It's been six years. I can't say that for those past years, that I have thought about you day in and out. I must admit that there are times that I've forgotten just how much you mean to me.
Sometimes, these state of forgetfulness is a kind of relief for me. For a while, I forget and I try to move on. I move on to different relationships with different people. I just grit my teeth and keep on moving forward. Sometimes, I try to change. I try to change myself in the hope that I change the the perceptions of things and people that I care for and love. I always manage to succeed in my process of self denial and self numbing, but I never manage to keep up my success for long. It always falls back to square on.
I know I fail terribly and I know that my success was temporary, if not an illusion. How do I know? It's in those times of semi-consciousness and half-drunkenness, that you just jump right back out at me from th depths of my mind. You break all the walls that I've painfully built up as easily as how the sandcastles crash under the weight of the seas. I crumble.
Friends ask me, why don't I try to win you back?
Honestly, I don't know. Perhaps I am just a coward by nature. I won't ever know how you will react to me again. What if the answer was no? What if I lost you again and lose whatever little that I have of you left with me now? After all, it was messy as it was six years ago. You will probably never believe me again. I understand, how difficult it is to erase the shadow of doubt. Something always remains. It took me six years to realize, that if someone remains in my mind for so many years, then I am pretty sure that person means a lot to me. Yeah, I am slow, but I got it now.
It hurts. I hurts like hell.
It hurts every time I hear you say that you are in love with someone else. Not that my blessings for you were not sincere, as even if I ever was a hypocrite, it was myself that I was deceiving. How else can a soul as torn as mine were to react?
It's another December. Six years ago, that December, was what I regret most.
Friday, December 15, 2006
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Imagine Immortality
I was a man.
As a young steed I lived.
Fast, hard and reckless.
Exquisite,
Elegant,
Exorbitant,
In excess.
Death I have denied many times.
Only in youth would I dream of living forever.
And that was what I sought.
In a perverse nightmare,
On a moonless night,
He came to tempt.
He only stole a kiss,
The dance of his lips left an eternal stain.
He laughed,
At this prey entrapped.
He perversed me then he left.
And time passes tempering me daily.
Friends and family withered before me as I lay ageless.
Some die with sorrow and pity for me.
Others flee my abomination.
Truly, I am alone.
And love?
Every love I ever had pierced me deeply as they died.
Everything I have ever longed for perished with time.
Everything changes.
Everything but me.
Truly, I exist alone.
I watched as greatness happened.
I lingered in the destruction.
I watched as revolution began.
I lingered to savour the materials that ground to dust.
I lived many lives through many names.
How much more to go?
How long more to go?
And still I exist.
Yes, even today.
In my isolation I am watching.
Watching you, though you may not know it.
My only comfort is that hollowness within me.
An emptiness left void.
By my undeath.
And many more will be like me,
Seeking that which I have sought.
If you think that to suffer is humanity,
Have you ever imagined immortality?
As a young steed I lived.
Fast, hard and reckless.
Exquisite,
Elegant,
Exorbitant,
In excess.
Death I have denied many times.
Only in youth would I dream of living forever.
And that was what I sought.
In a perverse nightmare,
On a moonless night,
He came to tempt.
He only stole a kiss,
The dance of his lips left an eternal stain.
He laughed,
At this prey entrapped.
He perversed me then he left.
And time passes tempering me daily.
Friends and family withered before me as I lay ageless.
Some die with sorrow and pity for me.
Others flee my abomination.
Truly, I am alone.
And love?
Every love I ever had pierced me deeply as they died.
Everything I have ever longed for perished with time.
Everything changes.
Everything but me.
Truly, I exist alone.
I watched as greatness happened.
I lingered in the destruction.
I watched as revolution began.
I lingered to savour the materials that ground to dust.
I lived many lives through many names.
How much more to go?
How long more to go?
And still I exist.
Yes, even today.
In my isolation I am watching.
Watching you, though you may not know it.
My only comfort is that hollowness within me.
An emptiness left void.
By my undeath.
And many more will be like me,
Seeking that which I have sought.
If you think that to suffer is humanity,
Have you ever imagined immortality?
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Riffle Pass
This is something that I was able to do during my free time. Enjoy.
Riffle Pass with Single Face Up Card
Riffle Pass with All Cards Faced Up
Riffle Pass with All Cards Faced Down
Pardon the picture quality though. I am too poor ro own a decent cam.
Riffle Pass with Single Face Up Card
Riffle Pass with All Cards Faced Up
Riffle Pass with All Cards Faced Down
Pardon the picture quality though. I am too poor ro own a decent cam.
Friday, November 10, 2006
Less Means More
Don't mind me for the night, as this is just a casual rant. A rant over some casual observation that became a muse/comedy (or tragedy, you decide) in my head.
Ever notice how the world is so upside down and inside out these days? Yep, we're living in a place where less means more.
The smaller the electronic gadget, the more expensive you are expected to pay for it. Okay, so I understand the part where to be technologically advanced, someone must of have invested huge amounts of money in order to shrink them gadgets as tiny as possible. Hence, the ridiculous price of the teeny gadget we find ourselves paying for sometimes.
What people mostly don't realize, is the fact that the primary motive for them to shrink things, is so that they get to produce things cheaper with less material used in production.
In short? We're being ripped off!
How about this next thing I've noticed. Short catchphrases and cliches carry more weight in meaning than a hundred word narrative. Yes, I recognize it as the marketing sham of creating something deliciously easy for our heads to munch and leave gooey stains all over our brains. We can't seem to get away.
Think about how short phrases like 'I love you' or 'Fuck you!' or 'Now what?' when shoved in your face really sets your senses racing all over.
If you are like me, and go to a regular boutique coffee place like Starbucks, you will notice how an Espresso, served in a teeny cup costs you 5 bucks, but a Quadruple shot Americano (that is FOUR shots of Espresso with a little bit of hot water filled in) doest not cost you 20 bucks.
Must be a really chic thing to drink outta the teeny-wintsy cup, that is if chic means stupid.
The ultimate bit of my enlightenment was when I saw a pricelist where 'Diet Coke' costs more than the regular 'Coke'. Now this truly baffles me. 'Diet Coke' is supposed to contain everything that the regular 'Coke' has, but less in sugar right?
So this is saying, that there is something with less ingredient in it, but it would cost you more. (And not that it tastes any better too).
It is like saying serving a Single-Patty (Diet) Burger will definitely cost you more than the regular Double-Patty Burger.
Moral of the story? Serve less, put the 'Diet' word in the name of the product and hawk it off for more profit.
How the world works these days truly amazes and confuses me at the same time.
I wonder, if since less means more, then... more must mean less right?
Apparently, the latter will only be held true in my fat dreams. Hah.
Ever notice how the world is so upside down and inside out these days? Yep, we're living in a place where less means more.
The smaller the electronic gadget, the more expensive you are expected to pay for it. Okay, so I understand the part where to be technologically advanced, someone must of have invested huge amounts of money in order to shrink them gadgets as tiny as possible. Hence, the ridiculous price of the teeny gadget we find ourselves paying for sometimes.
What people mostly don't realize, is the fact that the primary motive for them to shrink things, is so that they get to produce things cheaper with less material used in production.
In short? We're being ripped off!
How about this next thing I've noticed. Short catchphrases and cliches carry more weight in meaning than a hundred word narrative. Yes, I recognize it as the marketing sham of creating something deliciously easy for our heads to munch and leave gooey stains all over our brains. We can't seem to get away.
Think about how short phrases like 'I love you' or 'Fuck you!' or 'Now what?' when shoved in your face really sets your senses racing all over.
If you are like me, and go to a regular boutique coffee place like Starbucks, you will notice how an Espresso, served in a teeny cup costs you 5 bucks, but a Quadruple shot Americano (that is FOUR shots of Espresso with a little bit of hot water filled in) doest not cost you 20 bucks.
Must be a really chic thing to drink outta the teeny-wintsy cup, that is if chic means stupid.
The ultimate bit of my enlightenment was when I saw a pricelist where 'Diet Coke' costs more than the regular 'Coke'. Now this truly baffles me. 'Diet Coke' is supposed to contain everything that the regular 'Coke' has, but less in sugar right?
So this is saying, that there is something with less ingredient in it, but it would cost you more. (And not that it tastes any better too).
It is like saying serving a Single-Patty (Diet) Burger will definitely cost you more than the regular Double-Patty Burger.
Moral of the story? Serve less, put the 'Diet' word in the name of the product and hawk it off for more profit.
How the world works these days truly amazes and confuses me at the same time.
I wonder, if since less means more, then... more must mean less right?
Apparently, the latter will only be held true in my fat dreams. Hah.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Angels?
This was something that happened to me two years ago, right during the time when Joe, a good friend of mine, was still in hospital. The doctor said he didn't have much time to live. I remembered feeling like dirt back then.
Marlene decided to call our relationship to an end. Marlene and I had a tumultous relationship that went like a roller-coaster. Marlene was as fiery a woman that a man can love and such was it that I always found myself burnt. Marlene was also Joe's wife-to-be. The whole thing that happened to Joe was too much guilt for her to carry on stealing away with me. Everything just ended in an abrupt thud.
Since then, Joe passed on and Marlene disappeared from my life. This story though is not about Joe. That is another story altogether for another time. This story is not about Marlene either. Perhaps, this is my story, but I take it that it is more of the story of Timmy.
Timmy was the boy I met at the hospital during that tough period in my life. I was standing by the coffee dispensing machine waiting for my coffee to be served. As with every other piece of technology, things have the tendency to fail. My coffee didn't come (though the coins I've deposited were never returned), I was smashing the machine with my bear hands and tears were just flowing down my face. Perhaps it was the guilt of the entire confusing episode or maybe it was the pain and frustration of losing someone I loved but could and should never have owned in the first place.
I don't rightly remember what made me cry. I do remember though, the image of Timmy standing there watching silently at my stupidity of hammering the machine and crying like a baby. I remembered stopping my thrashing and turning around to look at him as I realized his presence and trying hard to choke back my tears at the same time.
If the scene was frozen in time, it would be worth a million dollars. An adult crying and thrashing a piece of junk technology that failed, and a kid staring calmly in bewilderment. Ironic is life, or so they say.
Under usual circumstances, I would've asked the kid to fuck off and quit staring. What happened however was hardly under usual circumstance. Besides, Timmy looked like a wreck. There were bruises all over his little body, visible signs of burns at random places on his skin and he was patched with iodine over one eye. I just couldn't have the heart to take it out on him.
'Here. Ya can have mah' drink if it makes ya feel better. Itiz hot chocolate. Hot chocolate always make me feel better.'
I was left speechless and I was left staring at him for what seems like forever.
'Go on. Itiz awright. Nurse Allison will bring more if ah asked her later.'
He flashed a bright upbeat smile while extending his little arm to hand me the paper cup. I noticed that he probably had broken bones in a couple of places. His little arm looks to be a little bit out of shape. His lips were grotesquely broken and was sporting a couple of lost teeth.
Must be the victim of a car crash, I said to myself.
In silence, I took his offer and held the drink in my hands. I took a gentle sip while looking away from the boy. The chocolate was still warm. After composing myself, I spoke.
'What's your name kid?'
'Ah'm Timothy Grant, but people call me Timmy.' he said warming up to the conversation, 'and that is Timothy for short.'
I nodded, while taking more sips from the paper cup. I really didn't know what else to say to him.
'Ah'll be going back tuh bed now. Nurse Allison always says I shoun't be walking too much.' He flashes his grotesque grin at me yet again and turned tail to slowly trod his way back to bed, half limping and half dragging his broken leg behind him.
I pondered for a moment, before calling out,
'Hey, Timmy.'
As he turned his head, I said, 'I think, I'll walk you back to bed.'
He looked happy and nodded. We chatted a little bit as we made our way to his bed.
'How old are you Timmy?'
'Ah'm four this year. I am gonna turn five soon.'
'So why are you here in the hospital?'
'Ah don't really remember. The doctor said ah hit my head real hard somewhere. There are some stuff that ah cannot remember fer a while...He said it was normal.'
'Where are your parents Timmy?'
'Ah've never seen Pappa. Mamma says he's gone away for a long long time and is not coming back. Uncle Al keeps us company mosta the time.'
Timmy's bedspace was situated in the the common room. I've never quite liked hospital common rooms. Bedspace littered everywhere. The sound of the ill and hurting. The smell of medicine in the air. The stuffy environment and the only place in the entire hospital that is hardly quiet. I pity Timmy for needing to put up with this. Something gave inside of me that day.
'Tell you what Timmy. I'll be coming over to the hospital quite often. I'll visit you whenever I am here yeah?'
With that, I made a little stranger smile that day. Maybe life is more than just me. Just maybe.
Weeks and then months passed by. I would stop by the hospital every day or two. I spent more time with Timmy than I had originally intended to. Sometimes I would stay till the night, and tell him bed-time stories. I would also teach him how to read from the newspaper that I've brought with me. Other times, I would sneak Chupa-Chups along to Timmy when the nurse wasn't watching. Like two gleeful boys getting away with some forbidden fruit. We giggled and laughed. I think what made me really glad was that my company kept little Timmy happy.
I felt like I was worth something. I was special to someone who needs me. I guess I ain't the worm that I thought I was. I have not felt like this for a long long time.
'Why do people read the newspaper so much?' asked Timmy
'Well Timmy, the newspaper reports about important things. Things that people should know.'
'So stuff that is in the newspaper is important?'
'Yeah, pretty much so. It's mostly lousy news that adults have to deal with, but you are right, it is important because it reminds us that we cannot run away from our problems. The good thing is, the newspaper also writes about happier things. It keeps people happy for a while.'
'Gee... it sounds tough to be a grown up huh?'
The weight of that last sentence struck me for a while.
'Yeah, it is, but it is okay.'
'But why does it have to be so tough?'
'Well... have you heard of the story of how God created humans?' I asked
Timmy shook his head.
'It started a long time ago, God created everything you see here in this world. The world isn't quite like what it is that you see today. It was a lot more beautiful. Man however, didn't appreciate what God made. They were naughty and disobeyed the instructions of God. So, God chased them out of the beautiful Garden and that is when things got really bad.'
'So God is punishing humans for being naughty?'
'Yep. Something like that, but God loves us still. He sends angels to watch over us. Do you know what angels are?'
Timmy shook his head again.
'Angels are beautiful creations. They look like humans, but they have wings. Angels have all sorts of duties, like sending messages of God to humans and a lot of other things.'
'Wow....Do you think I would ever see an angel?'
'Maybe,' I smiled, 'if you are a good boy and grow up to be a good man. You may see an angel one day.'
Timmy nodded.
'Okay Timmy, I have to go now. It's almost bedtime for you. Tuck into bed now and I will see you tomorrow okay?'
'Yessiree! I will be a good boy. I hope the angel won't forget me.'
'I am sure it won't.' I said with a smile.
I tucked Timmy into bed and walked silently out the room not long after he fell asleep. As I was making my way out, I was stopped by a nurse.
'Hi. I'm Allison. I've noticed you visiting Timmy for quite a while...'
'Yeah. Poor kid. What happened to him? Where are his parents? I've never seen them around for as long as I was around..' I started rambling.
'So I take it that you are not related to Timmy then?'
'Nah.. My friend, Joe is in the same hospital. Virtually dead man walking from all his excesses in life. Timmy happened to me by chance.'
'Oh.. I am really sorry to hear that. How is your friend doing?'
'Give and take, maybe a month more to live. Say, what time do you go off work anyway?'
'Me? In about half-an-hour or so. I am on early shift today.Tomorrow is a late day for me.'
'Great. How 'bout talking over coffee and sandwich at the cafeteria?'
'Sure. See you there in half?'
'Yeah. Sounds about good.'
Fourty-five minutes later, Allison and myself were dunking donuts into coffee in the cafeteria. We talked about life and everything else that was apt over a snack in the hospital cafeteria in the middle of the night.
'Timmy is a bright kid with a sad story to tell,' I muttered casually. 'I am seriously wondering where the parents are at. It has been a month and no sight nor sound?'
'Well.. It is a tragedy really. Timmy doesn't have much longer to live. He is diagnosed with a rare kind of blood disease. It saddens me to see this sort of thing happen.'
'What?!' I exclaimed. 'Does he know this? Does his parents know this? Where the fuck are they? Don't they care?'
'Timmy doesn't know it yet, and he has forgotten how he got in here in the first place. What I do know is this. Timmy was brought into the hospital by the police. Fishy if you asked me.'
A four year old kid, brought into the hospital by the cops bruised and battered? Where was all this leading?
'Are you alright?' asked Allison.
'Yeah,' I replied suddenly snapping out of my thoughts.
'Well, the good thing is that Timmy is still ignorant from all of this. It is probably a blessing that he does not remember. It makes it so much easier for him.'
I nodded in silence. I walked Allison to the taxi stand. Right before she boarded her cab, she turned to tell me with a reassuring smile, 'You are a good man, Matt. Maybe, we can hang out some other time.'
I remembered taking a long slow and ponderous walk down the road. I don't remember if I had actually made it home that day.
My visits to Timmy got a lot more frequent. As I was teaching him to read the newspaper one day, he pointed at some mugshots in the news.
'Hey! That's Mamma, and that's Uncle Al'
'Are you sure?'
'Yeah! See? That is Mamma,' he said pointing at a woman, 'and that is Uncle Al. Why are they in the newspaper? Are they doing anything impor'ant.'
The news read :
"CHILD ABUSERS FOUND GUILTY".
"12th Dec - After a month of deliberation, Maria Estelle Grant and Albert Sommerby Cuthbert were each found guilty of child abude and sentenced to 12 months and 18 months in jail respectively. The victim, a 4-year old..."
I was stunned silent. I didn't know what to make of it.
'So what does it say?' Timmy asked excitedly.
'You really don't remember anything at all about what happened to you Timmy?'
'No... Ah don remember. I tried to remember but it hurts mah head when I think too hard...'
'Anyway...It...' I stammered '... says that they have won some award, for being good people..'
'Wow. That is great! Ah'm so happy for Mamma. I guess that is why she is not here visiting me. She must be busy being impor'ant and all with Uncle Al too..'
I didn't know what to say. I just nodded in silence. In my head I can imagine the pain that Timmy had gone through. I can imagine his head being hit so hard, now that he can't recall the pain. I can imagine the burning cigarette being stubbed out on his flesh. I can hear Timmy screaming and pleading for them to stop. God knows what else the poor boy had to go through?
The cruelty sickened me. How could they do this to a dying boy? When I left Timmy that day, I left with a lot of anger in me. I was angry for Timmy. I was angry at myself for having to lie to Timmy. Perhaps what Allison said to me that night is true. It may just be a blessing that he don't remember.
Days came and went. I visited Timmy virtually everyday. By the third month, Timmy's situation was deteriorating day by day. He was bed-ridden, on a respirator and his face was as pale as sheet.
'How you doing there lil' champion?' I asked meekly.
'A'hm..okay ah guess..'
'Don't worry now. You will get better. The doctors will make you all better in a jiffy.'
Timmy said nothing but smiled. Deep inside, I think he knows. I felt the tears coming up my eyes again.
'Coul' ya tell me more about angels?' asked Timmy. His voice this time was barely a whisper.
'Sure buddy.' I said holding back my tears.
'Angels are beautiful and are servants of God. They have majestic wings and flowing robes of the finest cloth. Some of them are of higher rank, kind of like group leaders. These angels are called Seraphims. There are also other junior angels like the Principality. Each of them have their jobs to do.'
'Why are angels created?'
'They are created to serve God, but let me tell you a little secret.' I said with a secret smile, 'Angels are actually created for us, humans. They are there to watch over and protect us. You have a guardian angel watching over you this very minute. And he is reporting to God about what a good boy you have been. He is also going to protect you from harm.'
Timmy's eyes brightened for a moment.
'Really? You think that an angel is here?'
'Yeah little champ. So you have got to be strong and not be naughty yeah?'
'Ah'm strong Matt. Ah really am. See? Ah'm not crying. And Ah'm not naughty. Nuh-uh. Ah'm a good boy.'
'I think so too Timmy, and I am sure the angel sees it too.'
Timmy looked at me for a while.
'Do you think the angel will take me with him one day Matt? Take me an' leave this place?'
I was at a loss for words. I really didn't know what to say. My gut feeling tells me that he definitely knows that he's dying.
'Yes, I am sure he will. You are an angel at heart.' I replied with a soft smile.
Two weeks had passed since then. By now, Timmy had shriveled down to a husk. His speech was barely a whisper.
'Matt. Last night, ah saw an angel.'
'Really?'
Timmy must be starting to be delusional, but I played along. Timmy deserves to be happy for what little moments left he had on this Earth.
'Yeah. He was beautiful, just like what you said, Matt. He said that ah could go with him real soon. He said, the place that we're going to is gonna be beautiful. Ah'm so happy Matt. Ah can't wait.'
I gently held his hands and looked at him.
'Ah asked him if I could bring you along too, but he says no. It made me sad Matt, but ah really wanna go with him. Ah really wanna. Can ah Matt? But ah don't want you to be sad.'
'It's okay Timmy. I won't be sad. I will be happy for you. If you are happy, I will be happy too.'
'Really?'
'Really.'
We were then silent for a while. I was struggling very hard to not cry out loud. Timmy broke the silence.
'Matt? Can you stay with me for a while? Stay longer than you used to stay and not go away?'
I nodded and said, 'I'll stay with you for as long as you want champ. I'll be here.'
'You know something Matt? Ah really would like to see Mamma again. I wanna tell her that I love her. Ah don't really like Uncle Al, but that is awright. Mamma was happy when Uncle Al was around. I guess if Mamma is happy, the I should be happy right? '
I really didn't know what else to say. I don't think Timmy will ever find out what really happened. I could just nod silently. Allison's words kept on ringing in my head; 'It's probably a blessing...'
Timmy fell asleep soon after and I was silently by his side. I think I must've drifted off to sleep myself not long after that because the next thing that happened to me was like a dream.
I saw a human-like figure walking towards Timmy and I. The figure was dressed in flowing robes of the finest cloth, with wings sprouting on its shoulder blade, tucked back back folded. I couldn't see it's face but it just walked slowly and purposefully towards us. I tried to move but I couldn't. I was in awe and could only find myself watching. The figure made it's way towards Timmy. It gently stroked his forehead. Timmy looked healthy and well again, no longer the shriveled husk of a child that I remembered.
Timmy got up and held the hand of the figure and smiled at it. Timmy then turned to me. He seemed happy, but sad at the same time. There was a wistful look in his eyes.
'Ah remember, Matt. Ah know all about Mamma now. Ah don't hate her. Ah still love her, but it doesn't matter anymore now. Thank you, Matt, fer everything. Ah'll miss you.'
Timmy waved me goodbye, turned and walked out of the room, hand-in-hand with the mysterious figure.
The figure turned it's face to look at me.
What I saw shocked me awake. The figure had a skull for its face. Death had come to reap.
When I was awake I was in tears. I felt a hollowness within me. Deep down inside I know that Timmy was gone. I was still in a daze when I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Allison.
'Matt.. Timmy is...' she tried to break the news to me gently.
'I know. I saw it as it happened.'
'What? Weren't you asleep when I woke you?'
Alison looked confused and sad. I didn't explain it anymore because I didn't know how to.
I just cried.
For the most bitter time as an adult, I cried.
Marlene decided to call our relationship to an end. Marlene and I had a tumultous relationship that went like a roller-coaster. Marlene was as fiery a woman that a man can love and such was it that I always found myself burnt. Marlene was also Joe's wife-to-be. The whole thing that happened to Joe was too much guilt for her to carry on stealing away with me. Everything just ended in an abrupt thud.
Since then, Joe passed on and Marlene disappeared from my life. This story though is not about Joe. That is another story altogether for another time. This story is not about Marlene either. Perhaps, this is my story, but I take it that it is more of the story of Timmy.
Timmy was the boy I met at the hospital during that tough period in my life. I was standing by the coffee dispensing machine waiting for my coffee to be served. As with every other piece of technology, things have the tendency to fail. My coffee didn't come (though the coins I've deposited were never returned), I was smashing the machine with my bear hands and tears were just flowing down my face. Perhaps it was the guilt of the entire confusing episode or maybe it was the pain and frustration of losing someone I loved but could and should never have owned in the first place.
I don't rightly remember what made me cry. I do remember though, the image of Timmy standing there watching silently at my stupidity of hammering the machine and crying like a baby. I remembered stopping my thrashing and turning around to look at him as I realized his presence and trying hard to choke back my tears at the same time.
If the scene was frozen in time, it would be worth a million dollars. An adult crying and thrashing a piece of junk technology that failed, and a kid staring calmly in bewilderment. Ironic is life, or so they say.
Under usual circumstances, I would've asked the kid to fuck off and quit staring. What happened however was hardly under usual circumstance. Besides, Timmy looked like a wreck. There were bruises all over his little body, visible signs of burns at random places on his skin and he was patched with iodine over one eye. I just couldn't have the heart to take it out on him.
'Here. Ya can have mah' drink if it makes ya feel better. Itiz hot chocolate. Hot chocolate always make me feel better.'
I was left speechless and I was left staring at him for what seems like forever.
'Go on. Itiz awright. Nurse Allison will bring more if ah asked her later.'
He flashed a bright upbeat smile while extending his little arm to hand me the paper cup. I noticed that he probably had broken bones in a couple of places. His little arm looks to be a little bit out of shape. His lips were grotesquely broken and was sporting a couple of lost teeth.
Must be the victim of a car crash, I said to myself.
In silence, I took his offer and held the drink in my hands. I took a gentle sip while looking away from the boy. The chocolate was still warm. After composing myself, I spoke.
'What's your name kid?'
'Ah'm Timothy Grant, but people call me Timmy.' he said warming up to the conversation, 'and that is Timothy for short.'
I nodded, while taking more sips from the paper cup. I really didn't know what else to say to him.
'Ah'll be going back tuh bed now. Nurse Allison always says I shoun't be walking too much.' He flashes his grotesque grin at me yet again and turned tail to slowly trod his way back to bed, half limping and half dragging his broken leg behind him.
I pondered for a moment, before calling out,
'Hey, Timmy.'
As he turned his head, I said, 'I think, I'll walk you back to bed.'
He looked happy and nodded. We chatted a little bit as we made our way to his bed.
'How old are you Timmy?'
'Ah'm four this year. I am gonna turn five soon.'
'So why are you here in the hospital?'
'Ah don't really remember. The doctor said ah hit my head real hard somewhere. There are some stuff that ah cannot remember fer a while...He said it was normal.'
'Where are your parents Timmy?'
'Ah've never seen Pappa. Mamma says he's gone away for a long long time and is not coming back. Uncle Al keeps us company mosta the time.'
Timmy's bedspace was situated in the the common room. I've never quite liked hospital common rooms. Bedspace littered everywhere. The sound of the ill and hurting. The smell of medicine in the air. The stuffy environment and the only place in the entire hospital that is hardly quiet. I pity Timmy for needing to put up with this. Something gave inside of me that day.
'Tell you what Timmy. I'll be coming over to the hospital quite often. I'll visit you whenever I am here yeah?'
With that, I made a little stranger smile that day. Maybe life is more than just me. Just maybe.
Weeks and then months passed by. I would stop by the hospital every day or two. I spent more time with Timmy than I had originally intended to. Sometimes I would stay till the night, and tell him bed-time stories. I would also teach him how to read from the newspaper that I've brought with me. Other times, I would sneak Chupa-Chups along to Timmy when the nurse wasn't watching. Like two gleeful boys getting away with some forbidden fruit. We giggled and laughed. I think what made me really glad was that my company kept little Timmy happy.
I felt like I was worth something. I was special to someone who needs me. I guess I ain't the worm that I thought I was. I have not felt like this for a long long time.
'Why do people read the newspaper so much?' asked Timmy
'Well Timmy, the newspaper reports about important things. Things that people should know.'
'So stuff that is in the newspaper is important?'
'Yeah, pretty much so. It's mostly lousy news that adults have to deal with, but you are right, it is important because it reminds us that we cannot run away from our problems. The good thing is, the newspaper also writes about happier things. It keeps people happy for a while.'
'Gee... it sounds tough to be a grown up huh?'
The weight of that last sentence struck me for a while.
'Yeah, it is, but it is okay.'
'But why does it have to be so tough?'
'Well... have you heard of the story of how God created humans?' I asked
Timmy shook his head.
'It started a long time ago, God created everything you see here in this world. The world isn't quite like what it is that you see today. It was a lot more beautiful. Man however, didn't appreciate what God made. They were naughty and disobeyed the instructions of God. So, God chased them out of the beautiful Garden and that is when things got really bad.'
'So God is punishing humans for being naughty?'
'Yep. Something like that, but God loves us still. He sends angels to watch over us. Do you know what angels are?'
Timmy shook his head again.
'Angels are beautiful creations. They look like humans, but they have wings. Angels have all sorts of duties, like sending messages of God to humans and a lot of other things.'
'Wow....Do you think I would ever see an angel?'
'Maybe,' I smiled, 'if you are a good boy and grow up to be a good man. You may see an angel one day.'
Timmy nodded.
'Okay Timmy, I have to go now. It's almost bedtime for you. Tuck into bed now and I will see you tomorrow okay?'
'Yessiree! I will be a good boy. I hope the angel won't forget me.'
'I am sure it won't.' I said with a smile.
I tucked Timmy into bed and walked silently out the room not long after he fell asleep. As I was making my way out, I was stopped by a nurse.
'Hi. I'm Allison. I've noticed you visiting Timmy for quite a while...'
'Yeah. Poor kid. What happened to him? Where are his parents? I've never seen them around for as long as I was around..' I started rambling.
'So I take it that you are not related to Timmy then?'
'Nah.. My friend, Joe is in the same hospital. Virtually dead man walking from all his excesses in life. Timmy happened to me by chance.'
'Oh.. I am really sorry to hear that. How is your friend doing?'
'Give and take, maybe a month more to live. Say, what time do you go off work anyway?'
'Me? In about half-an-hour or so. I am on early shift today.Tomorrow is a late day for me.'
'Great. How 'bout talking over coffee and sandwich at the cafeteria?'
'Sure. See you there in half?'
'Yeah. Sounds about good.'
Fourty-five minutes later, Allison and myself were dunking donuts into coffee in the cafeteria. We talked about life and everything else that was apt over a snack in the hospital cafeteria in the middle of the night.
'Timmy is a bright kid with a sad story to tell,' I muttered casually. 'I am seriously wondering where the parents are at. It has been a month and no sight nor sound?'
'Well.. It is a tragedy really. Timmy doesn't have much longer to live. He is diagnosed with a rare kind of blood disease. It saddens me to see this sort of thing happen.'
'What?!' I exclaimed. 'Does he know this? Does his parents know this? Where the fuck are they? Don't they care?'
'Timmy doesn't know it yet, and he has forgotten how he got in here in the first place. What I do know is this. Timmy was brought into the hospital by the police. Fishy if you asked me.'
A four year old kid, brought into the hospital by the cops bruised and battered? Where was all this leading?
'Are you alright?' asked Allison.
'Yeah,' I replied suddenly snapping out of my thoughts.
'Well, the good thing is that Timmy is still ignorant from all of this. It is probably a blessing that he does not remember. It makes it so much easier for him.'
I nodded in silence. I walked Allison to the taxi stand. Right before she boarded her cab, she turned to tell me with a reassuring smile, 'You are a good man, Matt. Maybe, we can hang out some other time.'
I remembered taking a long slow and ponderous walk down the road. I don't remember if I had actually made it home that day.
My visits to Timmy got a lot more frequent. As I was teaching him to read the newspaper one day, he pointed at some mugshots in the news.
'Hey! That's Mamma, and that's Uncle Al'
'Are you sure?'
'Yeah! See? That is Mamma,' he said pointing at a woman, 'and that is Uncle Al. Why are they in the newspaper? Are they doing anything impor'ant.'
The news read :
"CHILD ABUSERS FOUND GUILTY".
"12th Dec - After a month of deliberation, Maria Estelle Grant and Albert Sommerby Cuthbert were each found guilty of child abude and sentenced to 12 months and 18 months in jail respectively. The victim, a 4-year old..."
I was stunned silent. I didn't know what to make of it.
'So what does it say?' Timmy asked excitedly.
'You really don't remember anything at all about what happened to you Timmy?'
'No... Ah don remember. I tried to remember but it hurts mah head when I think too hard...'
'Anyway...It...' I stammered '... says that they have won some award, for being good people..'
'Wow. That is great! Ah'm so happy for Mamma. I guess that is why she is not here visiting me. She must be busy being impor'ant and all with Uncle Al too..'
I didn't know what to say. I just nodded in silence. In my head I can imagine the pain that Timmy had gone through. I can imagine his head being hit so hard, now that he can't recall the pain. I can imagine the burning cigarette being stubbed out on his flesh. I can hear Timmy screaming and pleading for them to stop. God knows what else the poor boy had to go through?
The cruelty sickened me. How could they do this to a dying boy? When I left Timmy that day, I left with a lot of anger in me. I was angry for Timmy. I was angry at myself for having to lie to Timmy. Perhaps what Allison said to me that night is true. It may just be a blessing that he don't remember.
Days came and went. I visited Timmy virtually everyday. By the third month, Timmy's situation was deteriorating day by day. He was bed-ridden, on a respirator and his face was as pale as sheet.
'How you doing there lil' champion?' I asked meekly.
'A'hm..okay ah guess..'
'Don't worry now. You will get better. The doctors will make you all better in a jiffy.'
Timmy said nothing but smiled. Deep inside, I think he knows. I felt the tears coming up my eyes again.
'Coul' ya tell me more about angels?' asked Timmy. His voice this time was barely a whisper.
'Sure buddy.' I said holding back my tears.
'Angels are beautiful and are servants of God. They have majestic wings and flowing robes of the finest cloth. Some of them are of higher rank, kind of like group leaders. These angels are called Seraphims. There are also other junior angels like the Principality. Each of them have their jobs to do.'
'Why are angels created?'
'They are created to serve God, but let me tell you a little secret.' I said with a secret smile, 'Angels are actually created for us, humans. They are there to watch over and protect us. You have a guardian angel watching over you this very minute. And he is reporting to God about what a good boy you have been. He is also going to protect you from harm.'
Timmy's eyes brightened for a moment.
'Really? You think that an angel is here?'
'Yeah little champ. So you have got to be strong and not be naughty yeah?'
'Ah'm strong Matt. Ah really am. See? Ah'm not crying. And Ah'm not naughty. Nuh-uh. Ah'm a good boy.'
'I think so too Timmy, and I am sure the angel sees it too.'
Timmy looked at me for a while.
'Do you think the angel will take me with him one day Matt? Take me an' leave this place?'
I was at a loss for words. I really didn't know what to say. My gut feeling tells me that he definitely knows that he's dying.
'Yes, I am sure he will. You are an angel at heart.' I replied with a soft smile.
Two weeks had passed since then. By now, Timmy had shriveled down to a husk. His speech was barely a whisper.
'Matt. Last night, ah saw an angel.'
'Really?'
Timmy must be starting to be delusional, but I played along. Timmy deserves to be happy for what little moments left he had on this Earth.
'Yeah. He was beautiful, just like what you said, Matt. He said that ah could go with him real soon. He said, the place that we're going to is gonna be beautiful. Ah'm so happy Matt. Ah can't wait.'
I gently held his hands and looked at him.
'Ah asked him if I could bring you along too, but he says no. It made me sad Matt, but ah really wanna go with him. Ah really wanna. Can ah Matt? But ah don't want you to be sad.'
'It's okay Timmy. I won't be sad. I will be happy for you. If you are happy, I will be happy too.'
'Really?'
'Really.'
We were then silent for a while. I was struggling very hard to not cry out loud. Timmy broke the silence.
'Matt? Can you stay with me for a while? Stay longer than you used to stay and not go away?'
I nodded and said, 'I'll stay with you for as long as you want champ. I'll be here.'
'You know something Matt? Ah really would like to see Mamma again. I wanna tell her that I love her. Ah don't really like Uncle Al, but that is awright. Mamma was happy when Uncle Al was around. I guess if Mamma is happy, the I should be happy right? '
I really didn't know what else to say. I don't think Timmy will ever find out what really happened. I could just nod silently. Allison's words kept on ringing in my head; 'It's probably a blessing...'
Timmy fell asleep soon after and I was silently by his side. I think I must've drifted off to sleep myself not long after that because the next thing that happened to me was like a dream.
I saw a human-like figure walking towards Timmy and I. The figure was dressed in flowing robes of the finest cloth, with wings sprouting on its shoulder blade, tucked back back folded. I couldn't see it's face but it just walked slowly and purposefully towards us. I tried to move but I couldn't. I was in awe and could only find myself watching. The figure made it's way towards Timmy. It gently stroked his forehead. Timmy looked healthy and well again, no longer the shriveled husk of a child that I remembered.
Timmy got up and held the hand of the figure and smiled at it. Timmy then turned to me. He seemed happy, but sad at the same time. There was a wistful look in his eyes.
'Ah remember, Matt. Ah know all about Mamma now. Ah don't hate her. Ah still love her, but it doesn't matter anymore now. Thank you, Matt, fer everything. Ah'll miss you.'
Timmy waved me goodbye, turned and walked out of the room, hand-in-hand with the mysterious figure.
The figure turned it's face to look at me.
What I saw shocked me awake. The figure had a skull for its face. Death had come to reap.
When I was awake I was in tears. I felt a hollowness within me. Deep down inside I know that Timmy was gone. I was still in a daze when I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Allison.
'Matt.. Timmy is...' she tried to break the news to me gently.
'I know. I saw it as it happened.'
'What? Weren't you asleep when I woke you?'
Alison looked confused and sad. I didn't explain it anymore because I didn't know how to.
I just cried.
For the most bitter time as an adult, I cried.
Sunday, October 22, 2006
White Rose
The white rose bloomed | And she pierced her skin | She drew a deadly slit round her wrist | And let the blood flow | From the depths of her veins | To the petal of a rose in bloom | Each crimson droplet that falls | Flows her dreams and pain | Flows her sorrow and shame | Rich red droplets | Dripping crimson tearlets | Dyed the white rose red | Stains of life upon life | Engulfing white in the stream of her red | And the blood rose dried | And so too she died | And it will bloom for a while more | A while before | Only a little bit more
Saturday, September 30, 2006
Noise of My Life
(It started with)
Cling-cling....Tappity-tap...Clutter....Moderate patch...Tap-tap-rappity-rap...Hard knock....Off beat....Oops...Kaching-kaching....Chuggidy-chuggidy-chug...Tiity-tutty...Tuttle-Fruttle...Missed one...Bad patch....Bad patch...Bad patch...More bad batch...and Even more bad batch...Worse patch....Must be the worst patch already!....Crash-boom-bang!!!....Dang....Dang...Dang...Ching...Ching... Things falling on the floor.... Swish-swish...Clean...Whooooooosh.....Upbeat....Tempo on the up.... Rat-a-tat-tat.....Boom-badabing.....Crescendo......Wheeeee!!!!!!!!!!
(wheeze...sigh...puff....)
Now what?
Cling-cling....Tappity-tap...Clutter....Moderate patch...Tap-tap-rappity-rap...Hard knock....Off beat....Oops...Kaching-kaching....Chuggidy-chuggidy-chug...Tiity-tutty...Tuttle-Fruttle...Missed one...Bad patch....Bad patch...Bad patch...More bad batch...and Even more bad batch...Worse patch....Must be the worst patch already!....Crash-boom-bang!!!....Dang....Dang...Dang...Ching...Ching... Things falling on the floor.... Swish-swish...Clean...Whooooooosh.....Upbeat....Tempo on the up.... Rat-a-tat-tat.....Boom-badabing.....Crescendo......Wheeeee!!!!!!!!!!
(wheeze...sigh...puff....)
Now what?
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Feeling Macabre
In the beginning for each and every mortal of this earth, everyone has an invitation.
Some people misplaced it as they grew older.
Others simply forgot that they have been invited.
They carried on being kings and wise men.
They lived as princes
As paupers.
Everyone fought, fighting to carve a legacy.
People made peace and told themselves to be happy.
And they were full of pride....
And be they full of themselves.
Memento mori.
Remember your mortality.
The invitation will fly into your face when you least expect it.
Have you been caught, unaware?
You will have to come to the party.
You cannot refuse.
Study well, ars moriendi.
The step to this dance is an art.
Follow.
Follow.
Step by step.
No need to hurry.
No need to fret.
You have an eternity to get it right.
I promise.
Kings and beggars.
Fools and wise men.
What difference does it make?
When we gather, we are all equal.
When we dance again, we are all equal.
You and I
We are equal.
Equal in the Grand Danse Macabre.
Memento mori my friend. Memento mori.
We've all been invited.
Some people misplaced it as they grew older.
Others simply forgot that they have been invited.
They carried on being kings and wise men.
They lived as princes
As paupers.
Everyone fought, fighting to carve a legacy.
People made peace and told themselves to be happy.
And they were full of pride....
And be they full of themselves.
Memento mori.
Remember your mortality.
The invitation will fly into your face when you least expect it.
Have you been caught, unaware?
You will have to come to the party.
You cannot refuse.
Study well, ars moriendi.
The step to this dance is an art.
Follow.
Follow.
Step by step.
No need to hurry.
No need to fret.
You have an eternity to get it right.
I promise.
Kings and beggars.
Fools and wise men.
What difference does it make?
When we gather, we are all equal.
When we dance again, we are all equal.
You and I
We are equal.
Equal in the Grand Danse Macabre.
Memento mori my friend. Memento mori.
We've all been invited.
Sunday, September 03, 2006
It was on TV
I saw this on TV one night and it went something like this:
Scene (Boy and Girl walking along a very normal looking street in a very normal night)
While walking..
Girl : I think, lets just not see each other anymore... (in a very unsure tone)
Boy: Sure.. (in a very non-chalant tone)
Boy carries on walking not looking back as he walked on. Girl just turned tail and ran in the opposite direction.
Girl: (Screaming with traces of tear chokes) You've never loved me! Why did you went out with me in the first place?!
Boy: (In silence just carried on walking without answering)
Scene End.
For some reason, the scene is like a mirror that reflects that which had happened to me. Needless to say, this Boy had hurt the Girl real bad. The jerk that I am sometimes.
Scene (Boy and Girl walking along a very normal looking street in a very normal night)
While walking..
Girl : I think, lets just not see each other anymore... (in a very unsure tone)
Boy: Sure.. (in a very non-chalant tone)
Boy carries on walking not looking back as he walked on. Girl just turned tail and ran in the opposite direction.
Girl: (Screaming with traces of tear chokes) You've never loved me! Why did you went out with me in the first place?!
Boy: (In silence just carried on walking without answering)
Scene End.
For some reason, the scene is like a mirror that reflects that which had happened to me. Needless to say, this Boy had hurt the Girl real bad. The jerk that I am sometimes.
Saturday, August 19, 2006
Taken?
I seem to hear this phrase a lot:
"Every guy/girl that is good is taken, everything else that's left is [fill in your own negative descriptions here]"
Now question is:
If all the good ones are taken, how come you are not the one doing the taking?
Answer probably goes along the line:
Probably your are quite rubbish too. Either that, or you are not good enough for the good ones.
Life sucks. I know.
Nonetheless, it is time to get real and smell the crap that life has in store for you.
Proseac: Yep. I know I am gonna offend a whole lotta people with this one. Tough, as I don't really give a bleedin fuck about it. Cheers.
"Every guy/girl that is good is taken, everything else that's left is [fill in your own negative descriptions here]"
Now question is:
If all the good ones are taken, how come you are not the one doing the taking?
Answer probably goes along the line:
Probably your are quite rubbish too. Either that, or you are not good enough for the good ones.
Life sucks. I know.
Nonetheless, it is time to get real and smell the crap that life has in store for you.
Proseac: Yep. I know I am gonna offend a whole lotta people with this one. Tough, as I don't really give a bleedin fuck about it. Cheers.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Not Perfect (You Don't Have to Be)
Something about you,
You need not to be,
Kept me thinking,
Up all night in waking,
Something about you,
That made you for me.
Was it your crooked smile?
Maybe your dilated eyes?
Was it the scar on your brow?
Maybe your unwomanly figure?
It must've been your tempestuous temper.
It must've been your talentless voice.
It may of have been the way you lose yourself.
It may of have been the woman that you see yourself to be.
Blemished perfection,
Not the prettiest I have seen.
Flaw of character,
Not the most gentle or meek.
Tainted history,
Scattered with mistakes.
Seeing no future,
Where do you belong?
There was something about you,
You need not to be,
Perfect a woman
For a man like me.
Imperfection is simply not a shame,
For I still love you, simply all the same.
You need not to be,
Kept me thinking,
Up all night in waking,
Something about you,
That made you for me.
Was it your crooked smile?
Maybe your dilated eyes?
Was it the scar on your brow?
Maybe your unwomanly figure?
It must've been your tempestuous temper.
It must've been your talentless voice.
It may of have been the way you lose yourself.
It may of have been the woman that you see yourself to be.
Blemished perfection,
Not the prettiest I have seen.
Flaw of character,
Not the most gentle or meek.
Tainted history,
Scattered with mistakes.
Seeing no future,
Where do you belong?
There was something about you,
You need not to be,
Perfect a woman
For a man like me.
Imperfection is simply not a shame,
For I still love you, simply all the same.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Fire from the Night Sky
Every night as I lay her down to sleep,
I pray to the Lord her soul she would keep.
Each night we lay in our beds with dread,
Would it be us tonight, that our lives should end?
Never understood the conflict and war.
What makes men take lives and more?
Watching my children asleep in their bed,
I cannot help my tears I shed.
Innocent they are not deserving this fate,
Of fires of men unleashing their hate.
Maybe the fires will rain upon us tonight,
And we will succumb to the state of our plight.
The morrow shall come and more lives then are lost,
Lives of the innocent for which war is the cost.
People will mourn for the lives which are gone.
Sadly the senseless war will just go on and on.
Proseac:
Sometimes I do wonder how do the civilans live in times of war? Each night, sleep comes along with fear. The sound of a shattering bomb rouses them from sleep just to count the casualties, many of whom are innocent of the conflict.
My stance on the situation in Israel and Lebanon now?
Stop the war. Please. No more war.
I pray to the Lord her soul she would keep.
Each night we lay in our beds with dread,
Would it be us tonight, that our lives should end?
Never understood the conflict and war.
What makes men take lives and more?
Watching my children asleep in their bed,
I cannot help my tears I shed.
Innocent they are not deserving this fate,
Of fires of men unleashing their hate.
Maybe the fires will rain upon us tonight,
And we will succumb to the state of our plight.
The morrow shall come and more lives then are lost,
Lives of the innocent for which war is the cost.
People will mourn for the lives which are gone.
Sadly the senseless war will just go on and on.
Proseac:
Sometimes I do wonder how do the civilans live in times of war? Each night, sleep comes along with fear. The sound of a shattering bomb rouses them from sleep just to count the casualties, many of whom are innocent of the conflict.
My stance on the situation in Israel and Lebanon now?
Stop the war. Please. No more war.
Friday, July 14, 2006
An Alien Landed In My Backyard
A crash in my backyard broke the calm and silence of last night,
Half expecting Armageddon in full swing,
Only to be surprised by an object unidentified in my backyard.
The neighbourhood was still sound asleep,
Neither dogs nor cats were about in the streets.
The whole world must be in their dreams,
Or maybe the dreamer was me?
Emerging from the strange craft was a girl,
(Or rather distinctly female humanoid)
Her too large pupils and her bluish skin,
Are the only difference from otherwise
Human.
She spoke into my mind,
Her sultry voice, definitely female.
Same old story of malfunctioned craft,
Lost in space, crash landing that was unintended.
I nodded.
Heard it all before, seen it too much on TV and in the movies.
(Funny I thought that she should speak English?)
We hit my fridge.
Drank cans of beer.
Smoked cigarettes.
Whiling away the night.
Time definitely stood still for too long,
As we whiled away the too quiet night.
She spun tales of stars and galaxies,
Tales of travels and things incomprehensible to me,
I found myself mesmerized.
I was dreaming again.
In some way she was innocent,
A girl without deceit.
I was innocent again,
Wondering in my childlike naivette.
I spoke to her about Earth,
About my drab life,
About my daily struggles,
About everything too ugly, that is human.
She just looked at me,
Empathy or sympathy?
Just profound sorrow for jaded old me.
I stared into her eyes, as tears fill mine.
She smiled.
Her only words,
"Hope exists because of people like you"
I cried.
Her rescue arrived soon after.
She planted me a kiss.
And soon in a flash of light,
She was gone, and so was her ship.
I stare into the night sky once again,
Wondering where she is.
I watch each star as they twinkle.
I dream of her each night,
My love for an alien who landed in my backyard.
Half expecting Armageddon in full swing,
Only to be surprised by an object unidentified in my backyard.
The neighbourhood was still sound asleep,
Neither dogs nor cats were about in the streets.
The whole world must be in their dreams,
Or maybe the dreamer was me?
Emerging from the strange craft was a girl,
(Or rather distinctly female humanoid)
Her too large pupils and her bluish skin,
Are the only difference from otherwise
Human.
She spoke into my mind,
Her sultry voice, definitely female.
Same old story of malfunctioned craft,
Lost in space, crash landing that was unintended.
I nodded.
Heard it all before, seen it too much on TV and in the movies.
(Funny I thought that she should speak English?)
We hit my fridge.
Drank cans of beer.
Smoked cigarettes.
Whiling away the night.
Time definitely stood still for too long,
As we whiled away the too quiet night.
She spun tales of stars and galaxies,
Tales of travels and things incomprehensible to me,
I found myself mesmerized.
I was dreaming again.
In some way she was innocent,
A girl without deceit.
I was innocent again,
Wondering in my childlike naivette.
I spoke to her about Earth,
About my drab life,
About my daily struggles,
About everything too ugly, that is human.
She just looked at me,
Empathy or sympathy?
Just profound sorrow for jaded old me.
I stared into her eyes, as tears fill mine.
She smiled.
Her only words,
"Hope exists because of people like you"
I cried.
Her rescue arrived soon after.
She planted me a kiss.
And soon in a flash of light,
She was gone, and so was her ship.
I stare into the night sky once again,
Wondering where she is.
I watch each star as they twinkle.
I dream of her each night,
My love for an alien who landed in my backyard.
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Unhealthy Fascination
The boy with the devil may care attitude.
The wanton goth girl whose life wastes away.
The villain in the movie who captured my imagination.
The anti-hero that flaunts all rules.
The tempting romance of the Devil
The drugs and alcohol
The rock star who burnt out
The torn jeans and the quicksilver ride.
The venom that could kill in an instant.
The wanton goth girl whose life wastes away.
The villain in the movie who captured my imagination.
The anti-hero that flaunts all rules.
The tempting romance of the Devil
The drugs and alcohol
The rock star who burnt out
The torn jeans and the quicksilver ride.
The venom that could kill in an instant.
I find that we all have fascinations for the dark side of things. We can't help but be attracted to the anti-norm. We can't help but be perpetually mesmerized by things that we know will harm us.
Deep down inside, we all will want to flaunt and flirt with that someone or something; that we fantasize about but will never want to bring home.
Friday, June 09, 2006
The Extent Of Pain
Neverending nights of endless rain,
Washing amidst the pain,
Tattoed tears,
Etched on my face,
A stream of memories I can't replace.
Neverending nights of endless pain,
Washing amidst the rain,
Broken flesh,
In my mind a stain,
That is the extent of my pain.
Washing amidst the pain,
Tattoed tears,
Etched on my face,
A stream of memories I can't replace.
Neverending nights of endless pain,
Washing amidst the rain,
Broken flesh,
In my mind a stain,
That is the extent of my pain.
Monday, May 01, 2006
The Meaning of Growing Up
Another month has passed and I cannot help but ponder what is the true meaning of growing up.
My mind starts to wander back to the days when I was a little boy, acting all spoilt, needed plenty of attention, crying at every single little thing that I couldn't get or have. There were no worries back then. Everything is pretty much 'in-your-face'. There was no need for pretense. People can look at me with their opinions, and really, back then I didn't give a shit. I shouted when I felt like shouting, I ran when I felt like running, I screamed when I felt like screaming. Sadness never lasted really long. It was so easy to cheer up. It was so easy to be forgive and forget. Everything is cheered up by a candy bar or a toy. Even when I never did have the most expensive toys in the world, sometimes, a simple marble or a bottle cap will do. I pretty much liked everyone and everyone, no matter how ugly or no matter how naughty I thought they were. Even the class bully is sometimes a friend. There was a wonder for everything. The wonder built on a certain naivette that things were easy and all things in the world are good, like having an ambition of being a policeman when I grow up.
Now that I am and adult I realize, to be adult it means to sometimes be deceitful. Smile even when the times come when I feel like crying. Sadness lasts a lot longer when you are all grown up, to the point where it sometimes spirals into depression. It is never really easy to cheer up. Our greed for the material grows. We slowly learn how to hate. Ambitions and dreams are shattered as we slowly delve into the dirty muck of society. We learn that sincerity is hard to come by and people don't always mean what they say. Then there is accountability and obligations. We've even learned how to lose friends.
I don't think I enjoy growing up anymore.
My mind starts to wander back to the days when I was a little boy, acting all spoilt, needed plenty of attention, crying at every single little thing that I couldn't get or have. There were no worries back then. Everything is pretty much 'in-your-face'. There was no need for pretense. People can look at me with their opinions, and really, back then I didn't give a shit. I shouted when I felt like shouting, I ran when I felt like running, I screamed when I felt like screaming. Sadness never lasted really long. It was so easy to cheer up. It was so easy to be forgive and forget. Everything is cheered up by a candy bar or a toy. Even when I never did have the most expensive toys in the world, sometimes, a simple marble or a bottle cap will do. I pretty much liked everyone and everyone, no matter how ugly or no matter how naughty I thought they were. Even the class bully is sometimes a friend. There was a wonder for everything. The wonder built on a certain naivette that things were easy and all things in the world are good, like having an ambition of being a policeman when I grow up.
Now that I am and adult I realize, to be adult it means to sometimes be deceitful. Smile even when the times come when I feel like crying. Sadness lasts a lot longer when you are all grown up, to the point where it sometimes spirals into depression. It is never really easy to cheer up. Our greed for the material grows. We slowly learn how to hate. Ambitions and dreams are shattered as we slowly delve into the dirty muck of society. We learn that sincerity is hard to come by and people don't always mean what they say. Then there is accountability and obligations. We've even learned how to lose friends.
I don't think I enjoy growing up anymore.
Thursday, April 27, 2006
Why Ignorance is Bliss
People say, all things happen for a reason.
I personally think there are only 2 problems:
1) Most of us won't ever figure out the reason of why things happen. Heck even if we did, I doubt there is much we would be able to do about it, prevent it or at the very least make us feel any better at all. Contrary, we may just feel worse than before.
2) The thing is hindsight. Even if we did figure out what went wrong, it is all over anyways. Hence, its back to my first point, that it helps nothing at all that we figured.
My conclusion?
Even if all things happen for a reason, ignorance is definitely bliss.
I personally think there are only 2 problems:
1) Most of us won't ever figure out the reason of why things happen. Heck even if we did, I doubt there is much we would be able to do about it, prevent it or at the very least make us feel any better at all. Contrary, we may just feel worse than before.
2) The thing is hindsight. Even if we did figure out what went wrong, it is all over anyways. Hence, its back to my first point, that it helps nothing at all that we figured.
My conclusion?
Even if all things happen for a reason, ignorance is definitely bliss.
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Perspectives
I am the child,
Looking at the world with wonder,
Watching all it captivates me,
My dreams my imagination.
I am the dreamer,
Reality holds me no sway,
The night my constant companion,
My dreams my imagination.
I am the single mother,
Each day I live with scorn,
I fight to build all that shattered,
My dreams my imaginaton.
I am the superpower,
The world my playing ground,
My wild ambition and hunting ground,
My dreams my imagination.
I am the forsaken vagrant,
My home the streets and stones,
I struggle each day and get none,
My dreams my imagination.
I am the forlorn lover,
Wating each day for love,
I live on that sliver of hope,
My dreams my imagination.
I am the victim of war,
My daily life broken in pain,
I linger on the sorrow of loss,
My dreams my imagnation.
I am the crippled lame,
Body scarred in permanent guise,
Each day I live by courage alone,
My dreams my imagination.
I am the mental imapaired,
All things are just so simple,
Kind love sustains me each day,
My dreams my imagination.
I am the automaton,
I just do as I am told,
My brain is washed and emotions devoid,
My dreams my imagination.
I am the drug induced,
Each day has really no meaning,
My reality in bottles and angeldust,
My dreams my imagination.
I am the simple writer,
My life in words and prose,
I live each day musing and inspired,
My dreams my imagination.
Looking at the world with wonder,
Watching all it captivates me,
My dreams my imagination.
I am the dreamer,
Reality holds me no sway,
The night my constant companion,
My dreams my imagination.
I am the single mother,
Each day I live with scorn,
I fight to build all that shattered,
My dreams my imaginaton.
I am the superpower,
The world my playing ground,
My wild ambition and hunting ground,
My dreams my imagination.
I am the forsaken vagrant,
My home the streets and stones,
I struggle each day and get none,
My dreams my imagination.
I am the forlorn lover,
Wating each day for love,
I live on that sliver of hope,
My dreams my imagination.
I am the victim of war,
My daily life broken in pain,
I linger on the sorrow of loss,
My dreams my imagnation.
I am the crippled lame,
Body scarred in permanent guise,
Each day I live by courage alone,
My dreams my imagination.
I am the mental imapaired,
All things are just so simple,
Kind love sustains me each day,
My dreams my imagination.
I am the automaton,
I just do as I am told,
My brain is washed and emotions devoid,
My dreams my imagination.
I am the drug induced,
Each day has really no meaning,
My reality in bottles and angeldust,
My dreams my imagination.
I am the simple writer,
My life in words and prose,
I live each day musing and inspired,
My dreams my imagination.
Thursday, April 13, 2006
Defeated By You
Standing still trying to move on
Your photograph's faded in my mind
Sometimes we try and we don't succeed
I try again
We try in vain
Many times I fight to run
Still defeated by you.
Sitting still and watching it rain
Your distant voice over the line
I tried and still I cry again
To wash the pain
I tried in vain
Many times I bleed to live
Still defeated by you.
I try to swim your river
And drown in your caress
You tried and you feel my pain
Each time and again,
The many times in vain,
Too many times I go beneath
Still defeated by you
Yet again.
Proseac: Some sketch lyrics to a song I wrote.
Your photograph's faded in my mind
Sometimes we try and we don't succeed
I try again
We try in vain
Many times I fight to run
Still defeated by you.
Sitting still and watching it rain
Your distant voice over the line
I tried and still I cry again
To wash the pain
I tried in vain
Many times I bleed to live
Still defeated by you.
I try to swim your river
And drown in your caress
You tried and you feel my pain
Each time and again,
The many times in vain,
Too many times I go beneath
Still defeated by you
Yet again.
Proseac: Some sketch lyrics to a song I wrote.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Intrinsic Masochism
Just a short one for today.
I find human beings intrinsicly masochistic. We just have to find some way to hurt ourselves in one way or another.
How many times have we jumped head-first into relationships that hurt even when we know not to?
How many times have we prod and peeled at a scab even though we know it isn't healed?
How many times have we wasted ourselves just to feel like shite the next day?
I am pretty sure we have many wonderful and imaginative ways to self-destruct. As the saying goes, no one can hurt us more than ourselves.
And so we go on doing so.
I find human beings intrinsicly masochistic. We just have to find some way to hurt ourselves in one way or another.
How many times have we jumped head-first into relationships that hurt even when we know not to?
How many times have we prod and peeled at a scab even though we know it isn't healed?
How many times have we wasted ourselves just to feel like shite the next day?
I am pretty sure we have many wonderful and imaginative ways to self-destruct. As the saying goes, no one can hurt us more than ourselves.
And so we go on doing so.
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Cry and Carry On Crying
A long long time ago, when I am with someone who is crying I, can't help myself but cry along with them. I try to emphatize and the sadness just seems to amplify. I'll try to help others stop crying.
Not so long ago, I've learnt how to offer comfort to those who cry. I try to tell them everything is alright. I am there by their side. I am the shoulder they cry on. I'll tell them to hush and stop their tears.
Recently, I've finally realized, everyone needs to cry once in while. It always feels better after you've cried, and only when you carry on crying till your heart tells you to stop. So I've stopped telling people to stop crying henceforth.
Not so long ago, I've learnt how to offer comfort to those who cry. I try to tell them everything is alright. I am there by their side. I am the shoulder they cry on. I'll tell them to hush and stop their tears.
Recently, I've finally realized, everyone needs to cry once in while. It always feels better after you've cried, and only when you carry on crying till your heart tells you to stop. So I've stopped telling people to stop crying henceforth.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
No Exit
Forced to look at my reflection
A perfect mirror with a cracked smile
Bona fide contradiction
My only hope is for a life worthwhile
Living with or without
What else does it matter?
I am looking for a way out
Of this misery growing deeper
I'd just want to shut the door
And wallow in the darkness
Scream out till I hit the floor
And go down with my madness
Proseac: For the times I choose to shut everyone and everything out.
A perfect mirror with a cracked smile
Bona fide contradiction
My only hope is for a life worthwhile
Living with or without
What else does it matter?
I am looking for a way out
Of this misery growing deeper
I'd just want to shut the door
And wallow in the darkness
Scream out till I hit the floor
And go down with my madness
Proseac: For the times I choose to shut everyone and everything out.
Saturday, March 25, 2006
The Music and The Song
When did this piece started playing, I probably would never know.
I can hear my life as it echoes out in song.
The melody is faint and it is hard to sing to, but it plays on nonetheless.
Sometimes it is a bare and lonely melody that plays eerily in the still of the night.
Sometimes my song intertwines with someone elses song.
The union forms a beautiful harmony and the song goes on.
We try to to fill in the lyrics and we try to sing to the tunes.
Eventually our songs split apart, but the music goes on.
My song is of highs and lows, never in monotone.
Sometimes I crack singing in a falsetto pitch I can never hit
Sometimes the deep bass resonates, barely audible.
My song is a magnum opus built upon a skeletal tune
Events in my life strike certain strings that forms chords to my tune.
The chords ring out as the echoes meld into my melody.
There is no constant beat or rhythm to my song
The tempo speeds up and slows down without notice
It is a song of drunken stupor, of drug induced hallucination.
It is a song of infinite sadness, a song of pain.
It is a song of romantic love, of beauty and memories.
It is a song of infinite joy, a song of happiness.
The music fades into the background,
My song is sung in accapella.
Slowly my song fades out from the fore of day.
It is a tune for myself in the still of the night.
Watch me sway to my music and song.
It will never stop playing till the end of my time.
I can hear my life as it echoes out in song.
The melody is faint and it is hard to sing to, but it plays on nonetheless.
Sometimes it is a bare and lonely melody that plays eerily in the still of the night.
Sometimes my song intertwines with someone elses song.
The union forms a beautiful harmony and the song goes on.
We try to to fill in the lyrics and we try to sing to the tunes.
Eventually our songs split apart, but the music goes on.
My song is of highs and lows, never in monotone.
Sometimes I crack singing in a falsetto pitch I can never hit
Sometimes the deep bass resonates, barely audible.
My song is a magnum opus built upon a skeletal tune
Events in my life strike certain strings that forms chords to my tune.
The chords ring out as the echoes meld into my melody.
There is no constant beat or rhythm to my song
The tempo speeds up and slows down without notice
It is a song of drunken stupor, of drug induced hallucination.
It is a song of infinite sadness, a song of pain.
It is a song of romantic love, of beauty and memories.
It is a song of infinite joy, a song of happiness.
The music fades into the background,
My song is sung in accapella.
Slowly my song fades out from the fore of day.
It is a tune for myself in the still of the night.
Watch me sway to my music and song.
It will never stop playing till the end of my time.
Monday, March 13, 2006
About Giving and Taking Back
It may be a blessing or it may be a curse that we all will fall in love with someone else at some point of our lives.
Personally, I have fallen in love a couple of times (and have been involved in several relationships) in my life time thus far. It is very unfortunate, that nothing has worked out right up until now.
I've just been musing for the better part of today. When we are in love with someone else, we just can't seem to control ourselves but to give. Give and give even more. Give to the point where it hurts, and still we cannot help but give. A part of of us always goes out to that special person.
I wonder, after all the giving thru all those years, thru each and every person that was special to me, how much do I have left to give? So many parts of me have gone out and will always stay with them.
The tragic part is, all that has been given, can never and will never be taken back, no matter how hard I try.
Maybe I just really don't want anything back.
If giving hurts, taking back truly kills.
Them, whom I have truly fallen deeply in love with, will always have a special place in my heart from here on until the day my heart ceases to beat. Sure, the memories have faded from my head, but deep down inside my bleeding heart, I know that they are in there somewhere.
Introspectively, there isn't much anymore that I can give. It is all running dry. The essence used up. I can feel myself, just the cynical shell left with life sucked dry.
So yes, I am twisted. Yes I am aloof. Yes I am cold. Yes I am emotionless. Yes I am one selfish fuck.
Simply because, I have nothing more to give and I've died in my attempt to take something back.
Personally, I have fallen in love a couple of times (and have been involved in several relationships) in my life time thus far. It is very unfortunate, that nothing has worked out right up until now.
I've just been musing for the better part of today. When we are in love with someone else, we just can't seem to control ourselves but to give. Give and give even more. Give to the point where it hurts, and still we cannot help but give. A part of of us always goes out to that special person.
I wonder, after all the giving thru all those years, thru each and every person that was special to me, how much do I have left to give? So many parts of me have gone out and will always stay with them.
The tragic part is, all that has been given, can never and will never be taken back, no matter how hard I try.
Maybe I just really don't want anything back.
If giving hurts, taking back truly kills.
Them, whom I have truly fallen deeply in love with, will always have a special place in my heart from here on until the day my heart ceases to beat. Sure, the memories have faded from my head, but deep down inside my bleeding heart, I know that they are in there somewhere.
Introspectively, there isn't much anymore that I can give. It is all running dry. The essence used up. I can feel myself, just the cynical shell left with life sucked dry.
So yes, I am twisted. Yes I am aloof. Yes I am cold. Yes I am emotionless. Yes I am one selfish fuck.
Simply because, I have nothing more to give and I've died in my attempt to take something back.
Saturday, March 11, 2006
How I Deal with A Problem
It is inevitable that I have to deal with problems day in and out.
Numerous experience from dealing with problems have imparted me an important skill:
"If I can't solve a problem, the next best thing is to laugh it off"
Yeah, it may sound silly, but I suppose it is better than sulking, hiding and whining. Most of the time, if I do manage to keep my spirits high, I will eventually solve the problem.
It is either that or the problem seems to go away, at least for a while.
Numerous experience from dealing with problems have imparted me an important skill:
"If I can't solve a problem, the next best thing is to laugh it off"
Yeah, it may sound silly, but I suppose it is better than sulking, hiding and whining. Most of the time, if I do manage to keep my spirits high, I will eventually solve the problem.
It is either that or the problem seems to go away, at least for a while.
Monday, March 06, 2006
Ten Things About March
There are ten things I would like to highlight for the month in which:
1)The month is March, and the date currently is somewhere very near to the date of my birth quite some 20 odd years ago. (Its quite a big odd to add on to the 20 years if you must be precise)
2)Sometime during the period of this month, I will be aging yet another year, which possibly might be an excuse for me to get drunk.
3) March was originally the month where the Europeans had their 'New Year' because spring is just round the corner.
4) Astronomically speaking, this is the month of fishes and rams.
5) The month is supposed to be named after the Roman God o War - Mars (or Ares in Greek). Does that make me a Martian? (ok it's a bad joke, so sue me)
6) Everyone is paying way too much attention as to when the date I was born. The attention is causing me a little bit of discomfort.
7) Fact is, I don't enjoy being the centre of attention at a party. I prefer playing side-dish to the main-course, or so to speak.
8) This month always seems to cause me some heart-wrenching moments for one reason or another. EVERY YEAR without fail.
9) It is also a month that seems to just whip on by very very fast, in spite of it having 31 days in total. (The only other short month I ever remember is Febuary, but I suppose that would be normal?)
10) Finally, a dear dear friend of mine will be having his daughter coming round the corner real soon. She might just share the same birthday as I. My prayers for her that that will be the only thing she ever has in common with me. Nonetheless, I will still love her. This month is dedicated to Baby Gwinny, coming in from the stork and arriving really soon.
1)The month is March, and the date currently is somewhere very near to the date of my birth quite some 20 odd years ago. (Its quite a big odd to add on to the 20 years if you must be precise)
2)Sometime during the period of this month, I will be aging yet another year, which possibly might be an excuse for me to get drunk.
3) March was originally the month where the Europeans had their 'New Year' because spring is just round the corner.
4) Astronomically speaking, this is the month of fishes and rams.
5) The month is supposed to be named after the Roman God o War - Mars (or Ares in Greek). Does that make me a Martian? (ok it's a bad joke, so sue me)
6) Everyone is paying way too much attention as to when the date I was born. The attention is causing me a little bit of discomfort.
7) Fact is, I don't enjoy being the centre of attention at a party. I prefer playing side-dish to the main-course, or so to speak.
8) This month always seems to cause me some heart-wrenching moments for one reason or another. EVERY YEAR without fail.
9) It is also a month that seems to just whip on by very very fast, in spite of it having 31 days in total. (The only other short month I ever remember is Febuary, but I suppose that would be normal?)
10) Finally, a dear dear friend of mine will be having his daughter coming round the corner real soon. She might just share the same birthday as I. My prayers for her that that will be the only thing she ever has in common with me. Nonetheless, I will still love her. This month is dedicated to Baby Gwinny, coming in from the stork and arriving really soon.
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Just a Plea
I know I can't stay here forever,
Someday our party ends,
There ain't no dance that last a lifetime,
There ain't no footsteps on the sands.
I know I can't be drunk forever
Someday the smoke will clear,
There ain't no hurt that last a lifetime,
There ain't no sadness to remember.
I know I won't be alive forever,
Someday I'll part with a plea,
Though the dance don't last a lifetime,
Maybe someday you'll remember me.
Proseac: My eulogy?
Someday our party ends,
There ain't no dance that last a lifetime,
There ain't no footsteps on the sands.
I know I can't be drunk forever
Someday the smoke will clear,
There ain't no hurt that last a lifetime,
There ain't no sadness to remember.
I know I won't be alive forever,
Someday I'll part with a plea,
Though the dance don't last a lifetime,
Maybe someday you'll remember me.
Proseac: My eulogy?
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
The Valentine Cliche
Bouquet of flowers;
Box of chocolates;
Candlelight dinner;
Sappy love-songs;
Love themed movies;
Romantic beach walks;
Hugs and kisses.
Celebrating a day for lovers and romance, we also mourn at the funeral of creativity.
Proseac: I just have this way of making everything look bleak. Ahhh.... fuggit.
Box of chocolates;
Candlelight dinner;
Sappy love-songs;
Love themed movies;
Romantic beach walks;
Hugs and kisses.
Celebrating a day for lovers and romance, we also mourn at the funeral of creativity.
Proseac: I just have this way of making everything look bleak. Ahhh.... fuggit.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
Looking for A Female Contributor
I am extending an invitation to a fellow blogger to contribute into this little depressing space. I've kind of figured that I want to do this for a couple of reasons namely:
1) I've figured it is kind of hard to get any sort of continuity with my spasmodemic updating of the blog. Two minds contributing should roll the blog along at an acceptable rate of sorts.
2) I am conducting this experiment just to wonder if there is a kindred spirit out there in cyberspace somewhere that is actually able to share my mind's wave length and thus contribute to this blog
3) I have decided I want a female contributor because I think it will ultimately balance stuff out. Think of it as getting two sides of the story.
4) Dialogues are more fun than monologues.
Now down to my requirements of the candidate.
1) People who know me in person or know me in my alter-ego form need not apply. I am thinking of this as an anonymous blogging experience. Blogging with people I know somehow kills the experience. You know what I mean.
2) I want people to write stuff in ENGLISH. People who write in English variants like 'Singlish' or 'Maglish' need not apply.
3) Please don't try to 'brighten' up the blog. I like this blog as it is, as an indulgent space for the darker things in life. Think of this place as a place where people will come to for inspiration to sorrow, pain, morbid and alternative intellectualism.
4) Don't treat the blog like a diary. I don't think this is the place for people to read about what I've shopped for today, what I had for lunch and who do I know. I certainly don't want to know what happened to the neighbours dog yesterday too. As you can see, it is not really relevant here.
5) I welcome muses, proses, short stories, poems, literature and stuff like that. Personal experiences and afterthoughts are nice too.Be really dreamy and creative with expression and mood play. That is the essence of this blog.
6) This is a blog. Not a photo-log. Remember that.
7) Not all your writing needs to be sad and morbid and painful. Bittersweet entries are fine.
8) Don't involve the blog in politics or current affairs. There are enough of those out there as it is already.
9) You can be dirty in your contributions. Explicit language is fine. Just bear in mind to use it with taste. Remember, the only difference between 'The Birth of Venus' and 'Jenna Jameson XXX' is in it's expression as an art form.
10) Any and all names and characters mentioned on the blog are fictional. Keep it that way.
11) You may be confrontational, but never offensive.
12) Finally, I value all intellectual and creative property. Be original in your creations and don't plagiarize. Please.
I seriously wonder who in the world out there will share this with me. Ah well, gotta try anyway. Interested contributors, just drop me a mail at asketx(at)gmail.com
1) I've figured it is kind of hard to get any sort of continuity with my spasmodemic updating of the blog. Two minds contributing should roll the blog along at an acceptable rate of sorts.
2) I am conducting this experiment just to wonder if there is a kindred spirit out there in cyberspace somewhere that is actually able to share my mind's wave length and thus contribute to this blog
3) I have decided I want a female contributor because I think it will ultimately balance stuff out. Think of it as getting two sides of the story.
4) Dialogues are more fun than monologues.
Now down to my requirements of the candidate.
1) People who know me in person or know me in my alter-ego form need not apply. I am thinking of this as an anonymous blogging experience. Blogging with people I know somehow kills the experience. You know what I mean.
2) I want people to write stuff in ENGLISH. People who write in English variants like 'Singlish' or 'Maglish' need not apply.
3) Please don't try to 'brighten' up the blog. I like this blog as it is, as an indulgent space for the darker things in life. Think of this place as a place where people will come to for inspiration to sorrow, pain, morbid and alternative intellectualism.
4) Don't treat the blog like a diary. I don't think this is the place for people to read about what I've shopped for today, what I had for lunch and who do I know. I certainly don't want to know what happened to the neighbours dog yesterday too. As you can see, it is not really relevant here.
5) I welcome muses, proses, short stories, poems, literature and stuff like that. Personal experiences and afterthoughts are nice too.Be really dreamy and creative with expression and mood play. That is the essence of this blog.
6) This is a blog. Not a photo-log. Remember that.
7) Not all your writing needs to be sad and morbid and painful. Bittersweet entries are fine.
8) Don't involve the blog in politics or current affairs. There are enough of those out there as it is already.
9) You can be dirty in your contributions. Explicit language is fine. Just bear in mind to use it with taste. Remember, the only difference between 'The Birth of Venus' and 'Jenna Jameson XXX' is in it's expression as an art form.
10) Any and all names and characters mentioned on the blog are fictional. Keep it that way.
11) You may be confrontational, but never offensive.
12) Finally, I value all intellectual and creative property. Be original in your creations and don't plagiarize. Please.
I seriously wonder who in the world out there will share this with me. Ah well, gotta try anyway. Interested contributors, just drop me a mail at asketx(at)gmail.com
Monday, February 06, 2006
That Toilet Moment
I wonder sometimes, is it just me or does that toilet moment happen to everyone?
Ever tried holding your piss or bowels in and enduring the agony for long long long moments? The tingling sensation of things arriving at the border. Holding it in cause the toilet is just around the corner and you keep on telling yourself, 'It is just a little bit more, a tiny little bit more!!'
Your face goes blue. The breathing gets rapid. The little hairs on the back of your neck starts standing up as you shiver.
So off you go running as fast as you can as soon as you hit home, racing to the toilet while trying to unbutton your pants at the same time.
Finally, you arrive at the toilet bowl. Staring at it, all your motor functions go limp as you whip out your tools as fast as possible. For that one instant in time in the presence of the almighty toilet bowl, you cannot seem to hold it in just for a couple of seconds more, in spite of the hours you've been holding it in up till this point.
Pathetically you leave a huge mess behind.
Piss, crap and all. It must be some sort of strange magic at work there.
Its not all that bad though. Savour that exhilarating moment of relief. It sure beats orgasm of any kind in my opinion.
Ever tried holding your piss or bowels in and enduring the agony for long long long moments? The tingling sensation of things arriving at the border. Holding it in cause the toilet is just around the corner and you keep on telling yourself, 'It is just a little bit more, a tiny little bit more!!'
Your face goes blue. The breathing gets rapid. The little hairs on the back of your neck starts standing up as you shiver.
So off you go running as fast as you can as soon as you hit home, racing to the toilet while trying to unbutton your pants at the same time.
Finally, you arrive at the toilet bowl. Staring at it, all your motor functions go limp as you whip out your tools as fast as possible. For that one instant in time in the presence of the almighty toilet bowl, you cannot seem to hold it in just for a couple of seconds more, in spite of the hours you've been holding it in up till this point.
Pathetically you leave a huge mess behind.
Piss, crap and all. It must be some sort of strange magic at work there.
Its not all that bad though. Savour that exhilarating moment of relief. It sure beats orgasm of any kind in my opinion.
Saturday, February 04, 2006
My Blender Metaphor
I remember giving out advice to a friend of mine once. We kind of got into that conversation out of the blue. He was none too happy with the way he had with the people around him. It seemed like he was dropping out of relationships with girls and losing friends faster than a can of Bygon can make the flies go bygone. The good thing for him was that his career was on the pick up. You win some, you lose some, most might say.
So we were just hanging around having a casual conversation over a cuppa when out of my mind came something that I think made a lot of sense but somehow eluded me all that while.
I think it is funny how books and people tell you to partition your time and get organized. Decide how much time we want to do what and spend time with the people that we care about and doing the things we need to do. Having it mapped out like clockwork and sticking to it like mechanical is the essence to success in all aspects of life.
Strangely, I didn't exactly agree with what books and people are saying. More to the point, I think the instructions were a bit misleading. See, I do agree strategic division of time and devotion to our different aspects of life is a good thing. It is the right way to move forward. Can't move forward unless we're all organized right?
The problem is, most people follow that advice without really getting the right pictures in their head. Most think that their time is like a pie, or a cake.
Take a knife!
Cut it up and divide!
Partition. Keep it all like clockwork.
Follow like machines!
That is where the problems lie. We start getting so effecient, we either start to hate what we do or the people we know start to hate us for what we do. Either way, it is really back to the starting point.
I think most people miss the key message. It is really not so much about the division, it all has got to do with the proportion. Don't divide and partition time. Proportion time! Think of it of like making a martini. If you will only make a glass of martini. How much vodka versus how much vermouth versus how much ice ultimately gives you how good or how crap a martini you end up with.
So I suppose the books and people with the wise advice were right in some sense. They were correct in a way, to tell you to partition your time. The only problem is, we would've ended up with too many pieces of cakes to juggle. The cake would've been too disjointed. It's so much easier if we had all those proportioned pieces back in one cake.
Well my guess is, for all the wise advice, they simply forgot to tell you to put your divided pieces in a blender.
So we were just hanging around having a casual conversation over a cuppa when out of my mind came something that I think made a lot of sense but somehow eluded me all that while.
I think it is funny how books and people tell you to partition your time and get organized. Decide how much time we want to do what and spend time with the people that we care about and doing the things we need to do. Having it mapped out like clockwork and sticking to it like mechanical is the essence to success in all aspects of life.
Strangely, I didn't exactly agree with what books and people are saying. More to the point, I think the instructions were a bit misleading. See, I do agree strategic division of time and devotion to our different aspects of life is a good thing. It is the right way to move forward. Can't move forward unless we're all organized right?
The problem is, most people follow that advice without really getting the right pictures in their head. Most think that their time is like a pie, or a cake.
Take a knife!
Cut it up and divide!
Partition. Keep it all like clockwork.
Follow like machines!
That is where the problems lie. We start getting so effecient, we either start to hate what we do or the people we know start to hate us for what we do. Either way, it is really back to the starting point.
I think most people miss the key message. It is really not so much about the division, it all has got to do with the proportion. Don't divide and partition time. Proportion time! Think of it of like making a martini. If you will only make a glass of martini. How much vodka versus how much vermouth versus how much ice ultimately gives you how good or how crap a martini you end up with.
So I suppose the books and people with the wise advice were right in some sense. They were correct in a way, to tell you to partition your time. The only problem is, we would've ended up with too many pieces of cakes to juggle. The cake would've been too disjointed. It's so much easier if we had all those proportioned pieces back in one cake.
Well my guess is, for all the wise advice, they simply forgot to tell you to put your divided pieces in a blender.
Friday, February 03, 2006
Masks
Masks have a strange strange power over people.
It is either that or most people simply don't like being themselves most of the time.
Putting on a mask puts us in a state of uninhibitation. The mask is that last bastion of security between our inner selves and the wild wild world out there. We will dare to do things that we will never ever of have done. Say things that we will never ever of have said. From the most outrageous to the most insane to the utmost depraved even.
Of course I've thought that the explanation was simple.
People simply just don't want to be recognized for doing things that they shoudn't of have done.
That explains the bank robbers in balaclavas and the convicted felons with paperbags over their heads.
But the mask goes way beyond that.
People don masks and achieve a different state of consciousness. Maybe its a point of contact to our inner self. We play out the role that we really want to be under the shroud of the mask. We play the hero. We play the villain. We are the animals. We are the hunt. We are who we want and are not to be. A being with no readable emotions. An automaton. We become the life
of our masks.
As we go through life. Think about it. How many times have we rejected our true selves just to give life to this mask that we force ourselves to wear? The facade. The masquerade. The deceit.
Underneath it all there is only one truth.
We simply want to be discovered.
That explains the bank robbers in balaclavas and the convicted felons with paperbags over their heads.
But the mask goes way beyond that.
People don masks and achieve a different state of consciousness. Maybe its a point of contact to our inner self. We play out the role that we really want to be under the shroud of the mask. We play the hero. We play the villain. We are the animals. We are the hunt. We are who we want and are not to be. A being with no readable emotions. An automaton. We become the life
of our masks.
As we go through life. Think about it. How many times have we rejected our true selves just to give life to this mask that we force ourselves to wear? The facade. The masquerade. The deceit.
Underneath it all there is only one truth.
We simply want to be discovered.
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
And We Drown
As the water closes above our heads
And the icy grip of death pierce us
We stare at mortality in its face
We fear
We tremble
Breath by breath
The air thins and disappears
The beginning of our fade to black
Slowly the fear is overcome
The comfort sinks into me
The image of your courage and love
The picture to my grave I carry
With you in my deep embrace
The grip of death slowly released
Still we let the water wash over our heads
And we let aqua close us in
Baptize our journey
And drift us far away
And the icy grip of death pierce us
We stare at mortality in its face
We fear
We tremble
Breath by breath
The air thins and disappears
The beginning of our fade to black
Slowly the fear is overcome
The comfort sinks into me
The image of your courage and love
The picture to my grave I carry
With you in my deep embrace
The grip of death slowly released
Still we let the water wash over our heads
And we let aqua close us in
Baptize our journey
And drift us far away
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Precious Tears
Infinite sadness in the night,
Tears well in her eyes.
Each droplet falls,
Like diamonds from the skies.
Every tear a dying star,
A measure of broken dreams.
Sauntering gently downwards,
In trails of stardust streams.
Every droplet from your eye,
Shed in love for he.
A sigh, a wisp, a breath,
Tear drops falling free.
Precious are the tears of love,
Liquid diamond drops.
She weeps now and then again,
Will ever the sadness stop?
Proseac: The inspiration came from the art piece that I came across while surfing the web. The original artpiece could be found at www.fullmoongraphics.com.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Two Skies, Two Worlds
Loneliness speaks to me
Gentle whispers in my heart
My deepest fears are true
We were meant to be apart
Our different worlds exist
Under two seperate skies
Where yours is clothed in velvet
Mine is draped with lies
Where you have a world to live for
A life fulfilled in full
Mine is a nihilistic world of loneliness
Where I play the fool
The princess and the harlequin
Coupled paradox we make
Not a fault of you that we part
Another cruel twist of fate.
Gentle whispers in my heart
My deepest fears are true
We were meant to be apart
Our different worlds exist
Under two seperate skies
Where yours is clothed in velvet
Mine is draped with lies
Where you have a world to live for
A life fulfilled in full
Mine is a nihilistic world of loneliness
Where I play the fool
The princess and the harlequin
Coupled paradox we make
Not a fault of you that we part
Another cruel twist of fate.
Monday, January 09, 2006
For Every Moment...
For every laughter that escapes my lips
I am reminded of an orphan crying in the world somewhere,
For every sip of wine that I drink
I am reminded a child dying of thirst in the world somewhere,
For every morsel of meat that I eat
I am reminded of a man suffering famine in the world somewhere,
For every festive cheer I feel
I am reminded of a mother in sorrow in the world somewhere,
For every easel of comfort I know
I am reminded of a family tragedy in the world somewhere,
For every moment that I live my life
I am reminded of someone dying senselessly in the world somewhere.
Proseac: I am so utterly thankful for my life, however depressing it may be. In this season of festivities and holidays, take a moment to remind ourselves how truly blessed we really are.
I am reminded of an orphan crying in the world somewhere,
For every sip of wine that I drink
I am reminded a child dying of thirst in the world somewhere,
For every morsel of meat that I eat
I am reminded of a man suffering famine in the world somewhere,
For every festive cheer I feel
I am reminded of a mother in sorrow in the world somewhere,
For every easel of comfort I know
I am reminded of a family tragedy in the world somewhere,
For every moment that I live my life
I am reminded of someone dying senselessly in the world somewhere.
Proseac: I am so utterly thankful for my life, however depressing it may be. In this season of festivities and holidays, take a moment to remind ourselves how truly blessed we really are.
Friday, January 06, 2006
A Bruise, A Cut and A Haemorrhage
A bruise goes beneath the surface, a mark left behind after a bad knock. It hurts quite a bit right after the first knock, but it tends to recover rather quickly. Usually, it does not hurt after that. It only starts hurting again when you prod, massage or exert the bruise. Sometimes, even with prodding, you are not even sure if it really hurts anymore. It tends to tickle a funny bone and makes you laugh. When a bruise heals, you forget that it ever existed.
A cut is the opening of the surface exposing the tender bits underneath. It hurts a lot more after a cut and it recovers a lot slowly. It hurts even after it starts to heal. Prodding and exertion on the wound will break the scab, and the healing process will have to start all over again. The pain is absolute, that you won't ever think its funny. When a cut heals, it sometimes leave a scar, reminding you of the day the cut was made.
A haemmorhage is buried deep inside, a mark of a potentially mortal combustion. It hurts like you've never been hurt before. Usually, even when you have stopped hurting, you still aren't sure if you have healed completely. On the surface everything looks calm and steady, but deep down inside you bleed. Bleed and die. It leaves no scars and you won't even realize that your life and hopes ebb away. The only signs of what happened will be in a post mortem report done in a lab while you lie on the slab in the morgue. In other words, it will always be too late.
Consider the above. Look at my heart. What stage of hurt do you think it is in?
A cut is the opening of the surface exposing the tender bits underneath. It hurts a lot more after a cut and it recovers a lot slowly. It hurts even after it starts to heal. Prodding and exertion on the wound will break the scab, and the healing process will have to start all over again. The pain is absolute, that you won't ever think its funny. When a cut heals, it sometimes leave a scar, reminding you of the day the cut was made.
A haemmorhage is buried deep inside, a mark of a potentially mortal combustion. It hurts like you've never been hurt before. Usually, even when you have stopped hurting, you still aren't sure if you have healed completely. On the surface everything looks calm and steady, but deep down inside you bleed. Bleed and die. It leaves no scars and you won't even realize that your life and hopes ebb away. The only signs of what happened will be in a post mortem report done in a lab while you lie on the slab in the morgue. In other words, it will always be too late.
Consider the above. Look at my heart. What stage of hurt do you think it is in?
Sunday, January 01, 2006
New Year?
Ahhh, the end of 2005 and a 'fresh new start' for the year 2006.
Seemingly I feel compelled to write simply because this day is like a bookmark of sorts. It is supposed to mark the beginning of a 'new chapter' and also bookend the 'old stories'. (Pardon the cliches)
I prefer to think of it as an interlude that temporarily changes the time signature of things. Slowing down the prelude and setting the tune for the coming climax.
Anyhow, to break out of the box a little, I have decided to cheer up my blog (at least a little) with sprinkles of optimism.
So here is to another year ahead.
Cheers,
Proseac
Seemingly I feel compelled to write simply because this day is like a bookmark of sorts. It is supposed to mark the beginning of a 'new chapter' and also bookend the 'old stories'. (Pardon the cliches)
I prefer to think of it as an interlude that temporarily changes the time signature of things. Slowing down the prelude and setting the tune for the coming climax.
Anyhow, to break out of the box a little, I have decided to cheer up my blog (at least a little) with sprinkles of optimism.
So here is to another year ahead.
Cheers,
Proseac
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