongue) and raking of nails are totally optional.
There will be however be sweat, bodily fluids and arousing moans (with the occasional grunt)
As a responsible writer, condoms will be used in the story.
This story will end in a climax that is only achievable in fantasy and fiction. (and maybe porn)
Above all, this is a story about sex. This is an erotica that is attempted to be portrayed with as much taste and seduction possible. Rest assured, this story will be filled with raucous sex.

Here goes...

Damn, I think I just took all the fun out of writing this. I think I'll just leave it to your imagination for now.
Ah well. It was a good attempt anyway.

Proseac: Yeah, so bite me!

Broken China Doll

Lovely little china doll,
Sitting pretty,
Oh so sweet, oh so delicate.
With your wide eyed innocence and piggy tails,
Perfect smile, unblemished.

Lovely little china doll,
Perched atop the shelf,
Plucked off your seat now,
Plunged into terror.

Little toy made of china clay,
Here he plays with you,
On the ground he flings you,
In those dreaded hands, he bends you.

Your pretty little dress,
With a blade, he rends it to shreds,
On the ground he perverses you,
There he tramples you,
There he breaks you, there he grinds you.

Perfect pretty little thing,
Now you douse in mud,
Now you rinse in his filth,
Now you suffer the beatings,
Now you are tortured in pain.

His mocking laugh,
His putrid breath,
His tombstone teeth,
His jagged sneer,
His slimy tongue,
His defiling fingers,
Manhood. Depravity.

Now you are a broken plaything,
You wished that you could cry,
Your voice scream in silence,
Your eyes bore no tears.
Flung against the wall,
Crushed and pretty no more.

Can we mend you with some glue?
It will never be the same.
The scars you will bear for life,
Endure the lasting shame.

Bruised, used, confused....

Trauma,
You dare not to play anymore,
You will trust to love nevermore.
Your world will be in hurt, shame and hate.
For the shadow of him, that monster,
Who have left you this fate.

Proseac: My little piece on child sexual abuse.

Crossroads

It was probably a dream. Probably, as I don't rightly remember exactly where and when this had happened to me. Everything in my memory now is like looking at the world through a haze. It's a myriads of colors and shapes.
I suddenly found myself in the middle of nowhere. The landscape was dreadful. There was nothing around me, save the shapes of barren trees, morbid to behold. Twisted and writhed as if perpetually tortured and in pain. Thru the haze of my vision, they were like creatures of the night, a parody of life lost.
The sky was cast in a sick shade of purple. There were no clouds, only a strange form of a mist flowing. There was no sign of light but strangely, I found it possible to look beyond. Standing before me was a path, that seem to lead to the horizon. I seem to be standing in the middle of the path. It's as if that I must've walked here from somewhere. Did I trod down this way? I don't remember. Nothing seems to make sense, but somehow I felt compelled to walk and follow this strange pathway, wherever it would lead me. I took my first steps and began my journey with slow debilitating steps.
I plodded along very slowly, inspecting my alien surroundings as I moved. I noticed, that this place was devoid of life. The grass, or whatever it was that littered the sides of the pathway were in gray. It was all so deathly silent. The only sound I could hear was the moving air that surrounds me and that of my beating heart. Wherever I am now, it is a place that life itself has forsaken. Each gasp of air that I breathe, smells faintly of roses and decay. Each breath leaves a faint taste of ashes in my mouth.
Who knows how long I've walked, It must've been hours but it felt like days. Sudden fear grabs me as I wonder if I would ever find a way out of this place. It was at this precise moment that I saw a break in the the horizon, a divergence of paths. I felt a sudden relief. Variation must mean that this path is not a neverending one-way-street. The relief passes and confusion overtakes me. What does all of this mean? With renewed vigor I trudged on forward towards the coming horizon, determined to find out what all this is about.
Before I realized, I found the horizon dropping lower. This could only mean that I am finally reaching somewhere. Is this to be my destination? I truly did not know.
Maybe it was that I was too absorbed within my own thoughts that I didn't notice, because I found myself at a crossroad. I stood there bewildered. Which way should I head from here? I looked around, half-heartedly thinking that there might be a signboard somewhere that could give me a clue.
True enough, it was just what I had expected, there was only nothingness around me, or was it? I must not of have noticed before, because standing just a little bit away from me was this shadowy figure. The figure seems to of have been standing there for a long time. It seems like that it was waiting for something or someone, Strange that I could of have missed its presence.
The figure looked like it was standing in a slight hunch. It was dressed in a druids garb of sorts, with heavy cloaks shadowing its features from my eyes. The color of its robe was as black as night. It was made of the finest cloth, smooth and comforting. There was no adornment that it wore on it's garb. It was plain and somehow, it was haunting.
I wasn't sure what got me moving towards this looming figure, but I did it anyway. Slow, cautious steps I took towards it. I probably wasn't feeling very sane, but then again, I was literally caught in a land of nightmares. What worse could happen to me?
As I approached the figure, I realized that it wasn't the small and frail figure that I first thought it was. Somehow, as I move closer, it seems to grow in stature, or perhaps, it was me that was shrinking. This apparition that stood before me was easily seven feet tall. The oversized garb that it wore, gave it an illusion of frailness that disappeared upon closer inspection. Underneath the velvet robes, I sensed a strong frame that is filling the garb most admirably. The strange thing was, that even up this close, it's visage was still hidden within the shadows of it's hood. I just stood before this apparition, dumb and silent.
There were probably a thousand questions in my head, and somehow my gut feeling told me that this figure that stood before me has the answers to all of them. Yet, I couldn't speak, not a single word. I just stood mesmerized by the darkness of it's robe that seems to draw me into infinity.
A voice echoed in my ears. Or maybe, the voice was in my head as I could still hear the silence around me.
"You seek answers. You seek direction. You are given a choice...", the voice hissed to me, neither male nor female. "You are at the crossroads now, what choice would you make?"
Somehow I knew that this voice was from the figure that stood before me. I stood before it with knowing in my eyes as I stared. It just nodded in acknowledgement, as if it read my thoughts.
"I can tell you which path to choose. I can make smooth that path. I can surround that path as you walk with pleasures as you have never known..." the voice hissed. "Everything I give for a trade. Everything I give in exchange."
The offer seemed very enticing, maybe a little too good to be true. I wonder what exactly was it that I would have to exchange, not that I really had anything at all in this forsaken land.
As if reading my thoughts, the voice came again.
"You see my friend, everyone travels their own roads. They each walk their own path. Each carries on walking and walking until they can walk no more. Either they run out of will or the roads to tread," it explained.
"At one point in their journey, everyone will come to a crossroad. Everyone will have to decide where else they would want to go from there," it paused. Then in a slightly sinister tone, "Sometimes, they will find me there, just as you have found me here, at the crossroad of your path."
I wonder where this was all leading. Whatever it has just said makes no sense to me, but at the same time, I found some sort of profound understanding in its words. Just then, it raised his hand to point at the pathways that divide at the crossroad. My vision followed to where it was pointing.
"What will your choice be? You pick a path, and you just carry on walking. Down these paths, it may lead you to glory. Down these paths, it may lead you to anguish and pain. Down these paths, you may arrive at success. Down these paths, you may arrive at nothing. You will be faced with harsh truths. You will beset painful lies. Such is the journey of life, that no destination is certain. The only certainty is the doubt that will fester in your mind. The only certainty is the tinge of regret. The only certainty, is that your mind wonders, what would it be if you took the other road?"
I could sense a certain mocking tone as it allowed that last sentence to trail off.
"We all need some direction. Direction that I would gladly offer. Direction that would lead you down the path of glory and success. Direction that would lead you down the path that fulfils all of your heart's desires. All that I ask, is an exchange," it said as it lowered it's hands and hide them once more within the folds of its cloak.
"My price is an easy one, yet it will be heavy nonetheless," it said. "I will offer my gifts, in exchange for your soul."
My mind cringed at the thought of the offer.
"Do not fear, my friend. Losing your soul is not as frightening as it seems. You will not even notice the difference with or without it. Instead, think of it as preparing yourself for a most wonderful journey."
I could sense a smile playing on its lips while it spoke.
"To enjoy the ride to its utmost, you will have to lose that burden of your soul. Lose it, and you will live life like you have never lived before, with no more constraints."
I stood there thinking about the offer. I thought about it for a long time. I was tempted to just let it all go. After all, we live but once, so why not make it a joyride?
I made up my mind. For the first time, in this strange surreal world, I looked at the figure, and smiled. I turned away from the figure, closed my eyes, and started trodding down a path at random.
The voice in my head came in a scathing and mocking tone.
"You are a fool! Do you think you can truly walk away from my influence? Even by refusing my offer, you will still trip and fall. I will always be around you. You will find yourself walking the long winding roads and still end up with me in the furnace that burns eternal!"
Somewhere I found the courage to reply the conversation in my head.
"Are you certain? Like what you've told me. Nothing is certain even as I walk now on my own. I may find redemption as I walk this path, or condemnation. At the very least, life, the uncertain journey is a whole lot more interesting that way. My life is mine, and mine alone."
The voice seem to of have ceased in my head. The sudden silence was overwhelming. I simply carried on walking. It wasn't long before the voice came in my head again.
"I like you. Trust me when I say this. I foresee that you will find yourself at many a crossroads in your journey. I will be waiting up ahead."
I smiled. I still carried on walking with my eyes closed. I really didn't care anymore. I just wanted to walk without knowing where I will be headed, and decide when I finally get there, or when my legs finally gave way, whichever came first.
The very next moment, I found myself in a room. The surroundings were familiar. It was in my bed that I was lying on. It was my clock that stared at me and told me that it was lunch time. It was my clothes that lie scattered across in the room.
Just then the phone rang. I picked it up, still feeling dazed and confused. It was Alan.
"Hey, so what's up today?"
I sat there, silent for a moment. Then with a smile I replied.
"Seriously, I don't know what's up... but hey, life is certainly more interesting when it's uncertain ain't it?"

Realistic Love?

This little subject has been hanging in my head for quite a while. This subject comes to me as quite a paradox. It comes to me as a juxtaposed contradiction that sticks out.
Realism or being realistic requires one to be objective, rational and evaluating the options for oneself. Putting everything through ones head, one then attempts to come up with the best option for oneself. Being realistic takes away the essence of idealism and dreams. Being realistic requires oneself to not be caught in the lower plateau. Being realistic means to choose the best situation in relation to oneself to further one's ends. Being realistic is about seeking proof to a faith.
Love on the other hand, is all about forebearance, tolerance, sacrifice, endurance, faith and belief. To love, one dares to seek the ideal, one dares to dream. To love, one believes that love comes full circle and fulfils it's own. Love manifests as passion burning like a neverending flame, a willing flame that burns oneself just to warm that which is beloved. Love is not about self but total unself. Love is sometimes to seek the lower plateau so as to elevate that which is beloved. Love is having faith without proof.
I do believe that love requires it to tempered with practicality. I also believe that a realistic mind requires a measure of counter balance with love.
Alas, we're always caught in between. In being human, we're a walking tug-of-war, between the head and heart.
Who else but a human, will ever understand something as contradicting as "realistic love"?

Mistress of Sleep

Mistress of the nocturnal,
Come ye unto me,
Dance with me those familiar steps,
Enchant me with thy beauty.

Bring ye along thy chambermaids,
Let them ring thou round,
They shall bequeath thee orchids,
Joy and laughter shall resound.

Lead me then my dear maiden,
Lead me unto blissful sleep,
Let me lie in thy full bosom,
Let me fall in thy embrace deep.

Grant me beloved thy gift of dreams,
That we may sail the calm night sky,
Together we shall chase the stars,
Chase wonders that escape the eye.

May I ask that this never end?
This union of heart and soul,
Gently thou whispereth unto me,
Words that doeth make me whole....

"Go now dear beloved,
Go now as thou must,
Another night I'll come again,
In that thou must trust."

The Flavor Of Life

Life ultimately comes in only one flavor.

Bittersweet.

I Hate SPAM

Not the meat though. I am personally a huge lover of canned meat mashed from them pork parts. There is no better staple meat to gorge in with such delight.

That aside, I hate spam. Spam as in unsolicited messages generally of dubious and shady nature. Yes, I am sure we have all heard about how spam is hurting the productivity around the globe where business of the modern day is integrated tightly with that little box we'd like to call our 'Personal Computer'. (Hmm.. Personal Computer, what an oxymoron)

Regardless, I can't help but grudgingly admire those spammers. We can only imagine the amount of effort put in by various parties to attempt to eradicate spam via aritificial intelligence (hmmm...yet another oxymoron?) and still to no avail. I don't foresee that things will really get better in the near future for two simple reasons:
1) No computer is intelligent enough to discern what human beings are able to
AND
2) Sadly, one man's spam is another man's meat. What is spam to me may not be to you.

I can also foresee that the incereased 'connectivity' between people on the globe via technology will simply open up more doors for these 'spammers'.
Look at the evolution!
Back in the days where the simple telephone ruled the roost, we had 'tele-marketing' (no offence to any tele-marketeers out there).
Then came email and the Internet, spawning mass emailing campaigns, hawking Viagra and Christian Personal Credit Schemes. (I am so not amused)
Now with further connectivity, spam comes fast and furious in all directions! Instant Messaging, Short Message Services (SMS) and for crying out loud, even f***in BLOG COMMENTS!

This is causing me a lot of emotional distress. Just when I thought this lil blog of mine is sitting staring out into the vasts of cyberspace all alone and I see this 'comment' posted, my lil heart skipped a beat. Finally! Someone noticed me!
Imagine my disgust when I pop open the comment section just to see this picture of this old balding bloke and his campaign for 'colon cancer' asking for my attention. A pox on you whoever you are! If colon cancer don't take you, I am gonna take a zucchini and stuff it up that colon of yours if I ever find you!

Anyways, my ramblings are totally self-serving. I reckon, the only way for spam to be effectively controlled should be like how you control the transmittance of some sexual disease.

The answer is with education. Only when people stop being gullible and realize that the 'Million Dollar A Week Scheme' is about as authentic as WWE Wrestling will this epidemic be effectively put to a stop.

Having said that, such utopia will never exist. Simply because, in the increasingly connected world, there is always a chance, that a gullible, ignorant and stupid fool is just over the other line.

A Lovely Little Paradox

It has been said, that in order for myself to be happy, I would want you to be happy.
For you to be happy, I would hope to give you a full life.
Holding on to you so sefishly is something I yearn but dare not want.
No one would want to live life and look back with regret at that moment unfulfilled.
I would have to let you explore that big big world of yours filled with your own beauty and fantasy.
That world that would only belong to you and no one else.
Nothing I can possibly offer to you to fill that void. Nothing except freedom and my blessings for you to pursue that moment and time in your life.
I know that time will pass and probably we would've lost something so precious in my bid to help you be truly happy.
It has been said, if it was meant to be, it will come a full circle. But, we will always gain some, and we will lose some. Who is to question what was worth it?
If we never find the fire again, for this one moment in time though, I would want you to know, that I did love you more than myself.

Proseac
In remembrance of something I felt a long long long time ago.

Geeky Me

Oh yeah. I am such a geek. Just to prove it, here are sample screenshots from my desktop.
Just simply gotta love Linux.

Notice the Mac style menu?

Showcased are the transparent effects from the non-focused windows as compared to the focused solid window.

Which Un-?

Adulterated?
Break?
Disclosed?
Bind?
Shackled?
Chained?
Disturbed?
Restricted?
Restrained?
Done?
Known?
Holy?
Requited?
Loved?
Kept?

Just which Un- do I feel?

Time

Every hour wounds, the last one kills.

Quoted :- Anonymous

'Neath That Tree

On the earth somewhere stood a lone hill.
On the lone hill, stood a lone tree.
The tree was ancient and it was old. Ages passed the tree by. Children came, lovers went. Peace came, war went. Winds licked its bark, the roots drank the rain. Rain that fell and seeped deep into the earth, the tree drank. The sun scorched as the moonlight bathed, things came, things went.
The tree was grand once, now just a forlorn figure of better days. It looked like it mourns for the earth. Mighty branches no longer sturdy, it now looks droop, as if in mourning. It mourns for it stood. Death would not claim it. It just stood forgotten, consumed by time. Still it stood, wretched. Leaves fall from him one by one. Each falling leaf, a measure of splendour lost.
Sometimes, the wind will blow, its mocking whisper. The wind cuts through, leaving behind the sound of ruffling leaves. Sometimes, the tree moans as the wind cuts through its hollowed parts.
Sometimes the moon casts its glow. The tree in turn casts it shadows. Once upon a time, the tree cast a comforting shade with its proud bloom. Today it casts a shadow like a wight. Like a creature of the night, thin and frail, the shadow stretches longer. Like craving fingers the shadow stretches, wanting to wrap around what it could hold on to. It could hold on to nothing.
Looking at the shadow is like looking into a mirror. As much as the mirror is like an object of vanity, it also reminds of ones passing beauty. So it was with the tree as it looks upon its shadow.
All of this I considered as I looked upon the lonely tree. It had no company nor reason to live except for existence. Nothing but empty existence. I could feel its tears that it could not cry. I could hear its sob that it could sound.
I smile. We have a strange understanding. I took my seat beneath the tree. I looked at the tree once and I looked no more.

Candy Mandy

Candy Mandy
Sweet are you,
Sugar coated
Yummy too!

Myriad colors
Swirls the eye,
Mushy centre
Taste buds fly!

Watch how I nibble,
Watch how I suck
Licking every layer,
I'm a gleeful scmuck!

Candy Mandy
Sweet and sour,
Candy Mandy
I munch and devour!

At 615am I am hardly coherent.
Still, I reserve the right to be silly sometimes, so sue me!

A Short Narrative In My Mind

I see you playing in my minds eye
Always fleeting there somewhere,
Smiling
Laughing
Like a cloud, traverse the skies.

Always in there, in my mind somewhere,
There your playground be,
Dancing
Floating
Like a wind blowing without care.

In there you linger, there you stay
You gently raise your hands,
Beckoning,
Whispering
Enchanting me to join your play.

Your face radiates such joy and peace,
With gentle eyes you pierce me,
Watching
Waiting
Tears stream my eyes in sorrows release

Nothing I want but to lay in your fold,
Close my eyes and dream,
Drifting
Flowing
Lost in your sweet scent and hold.

Like a miser I covet your touch,
Time I loathe to lose,
Firmly
Surely
I have never loved so much.

My mind starts to waken with knowing,
Like mist you dissipate
Melting
Fleeting
You left me an empty shell wanting.

I awake though my thoughts in disarray
You left me with a smile
Bliss
Complete
Will you play in my mind today?

Regret

More often than not,
when you realize and lost,
It is already too late.

In My Deepest and Darkest Hour...

I miss you.
I miss what it's like to love you.
Dearly,
I miss you, but I guess, you will never know.

From,
Proseac

"Written for that someone buried deep in my heart
in a place that sometimes even I didn't knew it existed"

I Still Wanna Dance

My world turns
Everything neon
Wind lash
Still on the prairie

Wind scar
Slowly takes shape
My beautiful partner
She prances in mischief
Embodiment of grace
She beckons
Into the chaos
She calls
Into my arms
She dances
Eye of the tornado
My world turns again

We dance
On my grave
We dance
I may be dead
But I still wanna dance

Twist of Fate (Part 5)

So ended the episode of Herman visiting Christine in an effort to kindle the flames of a perpetually frozen relationship. They hugged, kissed and said their goodbyes as Herman boarded the bus home.

Christine was in a state of confusion. She could feel an empty feeling inside her. The empty void she felt was unexplainable. It is as if there is some sort of emotional distance between them. She could still always feel the shadow of the past relationship hanging in Herman's mind. The way and the time the relationship started, she simply had to have a reason to be convinced. A reason that was more than what a 'normal' relationship would've demanded. She needed that extra bit that could make her feel secure. At least that is what she told herself.

Herman was on his way home from the trip. He felt strangely unfulfilled. It was probably the incident that happened during his visit. "She would be back this weekend" he told himself. "I'll try to make it up to her then." In his resolve, he drifted off to sleep.

The week passed and Christine was back home. Just while she was unpacking her belongings, her phone rang.

"Hey baby..." said Herman, "How was your trip?"
Tucking the phone between her head and shoulders, Christine replied, "It was smooth. Nothing much happened. Just slept all the way back home"
"That is good to hear" said Herman smiling. "I'll leave you to unpack and settle down. We'll catch for dinner okay?"
"Sure. See you then.." replied Christine.

Christine had a resolve that she didn't tell Herman. She was going to hurt him. Hurt him to find an answer to her doubts. It pained her, but it was something she had to do. She had to know what to do next. It is better for the pain now than to have it stretch on.

The couple met later that evening for dinner. They ended with a walk in the park. Herman was not talking much. He just wanted to enjoy the presence of her in his arms. Silently they strolled.

Christine decided to break the silence."Hey... do you think I am a good girlfriend?"
"Silly girl. Of course you are. Just that if I could see you more often, it would've been perfect" Herman replied, smiling and trying to sound casual.
"I don't think I make a good girlfriend..." she said.
Taken aback, Herman thought that she had misunderstood.
"Don't say that. I could cope with this distance thing. It takes commitment and faith. It.."
"I didn't mean that. I think I am placing you pretty low on my list of priorities, and it's my fault.." she said, breaking Herman in mid-sentence. "My priority will be to my family, then my career after my studies and things with my life in general. Honestly, I think I am pretty selfish and sometimes uncaring.."
Herman just listened as she spoke.
"I don't even know if I love you enough." she said.
"Don't say that baby. It has been rough on both of us. Mostly it is my fault but.." Herman said.
"You know, I thought to myself, if I were to lose you one day, what would I feel," she again broke him in mid-sentence. "I thought hard, but found nothing. I would feel nothing. Even if you were to drop dead in-front of me now, I don't think I would feel any more for you than I would for a friend who passed on."
Herman just stared dumbfounded.
"I don't know why I feel this way, but it is just me.." she said without faltering.

At that moment, Herman decided that she was just confused. Afterall, with so much time apart, they just couldn't grow close. It only gets colder and colder each passing day. Those words coming from her was a lot of sting and pain. He just didn't want to aggrevate her situation. Amidst all the tempest, he just decided to keep quiet and calm.

She looked at him. She was waiting for him to react. He didn't. He just kept quiet.

"Don't think so much baby. I really don't mind what kind of person you are and how you think. I chose to love you, and will accept you as you are now and be with you till you grow out of this," he said trying to sound casual.

She was deeply hurt. She hurt because she had to be this cruel. She hurt even more because he didn't seem affected. She knew where this relationship was headed. It was towards a dead end. She kept what she thought to herself that night.

As they parted ways that night, both were somber.

Later that night, she would cry as she prepared herself to end this all.
For the rest of his life, he would forever remember this piece of conversation, as it festers like a wound in his mind.

Fate as it would have it, would twist again.

My (Bloody) Valentine

Under the Rule of Roman Emporer Claudius II, it was illegal for young men to marry because it was thought they might not enlist in the army. Saint Valentine continued to perform marriages despite this law. When he was caught, he was sentenced to be beaten and beheaded. This was carried out on February 14, 269 AD. In 469 AD, Pope Galesius set aside February 14 as a day to honor Saint Valentine. - Skot Olsen

Valentine's Day.
In memory of love and death.

A Wake

"This piece is based on my own personal experience with insomnia. I went through a period in which I lay awake, night after night, thinking about death and the unavoidable mortality of all things. In this painting, the insomniac is trying to count sheep, which are coming into the room through a spade-shaped hole in space. As they leap into the man’s view to be counted, they pass through another portal, which represents the man’s morbid thoughts. As the sheep pass through this second portal, they die and their remains pile up around the man’s bed. The very act which was supposed to help him rest has become another reminder of how all things die. The spade was selected to represent death, because of its historical connection with that theme." - Skot Olsen

Not so much that I think of mortality and death, my bout of insomnia is somewhat similar. The more that I try to do things to put me to sleep, the more awake I seem to get.

Stray Bullets

Youth
Recklessness
Aimless
Angst
Blindness
Retaliation
Innocent
Passerby
Caught
Hurt
Bled

Remorse
Regret
Didn't mean to, but too late
Much too late

Stray bullet.......................Kills

Crescent Moon

In the air I hang
Tied upon an invisible noose
Watching, waiting
Silently
Moving, following
I am the nocturnal
Lost souls I guide
Beautiful am I
Sinister am I

In the air I hang
Alone in the lonely skies
Surrounded by oblivion
In loneliness divide

In the horizon day approaches
The dawn will consume me
The fear and pain will pass
For in dusk I'll be born again

Beautiful Dead

It suddenly strikes me, how a dead and dried rose can be so beautiful.

Twist of Fate (Part 4)

It has been weeks since Christine left.

Herman caught himself in bed lying wide awake at night. He was feeling conscious. He could feel the heat of his heart slowly ebbing away. This time, he was determined not to let it go away.

It has been a while since he last called. He decided to pick up the phone. The ring tone finally gave way and her voice came through.

"Hello baby..." he said.
"Hey..." she replied.
"It's so nice to hear your voice again. How have things been going?" he asked.
"It's alright. Kinda just the same really.." she answered.
"That's good... You know, I have been thinking of what I last said to you...just before you left that day.." he continued, " I am really sorry. Shouldn't of have heaped that on you..."
"No, no, it's really okay..." she sighed.
"I have decided to do something about it. I have been thinking... Can I make the trip up to see you?"
he asked, sounding really hopeful.
"There is really no need..." she said.
"Why? Are you busy?" he asked again.
"Not really, but its really troublesome...and..." she tried to argue.
"I really want to do this. It is no trouble at all. Could I?" he sounded in earnest.
"Well...ok..." she said.

He could sense her smiling through the phone. They made the date that he would go. As far as he remembered, this was one decision that he was glad that he made.

The day arrived, where he would pack his bags and be on his way. From the minute that he boarded the bus, his heart was pounding in expectation. He wanted very much to see her. He felt alive.

Christine was caught up with her things to do that day. One thing led to another and she ended up with a trip entertaining her friends. She wanted to see Herman but was caught up between him and her friends. Time would probably iron itself out by the time Herman came, she thought.

Herman arrived at the destination. His plan was to get the luggage out of the way at his friend's place before spending the rest of the day with Christine.

After settling down at his friend's place, Herman was invited to go along to a party. Herman entertained the idea for a little while before saying no. He only wanted to spend time with Christine. Quality time that was long overdue.

With some gruntles, his friends left him alone. Herman finally took up the phone to call Christine.

"Hey baby..." he said
"Hey..." she replied
"I am here. Where are you now?" he asked.
"I am still stuck here with some friends... Can I get back to you later?" she said.

At that moment, Herman was really disappointed. He wanted to kick up a fuss. He wanted to tell her how disappointed and pained he was because she just didn't seem to put him on her priority. He wanted to tell her, that he didn't go out with his friends because she was more important. He wanted to tell her that he wanted to see her so bad. He ended up saying nothing at all.

Love is about respecting each others personal space isn't it? He tried to be understanding.

"Oh..in that case, just call me later when you are done" he said.
"Ok..bye" she replied.

He just lied on the bed after that. He told himself, that if he just slept, time would pass by faster. When he woke up, she will be ready to see him. He dozed off to an uneasy nap, always half-awake because he didn't want to accidentally miss her call.

She was upset with Herman. She wanted him to react. She wanted deep inside for him to kick up a fuss. At least, fight over it. Fight to show that he cares. Her doubt in him and the relationship came creeping back again. Wilfully she carried on her party. She just wanted to forget this.

When they finally resumed tele-conversation again, both were in foul mood.

"What kind of boyfriend are you?!" she exclaimed.
"What do you mean?" he replied, trying to remain calm.
"You don't care for me. I told you I was with friends and you didn't even bother to ask who I am with!" she said.
"Thats not true. I care baby. I just wanted to give you your space. I have faith in you. I just want to be an understanding boyfriend.." he explained.

There was silence. Both decided that extended argument would further no ends. They decided to meet up and put this behind them.

What both didn't know, was that a scar was left in their minds. A scar caused by a silent cut and painless wound.

Embryo Shots

This is a piece from H.R. Giger another of my revered contemporary artists.

Every bullet made and fired is revenue and income for some to feed and keep life growing.

In light of the Iraqi invasion not too long ago, maybe the only 'weapons of mass destruction' was simply the greed and malevolence of certain individuals involved in the war conspiracy for their own gain?

Greed is a grave weapon indeed.

Alchemical Pipe Dream

From Roman times into the 19th century, Alchemists used a secret language of pictures to record and communicate their recipes to other Alchemists. They drew and painted scenes where every detail within the picture symbolized something specific. The subjects and surroundings would represent certain elements and chemicals, and the action taking place within the scene represented instructions on how to alter or prepare the elements and chemicals to produce the desired result. This painting is a simple recipe for hashish, using the Alchemical style of communication: First, a female marijuana plant must be cut down at the height of its sexual maturity. The plant is then hung until dry. Next, leaves sticking out which are bigger than the tip of the thumb are cut off. Finally, the plant is repeatedly passed through a fine mesh and the pollen and dust is collected and packed tightly in a wooden box. The material will conglomerate into a ball of hashish, which is the form in which it is smoked. The secondary theme this painting presents is how men alter the female form to make it a “consumable” object, as is seen in advertising and other types of mass media in our society.

By Skot Olsen. One of my favourite contemporary artists. 'Nuff said.

When We Party

Sometimes, we just have to go at it blindly.

Sweet Nothings

I remember those sweet nothings.

When I first met you, and just couldn't take my eyes off you. I would just pretend not to notice you but before I could catch myself, I would just sneak a look your way. I remember the way you smiled and moved. I remember I would just hide myself away in one corner trying too hard not to stare. I just went home feeling nice, playing the times when we did talk, over and over again in my head. I remembered going to sleep smiling.

I remember when we first went out. I was trying so hard to 'be myself'. How could I really be myself around you? I was incoherent. It was so hard to be a nice gentleman and at the same time trying not to do too much just in case I scared you away. Ended up looking like a fool of course. I remember going home, smacking myself in the head, telling myself that I have blundered big time. Just then, your call came. You assured me that I was doing fine. You never knew how comforting it was for me. You left another smile on my face that day.

I remember going out with you that day. I remember that my trailing hand tried to just 'accidentally' hit your trailing hand, to create an 'accidental opportunity' to hold your hand. I remember how my pinky tried to just hook on to your fingers. I remember, being so conscious, wondering, if you pulled away, what would I do? Just then, your pinky hooked on to mine. One by one, our fingers latched on. I had your hand in mine. I looked at you and you at me. Like school children, we giggled and smiled.

I remember waking up with you in my mind. I just knew, I had to leave you a message that day to tell you that I love you. That was the first thing I did that morning. I hoped that was the first thing you saw that morning too.

I remember when I looked into your eyes and you into mine. There was no need to speak as we let our eyes do the talking. For that moment, the world disappeared and only you were left in my mind. We had our first kiss. I remember those thin lips, as they responded to my lips in silent conversation.

I remember being caught in the rain with you. I remember as I dried your hair as you dried mine, playing with the towel as we tried to rid ourself of the wetness. I remember making the cups of coffee as we tried to warm ourselves. You hated the way my coffee tasted. I remembered playfully forcing you to taste the bitterness of the coffee left on my lips. I remembered as you told me, that even the most bitter coffee tasted sweet from my lips.

I remember kissing you while learning to count to ten in Japanese. You smiled as you told me, to learn to count to hundred so I have an excuse to kiss you a hundred times.

I remember when we did the dishes together. I hugged you from behind. You have now a pair of extra arms to help you do the washing. My hands held the dish as you soaped it. My hands flipped the dish as you rinsed it. It took forever to finally get it all cleaned up. We got wet and dirty, but we had fun.

I remember walking on the beach together. We wrote love letters in the sand. We found a bottle lying on the ground somewhere. I remember scooping the love letters in the sand and filling up the bottle. The sand was special. We buried the bottle of sand on the soft earth nearby with a note, that these were the very sands we shared and wrote love letters on. Bless he/she who would find the bottle again one day.

I remember running my fingers through your hair. It was always smooth. I remember telling you, troubles are like hair. It gets entagled, but all it takes are some loving fingers to set it right again.

I remember putting you to sleep in my embrace. I remember just watching you, as the lines of your daily toil on your face eases as you drift away to sleep. I remember how beautiful you looked when you were asleep.

I will always remember, how we just lied there, and spoke of sweet nothings. Sweet nothings, as I speak of them now.

Suicide Note

Dear Life,

Looks like you have finally got the better of me. It has been a sick trip that we have together. I tried so hard to have us work out, but it seems like it is never going to be.

You just happen to have this cruel habit of cracking the biggest and most cruel jokes with me on the butt end of it all.

I think I have finally had enough. You are just sick.

It has been very tiring. Very very tiring. I really just want to close my eyes and let eternal sleep take me. Why is it that you just refuse to let me go?

You know it. I know it. I can never beat you in this game. You have all the aces. You plot all the twists. You lead me where it seems fit. I never had a choice without you interfering at some point.
You gave to me, you take away, whenever it pleases you.

I feel like a rat caught in your cruel experiment. The hurt is too much. It is suffocating. It is torment and suffering. I can't get out. I cannot breathe. I want to get out. I just want to get away.

I have had enough of the games you play. The pawns you use to make me suffer. I suffer because you made me care for them. I suffer because you twined them to me.

It is so painful because I have to hurt them. I have to hurt those unwitting pawns to finally get away. I feel so guilty that I have to. I love them, but I am desperate. I am so sorry. Backed up against the wall, I have no more room for remorse. Just immense pain.

I want to end the pain.

I feel cold. I am scared. You challenged me to part ways with you. Time after time, I backed away. Time after time, I chickened out. Even as I write now, I tremble with fear.

It will be over soon. I know, because I feel the calm before the storm.

If I ever do one thing right, it is now, to make this decision to part ways with you. There is nothing more for me. I need the end to set me free.

I miss everyone. I am so sorry. I have to hurt everyone that I love most.

Goodbye,
Victim.

Twist of Fate (Part 3)

The relationship Herman and Christine shared can be described as one that is 'perpetually delayed'. The main difficulty was due to the fact that Christine had to be away most of the time in another city to pursue her education. Once a month worth of bliss is all this couple could hope for at best at any one time. Most of the relationship was about phonecalls and emails and sometimes Instant Messaging (thanks to the amazing technology called the Internet)

Herman was trying to get on with his life. He was trying very hard. Maybe he tried a bit too hard. It was tough when your best friend betrayed you that way. Everyday, he would try to drown the sorrows away by partying and hanging out with his friends. Ironically, the same friends reminds him of the ultimate betrayal by his ex-best friend.

Christine was a tough girl. She was blossoming into adulthood, looking forward to great adventures in the future ahead of her. A wonderful career and a life filled with great expectations. She pursued it with all her heart. In her big heart, she still found the time and patience to bear with Herman as they both try to work this relationship out.

Fate was a an evil thing. Time and space apart were the lesser evils in this play. Having started a relationship like it did, growing apart was inevitable. Each time they reunite, they had to accustom themselves to the strange feeling of each other. Time was always short though. By the time they have gotten used to having each other around, they had to part again.

"My heart frozen heart is never able to thaw. Each time you come back to me, it begins to thaw slowly. It starts to feel warm again. Just when the pain kicks in like freeze-burn, you have to leave again. Thats when it freezes all over again..." Herman confessed to Christine once when he was sending her off to the bus station.

Christine couldn't find an answer to him.

"All I remember is the pain. I want to feel warm again. I want my heart to beat warm for you..." Herman continued.

Christine was under severe stress and remained silent. Herman just looked at her not wanting to continue pushing her.

They arrived at the station. She alighted from his car. He decided to drive off, trying hard not too look backwards. He wondered, if what he feels for her is really love for her or just an after-effect from trying to numb the sensation of everyday life which was a living hell for him.

Something spoke to him in his thawed heart that day. He loves her. He swerved his car and stopped it by the road. He got off and proceeded to run, in an attempt to catch her for the last time before she departed on the bus. He didn't care if his car was towed away or given a ticket. He didn't care if he couldn't catch his breath.

He just carried on running with only her in mind. His heart thawed completely that day. He felt warm. For her.

He arrived too late to catch her before she boarded the bus. The bus was about to leave with the passengers on board. Somehow, he managed to spot her at a seat by the window on the bus. Somehow he managed to catch her attention.

As the bus moved slowly towards the station exit, he was running like a mad man by the bus waving and shouting silent 'I love you's to her. The bus picked up speed. He was soon to be found running after the bus. He never heard a word she said from inside the moving vehicle. It really didn't matter.

Tears streamed his face that day as he ran after the vehicle that carried her away. He couldn't run anymore. He just stood still, amidst the fumes, trails left by the bus. There was nothing except tears and smoke.

She carried a part of his heart away forever that day. She never knew it, and somehow, she never will know.

Twist of Fate (Part 2)

It was raining heavily. Not really a thunderstorm, more like an unabated waterfall splashing through a sprinkler. The raindrops were big and heavy. There was a strange calm amidst the downpour.

It was in this downpour where Herman was sending Christine home in his car. The episode that happened earlier altogether seemed surreal. They were silent. Both knew in their hearts that they just did not know where to take it from here. She finally broke the silence.

"I think we should not carry this any further..." she said.
"But why? We are doing alright aren't we? It has only been hours" he asked.
"I don't feel right. I know you don't love me as much as you did her. I don't want to live in someone's shadow," she said.
"You and her and two different people. These are two different relationships. You cannot possibly compare!" he argued.
"I am trying to move on with you. Please, give us a chance?"

They sat in silence, the turbulence washed away with the pelting rain and the silent purring of the engine.

As they parted that day, both had mixed feelings.

He wanted to move on but he did not know if he still had hidden feelings from the past that even he did not know of.
She wanted it to happen but she did not know she could carry on her days under shadows and silent doubts.
Still they smiled and pledged to each other feeling optimistic.

The fingers of deceit stretches long indeed.

Twist of Fate (Part 1)

Herman thought he had everything in life. He was an ace student budding off to a wonderful career. Above all, he had a wonderful relationship with a most wonderful girl.
His world came crashing down one fateful day, when his wonderful girl turned her back on him. She went off with his best friend and left him hanging in the balance. All of a sudden, his world looked bleak. His plans with her for their future was now nothing but a big void with nothing to fill.

Christine was an old time friend of Herman. She did have a crush for him before Herman was involved with a relationship. Nothing came out of the crush and life went on for her. That was until she heard of his plight.

Egged on by common friends, she came into his life as a sliver of light. Sitting silently next to him, she gave him comfort. She silently reminded him, that he has a lot more to live for. She tried to lift him out of his despondent state.

It all happened in a whirl. In Herman's confused mind, a collage of thought blended. He said nothing but embraced Christine and they entwined in a passionate kiss. She did not resist. For a moment, time stood still, the couple in an interlock of overflowing emotion expressed in a framed picture in time.

It ended when their lips parted ways. He could only look into her eyes. She laid in his arms saying nothing. He would just silently caress her soft flowing hair. Twirling and playing.

In his mind he asked himself, "What now?"

Answering his own question, he spoke aloud, "I will try..."

She just looked at him, as his fingers continued twirling her hair...

Time Erodes Everything

This is my little personal view on time and how it changes everything. This is not some age old cliche about how time is supposed to mend all wounds and brings thing anew. This is a little reflection on the forgetful nature of man.

I suppose, we are all, as human beings, just natural born ingrates. Anything done out of good will and love today, will one day be forgotten. Worse still, it may be misunderstood.

Today, the loving hero, tomorrow the ultimate villain.

Allow me to narrate this scenario of yesterday:

"For the love of our people, we have to make the ultimate sacrifice. To leave these lands so that my beloved may live. We have to bear the pain of never seeing our children again"

Decades later, the scenario turns out to be:

"Our forefathers cared nothing for us. They left us to survive on our own. They've never loved us."

Ironic isn't it? How a gesture of sacrifice and selflessness can change its face. Time changes the gesture of selflessness and love to an act selfishness and irresponsibility.

Probably, history is not as accurate as it is. We will only get to hear what people thinks its adequate for us to hear. It is all propoganda coupled with the eroding effects of time.

I think it is something that we should reflect on. How to not just chuck the blame and maintain our narrow perceptions. Grow out of our little mental box. Blame no one for your plight. Appreciate the fact that we are alive today. Be not force-fed with facts and history.

Time is afterall a long unending river, and we are but a pebble in the stream. It carries on flowing.

Are You Going My Way?

It has been quite a while since I have last written something on this little blog. Just when I though I have finally run out of ideas, here comes one popping in my head not so long ago.

I imagine life a a huge maze of roads and intersections. I think it is a rather apt description of life. At some points in life we have to make some decisions, to decide which intersection to take next and travel along.

Some roads may be dark. Some roads may have huge big neon lights tempting you to move on in that path. Some roads lead to paradise, others to hell. Some roads are laden with detours, tempting you to turn back. Some roads are so long that the 'next exit' is probably miles and miles away.

It makes a lot of sense too, when I put it that the more travelled roads are well lit with obvious signs pointing the directions. The road is probably well paved (minus the occasional pot hole or two) and has a lot of traffic. Everyone takes the highway because every other vehicle of life seems to go that way too. Following the crowd cannot be far wrong right?

As we all embark on this journey on the highway, we will notice the different pace. Some just choose to be speed-demons whizzing down the fast track. Getting to the destination as fast as possible. They have to risk a lot of things and be very careful, lest they crash and burn. Others, choose the leisurely drive, probably thinking in their heads "What in the world are they rushing for?"

The highway of life is also well furbished. Lots of rest points, pterol stations and even an emergency tow-truck service. Plenty of destination points in which we can choose to exit as we like, never at once feeling lost. I suppose, it is well furbished because it has to cater to that many people choosing to travel that way?

Then of course, there are the less travelled roads. The little mountain trek that is less cultivated. Most travellers that way will inevitably feel lost. The raods are wearisome. It takes a powerful vehicle and plenty of caution to not get caught in a mudpool. There are precious few facilities and most of the time, we navigate in the dark. Detours and exits are few and far between. Sometimes, it is so dark, that we cannot see the light of destination.

Travelling these paths are difficult, but I think if we are able to sit back and savour the many wonderful sights and experience, it serves to renew our resolve to trudge on forward. Those travelling the highway will never get to see what we have seen.

I wonder, if these less travelled roads, if it starts generating more traffic, would it one day be cultivated and built into a proper pathway? Afterall, the more people choose to travel that way, the better mapped it will be.

As a parting note:

"Do man make the roads, or do the roads make the man?"

We travel on. By the way, if you're going my way, could I catch a ride?

To Destroy, To Create

I ponder the vicious cycle.
It seems like all has to be destroyed in creation.

Like a white canvas, that has to be marred as the first splash of paint is applied to create something more. The purity of origin is no more. Is it actually better? A lot more colourful and lively, yes. Better? Perhaps. It is a matter of perception I suppose.

Creative destruction.

Not so much an oxymoron now is it?

True Failure

Man's true failure is his failure to move on.

Quote: Proseac
Inspired: Anonymous

Serenity In Murder

My mind is made up
One swift and deft stroke
It is done
Cruelty complete
Laid to rest
No more anguish or pain
I stare
Numbly
Tender open wounds
As life ebbs away
I have to
Turn and walk away
No remorse
Strange manic peace
Only serenity

Something About The Rain

It has been raining or the better part of the day today. A rather cold and refreshing day I must add. The day was like perpetual night, but that is okay, I do like the non-sunny days better.
Rain seems to leave me invigorated. I am musing, that the rain is liken to some pent up feeling from the many stuffed up sunny lashings, finally released.
I kinda like the feeling of renewal it gives. Life for things on this earth need the natural nourishment the rain brings. Every raindrop is like a cleansing, life renewing seed.
I love to just look out the window, and watch the raindrops pelt on my window. Watch it gather into a beautiful rivulets and start sliding randomly, leaving behind a refreshing calligraphy on the glass. I start looking at the roof across and watch the raindrops dance their familiar steps. Each drop sending a flourish of little sprays as it lands on the surface. Simply beautiful.
With all the lights turned off, and a candle lit inside my room at that very moment paints a poginant picture. I imagine myself looking in from the outside. Just let the melancholy pour in.
Like all things it ends.
Unlike the other of all things though, that leaves me empty when its over, because I know, one day it is going to start all over again.

It All Came Apart

Remember love when it happened like a huge knitting, twined and tweeded into form?
Remember how it started closely knit, inseperable?
Remember how you thought no matter what the twine will hold?
Remember how it slowly came apart at the seams?
Remember how it began to unravel and fray?
Remember how you could literally feel each strand as it fell apart?
Remember how everything felt like loose strings ?
Remember how it looks like a maze of strings impossible to be reknitted?
Remember that last strand, string of hope that you tried in vain to hold on to?
Remember how you finally found the courage to cut away that last strand?

It was then empty. Surreal. Suddenly freed.
There was calm.
Strangely you found your breath again.
Then you started to cry like you have never cried before...

The Wedding (Reprised)

In holy matrimony,together we stand;
We hold the future,it's here in our hands.
A pledge of love,this vow that I give;
I stand along with you,for as long as I live.
Through poverty or wealth,no matter which way;
I will forever love you,till my dying day.

If I were to go first,think of it as sweet;
There I will wait for you,again we will meet.
In a place far away, where even time itself fail;
There we continue,our final fairy tale.

Such then will be my daily prayer,
That we shall live and grow old together.
In mutual love that we may find strength,
To complete this journey no matter the length.

There will be times of peril and fear,
There I will be to comfort your tears.
I will hide you and weather the storm,
I will protect you from evil of every form.

In waking I'll hold you;
In sleeping I'll guard you;
Every bliss I'll share with you;
Every sorrow I'll bear with you;

In love then we will find victory,
Resound the Heavens our triumphant story;
For others may scorn they do not understand,
This vow between a woman and man.

Please Try To Understand...

"Please do try to understand..." says Girl

"I do understand. Does understanding make it less painful? Does it help to make it easier to bear?"
says Boy

"Understanding is just making sense. Understanding itself is empty.Sometimes understanding only makes it hurt more..." concludes Boy.

Feel Good Hit Of The Summer

Nicotine, valium, vicodin, marijuana, ecstasy and alcohol.

Cocaine.

Feeeeeels Gooooood.

Lyrics: Queens Of The Stone Age

I Dream In Crimson

A wash of lush pink,
Sweeping in my sleep;
Motion,
Poignant,
Still.
Juxtaposed in blood;
Unexpectations untwirls;
Velvet tendrils entwine,
Malady consuming,
Pile the pyre;
Burn the fire!
Higher higher!
Fiery pyre!

And then
There was nothing left
Only embers and ashes...

I dream in crimson,
I dream in red.
I dream the bittersweet,
Never to be said.

A Question of Role Models (The Downfall)

Saw this show on television the other day with the spotlight of the discussion on social ills in relation to the youth of this modern age. The topic raised a few interesting points and I do agree with somethings it has raised.
Foremost, it is the question of role models. More specifically, parents as role models.

Remember the snotty lil boy that proclaims loudly to his friends, 'My dad is very smart. He could solve the Rubiks Cube in 5 minutes!'

I think that was a long long time ago.
It was a time when information was not of the age.
It was a time when 'Heroes' still exist.
It was a time when parents had their kids respect, and holds a certain authority and allure for their children.

Something was lost in transition. Nowadays, parents are 'mere mortals'. They are seen with their faults as human beings fully blown in their childrens faces.

Children of the information age believes in parents that have been swept away like the bygone era, outdated it seems.
Children today believes, that their parents can be wrong too. Rebellion without a cause.
Children are outpacing their parents. The accelaration of knowledge is beyond what the generation before can patch.

Somehow the aura of invincibility of a model parent today is waning, probably gone altogether. Signs of being outpaced by the age.

Marks of the beginning of a downfall. Heroes of a forgotten age.
This sparks a revolution for parenthood.

Fusing Thoughts On Diffusion

Diffusion. This lil bugger of a word has been hanging around in my head for a lot of the better half of the day. There is a gut feeling that pushes me to write.
I come to gather that the characteristics of a human being is kind of like a huge fusion process. It starts off with a core and along the way powerful and impact making words or circumstance will generate enough energy to permanently fuse itself with the core of a being generating a compound.
Having said that, I have this muse. Character and personality is volatile. It is just waiting for enough impact of a circumstance to start the whole fusion process. Food for thought isn't it? No matter how dormant the nature of a particular human being that has not changed in years, it is just the lack of the things around that shapes? And when it happens, which it happens to everyone, why should anyone be surprised at all?
I relate even further. Often, newly fused compunds have a lot of new energy. Again, how true is this? Whether the energy comes as endothermic (active absorbance) or extrathermic (active release) it reflects. Either someone becomes highly energetic to preach their new ideals or become recluse and starts absorbing the world around.
But think of those events, circumstance, words and stuff that fleets on without fusion. It never shapes or moulds a person. We just let them pass on by, like an insignificant spec of particle in this whole process. Just how much residue is left from all these fleeting particles? Food for thought isn't it? Just wonder where all the pockets of residue went?
Diffusion, works pretty much the same way. Just probably more painful. Something drastic happens and strips part of the element in the compound of our character away, revealing a new old mix probably with residue of the former compound. And diffusion also happens to generate a heck load of energy. (Think Hiroshima) Whether to channel such energy positively or to let it all meltdown like Chernobyl, is pretty much choice.
Rant and musings aside, I would probably want to remember, that we are all born with a core. Its just sad sometimes, through all fusion and diffusion, that this core, will never be the same again.

We just don't listen.

I think most people just don't listen.

Words float about our ears like random noise. It just buzzes about and with a swift flick of a finger, it slips away.

It makes me wonder, why in the world do people ask questions? As if there isn't enough rhetorics already. It is as if people ask just for the sakes of asking. Either that, or they are just hungering for some classical cliche to wrap up the formalities of a Q&A.
Think of the classic:
Q: Hi, how are you?
A:I am fine...

Imagine, answering anything other than that. Think about it, does anyone REALLY want to know how you are?

Then try this:

Q: Hi, how are you?
A:Not good.
Q: Oh...Whats wrong?
A:Well...bla bla bla bla
(in the middle of all the bla-blas)
Q:Ah, don't worry its all going to be fine. (e.g. I don't really want to know whats wrong)

Either way, it gave me food for thought. It is interesting how people can be easily prejudiced. We walk into a conversation, with the answers of our own questions prewritten in our head. Any answer that does not come close to our prewritten answers just get flung back to some far away corner binned and canned and never thought about ever again.
What's worse, is how we just love to shove the prewritten answers right at the face the someone that you have just questioned.
I guess it is a pattern. We don't ask questions to know. We ask questions to pave a way to shove our answers facewards, for whatever feel-good reasons that we may have. How good can it be, when your 'golden answers' don't address the problem in the first place?!

In my humble opinion, using a question to set up a sucker punch of the prewritten answer is as irritating as heck. It NEVER helps.

Ask only if you really want to know. Let it stop there. Offer empathy, not answers.

Remember, if we wanted answers, we'll ask.

Scream Your Name

Cold
Frozen dreams
Fade
Melt away
A technicolor blur
Bleakly erotic
Falling inwards
Tumbling slowly
Vertigo seeps
Off the wall
Echoes
Deaf silence
Muted scream
Your name, your name, your name, your name, your name
In eros
I etch
I scream
Your name.

The thing with metal (and rock and the hard place)

I had an interview with a certain savage beast just the other day. It told me, (in a very crude manner that one can expect from a savage beast) that it is totally fed up of being soothed.

"Why is music always pointed my way in some pathetic attempt to soothe me? I wasn't responsible for the embarassment of American Idol pop and what-have-you-nots! If I could I would shove it back into a certain orifice so deep..."*

*The excerpt above has been edited and heavily censored to comply to my personal discretion of choice language and descriptives.

The above conversation sparked me to think about music. Music, as the igniting force, not the soothing lullabye. In other words, music that gives you that sense of invincibility; music that could tide you through thick or thin; music that reflect the truth about life; music that expresses the social conscience. Simply, music that ignites.

I cannot seem to agree with with people that term metal (the genre not the substance) and its affliated sub-genres as "noise". What is wrong with these people? Noise is noise. Noise has no rhythm. Noise has no meaning. Noise are random vibrations of the soundwave that expresses zilch. Loud is not equivalent to noise. There is soft noise, and it is no oxymoron.

Personally, I think metal and rock have been aptly named. It is music with substance. Music thats hard and music that endures. Having said that, you should know why bubblegum pop and pop is named the way it is.

It strips away the facade of "all you need is love" and "the world is so wonderful". There is only that much one can tolerate before realizing its all farce. Angst require expression. The sick society requires a voice of conscience. The depressed and repressed need an outlet to be heard. Nuff said.

Metal music (and everything that rocks) is an artform. Strip away the layers of distorted instrumentation (and probably harsh vocals), one reveals, a music piece of thoughtful arrangement, highly skilled musical execution, strong message presentation and powerful expression.

Most of these musicians probably live off less salary than you or I. However, they are dedicated to their art. They are dedicated to show you life, as expressed in their music as they see it. If anyone bothered to read the lyrics, they will find, lyrical meanings and representations so deeply entrenched in intellectualism, it puts many of us to shame.

I suppose most people are dismissive. Most are not willing to look beyond the 'wall of noise' to find these hidden gems. Most are much happier wrapped under the cloak of serenity.

Picasso's art is ugly. Think about it. It took a long time before people understood 'abstract artform'. Nonetheless, it tells us, to appreciate art is to look beyond the surface, and understand the substance and fit into the artist's shoes. See what they see. Feel what they feel. Learn to abstract. It is all about expression.

So. The next time I hear metal music being equivalent to 'noise', I would gladly invite the said person to bring along their music to soothe the savage beast. I am sure Mr. Beast is looking forward to the meeting.

Old Emails Revisited : The Opening Bit

Life in cyberspace grows. Much like life in flesh and blood, it tends to leave behind a trail of dirty, sordid and depressing stains that usually goes unnoticed until someone decides to take a deep long breath and dive into the muck to uncover them lil jewels and bring em back out to the open.

Okay, seriously, it wasn't all so dirty, sordid or depressing. In fact it has probably been a pretty enjoyable trip out here so far. If it has been all so depressing, I probably would've committed cybersuicide or something.

Something struck me though when I was just rummaging through my Inbox to finally rid the crap thats jamming up space. Yep, I saw all them old emails crammed up in there; emails that I have thought at some point of time in my life that this mail was 'important!' and couldn't actually bear to send the 'cherished' bits and bytes to the cyber-shredder located in the other room marked 'Thrash Folder'.

My intrigue got the better of my common sense this night. I started clicking on those emails again, just to re-read those emotion-filled, oft-corny but mostly depressing content. I also started reading my replies to the said mails (leftovers from the very considerate folks , who had actually left my reply to their mail on their reply to my mail, just so that I could remember what the hell started the whole mailing thing in the first place!).

It reads like a diary, albeit a sporadic one at best. Sporadic, not because of time lapse or anything; it's just my own deceitful nature of deciding to keep the 'sweetest' moments in my Inbox. (I am sure you do it too!). But alas! The lil bastard finally stripped it's 'sweet' disguise and bares it's nasty teeth.

Hell, sweet deceit is just reality sharpening it's teeth. Once it bites, its freakin depressing.

It's depressing because it reminds me that the moments didn't last.
It's depressing because I am reliving the broken promises.
It's depressing because I am reminded of stupid decisions that I have made.
It's depressing because I have rereading things I shouldn't of have said.
It's depressing because I remember that I cared.

How ironic, that the sweetest moments in life could hurt so bad later eh?

Ah well. I am still diving through my muck of an Inbox. I am sure there is more than just the depressing bits in here somewhere. It is just a bit harder to find.
Somehow, hurt and pain just seem to stick out more. Like a sore thumb.