if you asked whether i am happy. i would say maybe. if you asked whether i made a right decision. i would say hopefully. if you asked whether i am alive. i would say impossibly. contentment is really a double-edged sword which stifles growth and betterment. as for conviction. it is very simply a luxury for the people on the sidelines. and sadly. i just wasnt raised to sit on the sidelines.
that being said. i am thankful for being able to get through days without being questioned of my ability to give and having to talk my way in/out of a series of consequences from a chain of the uninformed decisions of yesterdays. as i rise to the occasion that has been consistently painted drawn and written for me no matter how many times i have insensitively ignored or overlooked it. because my eyes were made to set on the bull’s eye of one soul with not two faces but evidently. too many facades.
autumn has come around again. so it seems. climates arent the only things that are taking a full swing back. looking at where i am now and prideful as i am to say the least. im not proud of it. not because i appear to have subconsciously chosen to be nowhere. but because i am somewhere i think i dont really want to be in at the hands of my own conscious choice. by virtue of my principles i wont say things that are twattered with truths that indulge in the self so much that they become untruths. yet by my virtuous principal i cant say more because that would be outright lying. yes thats how thin the lines are for me. but i seek comfort in the knowing that at least theyre no longer blurred. and in the knowledge that humans can be virtuous but it doesnt always entail having virtues. and vice versa.
then there are the times that i could almost tangibly take one foot off from the brakes. only to realise everytime that there was no way to justify doing so because the omnipotent common sense would tell you that you could not let go of the clutch when your car’s in a stationary position. yet any common bystander would remind you that even if the car was in motion. my feet was not going to sit still or quietly on the dashboard. so then it becomes a game of scrabble where point-scoring is as key as key can be to get the car back into ignition.
indeed. it has come to my retarded understanding that there was no way that i could be myself or say something spontaneously without having to provide a disclaimer for. it was as if i had an imaginary guardian angel who would whisper in my ear as and when. “you may choose not to say anything but if and when you do. your words may and will be used against you as is deemed fit in any situation under any circumstances notwithstanding whatever changes whether ongoing or past. duress or contributory factors will never be considered”. hell i even hear it in my sleep sometimes.
people would be affected by the deliverance. hurt by the choice of words. upset with the tone of voice or disappointed with the incapable memory. i could never be (not that i cared to be) the damsel in distress because even if i got to a point of being dangerously and destructively distressed. i am hardly ever damsel enough.
but why should i be so damned and different from fellow sapians who find themselves also stuck in puddles of shit from time to time. where the only real (possibly also imagined) difference beyond a reasonable doubt and by a clear mile. is that i quite really do seem to have the damn rare shoes (not knack) for shit. when it is only so because i painstakingly and very necessarily put myself through something like a diet of the mind. where i manually choose not to indulge in certain appetites. but i wonder if i have in fact reached some level of honesty that is actually beginning to border on stupidity.
so i came here incognito. with a clear lack of courage. i gave up my love of bingo to play russian roulette with my own life.
you love i. because i wont take your shit. and you know we wouldnt have it any other way.
current aural of good will hunting - Leave Out All The Rest by Linkin Park.
so the time has come again. where i rip myself apart and dangle your heart in the palm of my hand. like a word (not world) acclaimed professional yoyo player who has been said to conceptually resemble the blythe doll in terms of tagged price and perfection. this hands-off experience can and will only get easier as the frequency of the visits increases and descends accordingly in this self-destructive pie chart.
yes. i have learnt too many things in the recent years of my life. the lessons were taught well but not by a teacher without flaws. we took turns at the blackboard for i was not any less of a teacher than she was. she majored in subjects of love and laugh while i was a scholar at life and living. the school of thoughts came in bearable quantities with the last exchange of tutorials going not too far but simply beyond reach. these confusing only towards the end chapters took on a mutually desired role of respiration. sadly per se. where lessons and mistakes from everywhere and else overwhelmed in such a way that there was simply no way to clearly differentiate one from the other.
the language expressed in this speech of silence meant many things to me but by the word of mouth i realise. that same language was taken to mean nothing. with some calling my bluff and others playing kanye west incessantly in the backest of ground.
you then realise that you draw lines but some people. they take sides. first yours then anothers. strange in that you never held on to these people to begin with. they swayed then stayed right by you. not quietly but very supportively. the way you did/would them. at this instance you remember the many stories and secrets told to you. and you just want to assure that they remain intrinsically within you for as long as you fail trying to forget. for i have kissed these people and would never in my mind of minds tell on them.
indeed. our backs are watched over by homies and people who has a knack for the surest bonds beyond moving circumstances and the unmovable hands of time. and all our fronts only too well taken care of by ourselves. this is the survival of not the fittest one but two. whole entities.
so they say. an eye for an eye makes the world go blind. what with the countless exchange of my eyes and your fluids. how is it even remotely possible to get to a point of losing one’s sight? i stand my ground that it is just not a matter of physics. but one of losing vision. if it isnt already quite clear. i agree to a large useless extent.
cant stay put for you so i will sit still for me. do what i do best. return the seeds of pronounced ambiguity and allow you to nourish my nature with the growth of your nurture. only because you deserve it. the best and worst of me.
current aural of simon didnt say - Distance by Faktion.
i have stopped holding onto bus tickets. to fold them into effortlessly proportionate arrows and then leaving them behind like footprints wherever i went and left. because i know now as if i havent always known that no matter how many arrows i make. it will never propel me any further ahead in time. and even if by some bewitching enchantment it did accomplish that realistically unsound feat. i wouldnt even know where i truly wanted to be now.
i honestly havent always been this chilling. especially so when i think back of the years and peers. the people that stepped in and out of my life. and the people i stepped on and all over to just have my head keep above water level. never in my two and a quarter decade of time have i found sanity so incomprehensible to the point that it was almost impossible to know much less pre-empt. the kind you could not even blackmail yourself into keeping. and the only way you could and would hold on to it was to kidnap yourself out of this world. where you literally have to take yourself out of everything because anything at all would just be something even if it was nothing. setting the ransom heaven high so no one not including yourself could afford bail or a pay out clause. they say that life is a rollercoaster. but even such a ride had to have its ups. or at least the control buttons to resume pause or stop it at any time. mine had none.
i used to think that people put up walls not to keep others out. but to see who cared enough to break them down. i used to think that people was me. but ive come to realise that the more walls i put up and around me. the lesser space i had to move and live in. at one point of time. i even walled up the sky i looked to and the ground i walked on. conveniently compromising even the most decent of space to breathe in. strangely enough. claustrophobia appeared to be of the least concern in my long lists of. as i drew more than too many lines and made no secret of it. i was sick. yet expected of in some way or another everywhere. and eventually turning up and out nowhere.
i felt like i was pandora’s box. that i would bring nothing short of pain and grief to the people i knew and cared about. whether they felt me or cared enough not to. there really wasnt many ways things could have turned out. because the only equation i have worked out for myself was simply impossible to work out. for those who helped guard those walls of mine. or those who went to great lengths and even greater breaths to get to and through to me. i just kept on adding more bricks to my wall and even more cement to strengthen it. it was just a premeditated deadlock for me by me. how could i not succeed me? yes i remained invincible. but at what costs. call me blind but i still cant seem to quite find the price tag on sanity.
nobody counts days anymore. we just want to make any one day count.
current aural of to the extreme and back - If Today Was Your Last Day by Nickelback.
time. i think its sick of us. playing merry and going round. so much so that even magnificent horses are made to look like toy poodles chasing its own tail. and stuck to wooden sticks like bar top dancers handcuffed to poles. sometimes for the thrill and kink. but many times for the till and kicks.
time. they say heals all wounds. so if time waits for no one. why then does the healing hold people up in a manner befitting that of a royalty in its throne. standing proud but not nearly high enough to provide hindsight. the issue here. i think. is to reconcile the definitive sequence of these two concepts in their own right. you either allow for time to go by so the healing can effectively process. or if that doesnt work. you compel healing without letting the magic of time get to you. this i call. miracle healing. and has a reputation as proving as it is foolproof.
time. it contains truths that sneak up on you. quietly but not nearly silent enough. yet you know one not too fine day. it will slowly but surely all slip away. like how it always does in my world. in more time that hasnt passed. when you least expect it. probably not in time but definitely in the nick of it. and you would look back on this passing as just a memory. distant or not. if and when by then you even still remember.
yes it might just be true. that we only take the mickey out of the people we know we can. but to make a mickey of ourselves. against the very jeans that we have sewn and donned since too long ago. without help. thats almost too rare. thankfully but more sadly. rare depletes. only sooner than expected.
i miss the voice of someone else. like crazy.
current aural of cant and wont - Time by Chantal Kreviazuk.
not being able to find the thermometer. was the worst hand life could have dealt me with in a time like this. a quick recollection reveals that even the paparazzi incidents did not get me nearly half as near to the ground as this did. quite literally. then it was the dog that cried wolf. and almost certainly got close to giving me a much missed fuck session to the already quite fried mind. so it seems. nothing gets me too up or down these days. except when it comes to the very doggy kind of woes.
it honestly hasnt been too hard. living and reaping all of life’s idiosyncrasies with the hands that have been lending me everything i could possibly borrow. because i havent been left to be alone at all. thou on a bad day it feels pathetic. cus these endearing dwellings are of an intangible life so virtual that it most certainly cannot possibly resemble any reflection of a full fledge reality. but on a good day. it all just feels like peaches and cream. without the cream. the way i liked it. that nothing has changed too much. as you rush home for dinner or drinks or just simply. tea sessions. all is good up to the very point of going to sleep. when it hits you. quite simply. and you wonder how long you can go on in this state of denial of those handful of geographically foreign arms. and in a state of insolence to those tangible hands that have probably tried too many times to keep on trying. for you. but do any of these hands really know. why and how you do what you do. above the closest and most caring words. and beneath that snobbish and most unapproachable face. guess it doesnt matter at the end of the day. because this is how you want to be perceived. and you always get what you want. when you fight for it. you know that only too well.
and i have fought too hard indeed. for this independence. a war which began since i can only recount now as ‘a little girl’. to realise that the life i had before here and now. back in a place that was too hot too boring too stagnant and too insufficient. was all i could ever have wanted. the zone of comfort that i left behind did not now reek of soreness at all. but merely just confusion. as i wonder to myself everyday. that who in the right state of mind would put themselves through this. then i realise not too late but too surely. that that person was me. someone who could not ever be satisfied with her life no matter how perfect it may seem to most. someone who could not fit into the world as just any living thing. being what everybody wanted. or wanting what everybody else had. from the naughtiest girl in school to the acclaimed survivor today. guess i have never at any point of my life kept to the social norms. the rules. or even the deadlines. it really wasnt something i strived to achieve or even wanted to be. it just was and always have been that way. that easy. and the best thing was that it always worked out for me. somehow. till now.
in the past. having time alone to myself much too often was a right to choice that i frequently exercised and enjoyed. for solitude was something i never feared. and called it my independence. undertaking in with nothing but pride. all because i had everything at my fingertips. and was not afraid of anything. at present. the calling can only be said to have not changed. but the odds most certainly have. and that could well simply be anything. or everything.
current aural of newfound fear - Second Chance by Shinedown.
how i wont back down but will stubbornly go down head first is still a mystery cake i havent quite gotten past the icing of. much less dis-solving it down to a shared platter for buffeting toothpicks from all woks of flies. maybe soon. as i turn up the stove to its maximum capable strength and decoct the pot as mechanically as my stereotype. for the last time. in which my one hand alone will take cover right where the hottest steam emerges. watching closely as the world’s most popular and worrying metal melts into the skin. sprints through the veins. slices through the bones. and eventually tears up the tissues. keeping my stare impossibly straight. as the full circle it once was slowly but surely deforms and disfigures before it purposefully disintegrates and realistically disappears. eventually. forming bubbles of fresh breaths for the stuffy noses still left hanging in the air from the last experiment gone wrong.
but. this is my lab. be it to create a nobel-prized phenomenon. or father an explosion and lose my eyes and nose and mouth and ears and yes you get the picture. it just shouldnt be anyone else’s move. on my scrabble board. but mine alone to ponder over. and if i choose to play dirty with statistics. disregard the charts. break safety rules. destroy crucial evidence. undercut a competitor. fabricate a research. tamper with the process. smother the investigation. manipulate the media. make presumptuous reports. or predict the results. anything at all. it is my game to play.
oh and just one thing that i forgot to mention. i. was just the resident lab rat.
for the notion of my thoughts words actions or the lack of it being missed and missing is something im reminded too often to let slip my mind but alas. not my tongue. as i find myself singing and sinking into aloofness in the fortitude of my own home. who did where is what to when will why so. some part of her entity would query. somehow. which in some twisted strange way i would hear but not hear. see but not see. feel but not feel. it must have been that solo trip i made. to the pawnshop. where i recklessly exchanged my ears and mouth for a pair of coloured eyes and selfish hands. and as i truck and toil forward on a journey that if bungled up. is no one’s cross to bear but mine alone. regardless of what was transpired is transpiring or will transpire. i leave the guilt trips alone and hopefully soon enough. behind me. for i am not blessed with the choices that others fret/piss over to make. or not make. strutting on wearily with my seemingly complete set of human parts. to make some sense of my impossibly unreligious pilgrimage thus far. that judgment call in less than a fortnight away. making the biggest demands upon me ever. is the only thing that really should count for anything at all. when the smokescreen atomises and the dust finally settles. and if there are any relevant links to draw here. it is that they stand for the very least. albeit alone. for clean unambiguous truths and unbiased tooths.
no appetisers maincourses beverages or snacks. im cutting to the chase. just dessert. and clearing out.
current aural of cosmic laws - The Pieces Dont Fit Anymore by James Morrison.
it has been a little bit of heaven and alot of earth. the rectangles sometimes squares were not too hard to walk on at all. but the lines that define their shapes were almost impossible to toe. they crissed and crossed systematically at best. complementary at worst. to fit the mould of concrete and have every ground covered. well almost. the coins that dropped intentionally or otherwise. were safely netted and always within reach. that wasnt a bad thing but it also meant granting too many takes. and walks. so much so that the mind is led out too frequently on dark and daunting alleys down memory lane. supposedly for some light. or not. i have willfully chosen to allow my hands to bruise with the cold now looking like trampled autumn leaves and clovered bums.
there is a timely clock. that gives hourly doses of minutes that passes much too slowly but wouldnt come to successfully slip away. no matter how many sheeps crossed over to the greener (by popular belief) grass.
then there is that untimely calender. which provides a weekly dosage of days that have been passing by much too quickly. this skidding of time can well be said as happening before my very eyes. far away from my mind. and further away still. from my heart.
the cold. reminds me to appreciate the warmer times. the snow. reminds me that no matter which route i take or how many detours i make. i am still living. my dream (on a good day). a life (on other days). clouds. remind me that no matter how the sun shines. the rain will come. as i try to give back the patience that was given to me. the pride that was taken in me. and the faith that was bestowed for me. in the climates that arent supposed to be as geographical as the seasons that come in repeated cycles. keeping in mind that transitions are inevitable and that i have to let it happen for it to be done with. yet knowing only too well that i will still be too haughty to bear. and obstinately contesting and dreading the process every step of the way. leaving not behind but with. the baggages of indecent emotions. hoping that the day will come. when the weather can be appreciated at its best. and worst. for purely what it only is. at that bare naked moment.
i cant promise that i wont be hesitant or cautious. but im committed to trying. i dont call the shots (well not always). but i will never be shot. the tables i eat at have and will always be round. cus no matter how much they spin and how many times they turn. there will be no edge.
current aural of the last/ing straws - Maybe Someday by The Cure.
they say that when the going gets tough. the tough gets going. and the disclaimer would be. that i never said i was tough. only that i was a fighter. a survivor. who like greek king Midas. lived in supposedly enviable too golden times. of which colours and touch were uncompromisingly convenient at the end of one’s fingertips. two ends of the sanity spectrum. this was a pro-cess that could be terminally profiled as the bermuda triangle that became bizarre. when varied denominations start to diffuse and dis/appear. leaving be. the hind legs of spain. and i.
miss talking without reservations. wearing my heart on my sleeves. with pride. even if it means at the world’s disapproval or disappointment. loving and still being able to feel on top of the world. cant remember when or where. how or why. exactly. from a security guard i became a waiter. and now. a litterbug. many would question maybe even despise my choices of livelihoods. but as a professional survivor. i owed a duty of care not to the many but to just one sole heart and mind. the soul of wellness to the being. my.
hands are small but theyre all i have. and im shedding every colour on them to find a pigment of truth in these uncertain times and unreliable mimes. up against me. faith has never been so fickle. time has never been so loud. routes have never been so uprooting. im giving up the handfull that i was. for every thing that isnt everything. to be in a point of no undivided returns. afterall.
it is but only. love.
current aural of going - How To Save A Life by The Fray.
the overhauling of information has been a most sumptuous driving force. for rape. the Q stripped from topia was the worst or some may argue. the only. cause for that unbelievable display of racket. it now seems. and i realised after too long that i had gotten it all not too wrong. but very wrong. nonetheless. how the lack of explanations was a medium of fuck sessions to the minds. and the extended communications a means to intend and premeditate ways to keep people to one’s self (huh?). how the time out/away needed was not the existence of already problems between two but a campfire in a ship of more than two relations. how a slap was regretfully (mine too) retracted for another’s grace. and by that same grace spreaded palm wide to touch me in that all too familiar spanish laughter now nothing but a sick stench of musical chairs.
the 3 endearing calls that one night before the sun would rise again in the most foreign land. giving the most absurd of reasons to go hand in hand with the most extreme of actions. i drew a line so clear you could almost smell the pain from the taste choking in your throat. that night. i crashed. and single handedly crushed everything that was a hand in need. for a pair of feet indeed. like a tumour that needed to be surgically removed to be gone. that same self medicated surgery was brewed with darted at and then spat on. but no i did not have the audacity to even go remotely close to wishing for a rainbow aftermath much less for people to stay. still. two steps behind. the way it made not passerbys but “friends?” point their piercing tongues and say “that brat doesnt deserve it” (edited for suitability to the young). with a true blue Jane Doe who like Ursula have revealed a whole new world to this little mermaid. those pair of feet have indeed cost her nothing. but her voice.
no please. dont even try being that voice for her. unless you wanna be enraved into solitude asylum or political suicide.
the people that moved on/away/out. myself included. made choices and ultimately decisions based on the content of the truest (and some hardest) individual emotions. something that alliance and convenient verbal diarrhoea can never comprehend. which you people have completely and concernly distorted and reduced it to a pathetic drama web only to now say how tired you are not for spinning the web but for getting caught in it.
you were hungry. for enlightenment. on why there were so little hands left reaching into your cookie jar and touching your spanish heartstrings. you took one harmless (no matter what was thought/felt/said. nothing was actually DONE. so its harmless what) bite at the most convenient hand. a hand that was also in the equation of perfect weekends and trusty red walls that you remember.
so they said they left. by virtually replacing the face with a foot in the common book. cus they said. they were tired of everything. i wonder who gave them shit too. like the ones actually (made) involved got.
current aural of contrafiction - You And Your Hand by Pink.
i met ivy yesterdays. it was the longest and hardest time we have ever had to spend together. the minutes spilt into hours and the hours into days. like built up jenga. the highest blocks crash the hardest and hurt the most. and for the first time in what felt like ironically. all of my conscious living. she wasnt quiet like she always was. that unsilence naturally unjustified any amount of the preposterous credit she was beforehand bestowed. her words were nothing that i havent already heard. but they were like a nine. extending every zero i have tried to thought.
so i heard. the gods cant help those who wont help themselves. its worrying people around you arrest your self-confidence so easily. maybe try eating less? oh no wait. but then you wont have the energy to start fires anymore! hmm this is a tricky one. if i eat more. will you promise no one else gets defamed or maimed? but for you going all out of your way to show concern for me. i promise to eat more k?!
it was a strange couple of days. felt like my feet tripped over themselves and gave rise to a long awaited showcase of true colours. the mind recollects how perfect weekends and trips use to be. and how they slowly but surely derogate into bitching quickies and compromising situations arising one after another. fire-started only when the proposed accused/victim is not present (but of cus). and not too coincidentally. they all date back since the debut appearance of a certain someone. im sure everyone remembers. a charmer not one bit monstrous much less dangerous. The Most harmless person you can ever meet in life. and how just so attentive she is to your every need and want. praising one second about the way you smell or sing or smile or walk or dress or sound. and the very next how your features so sharp and photogenic she cant stop snapping and staring. and like snakes. we all grew accustomed to her blowing feet and fire-exit compliments. how the heat in a communal play-ground/pool/bar/house/hawker is turned up each time by her own bowel mouthments sadly even she herself cannot be proud of. justified by the sheer shrieking of/f not everything. but just simply anything and everything at all which compromises her in any way. but having done something not so right maybe even i dont know. shameful to look back at now? she doesnt shut up. even though she knows its TRUE what is said. and go so far as to make her toes scream just to hopefully probably induce a “may the biggest and loudest win”. you amaze me. are you amazed with me too? that the people you always whine to saying they are different when i am around. whom now you turn on and accuse for whoring. these people have been around since time immemorial (mine) are still on my side? oh wait thats right. im sleeping with all of them LAH! no wonder they hold hands and stand with me now. still.
this genius has one other charm. which was that she could effectively shower misery and pain without curtains. out in the open. naturally getting everyone talking and tendering. sometimes stooping even lower just to ensure no attention seeps away to another person. even if that someone was the most recent partner. so then everyone completely overlooks with much help. myself included. how it is never only one person who hurts in a relationship. i was subsequently made to look that other way which i not only did. but stayed. only to be ultimately compromised. in a way so grey i might have been made to carry someone else’s black pot.
well at least verbosity was true. enough. if and only if we allow slip our minds that once again. someone’s image and reputation is verbosely being undermined and tarnished. likely even as we speak. and maybe so when i think back of her some years later still crooning this very story like an overnight tale being spinned to stardom.
but it still didnt matter too much. like how the truth doesnt always matter. but that audacity. that amazing fucking conscience to cry wolf (in a language she didnt even know nor had the slightest intelligence for). as if she was maligned misunderstood wronged and raped. was just i dont know. SICK? the people who knew and still knows have chosen to be safe in their clothes watching me not only being hung out. but beaten dry. for the mistake of having consoled a friend who from a shattered innocent girl trying to live on became a bitter ex girlfriend who not couldnt but didnt want to move on. at all. why? how do you feel now looking at another being stoned and torched for your inability to keep your mouth shut? i really wonder. all these digging and pursuing something that doesnt belong to you. any idea how many honest and trying people (not that one crying bloody murder please) are gonna get hurt? and this time round i dont question how i havent been deserving enough. i learn now. never to talk to strangers.
on a stranger note. despite clearly already being at a comparatively disadvantaged hearing radius for my not any less trying issues. she still chose not to confront. to awaken some confused roots of her spite and speak up for clarification. but instead chose to induce and indulge on a fellow friend’s wave of highs and lows by gathering sure-supporters. to book that face she requires to cry wolf. yet again. what is most demeaning is that of all the people possible to judge and call names. it had to come from someone who coverts+s+s wives (to say the very very least). and then you cant help but wonder how and why her anger should contain anything even remotely related to the uncivilised (a first) language of a triple-timing immoral child whore (no she wasnt a partner. not even a friend to the partner. not even a HI-BYE friend to any of the other two she so so suddenly feels so much for now). very wierd yes. unless of cus. she knows what we all know too. that THERE is where all the emotions would stir (and wasnt she right). what else left to do to be in the center of attention. where else better to hit than where it hurts. and when else better to do it than now.
i am indeed. too young for her 28 years.
pssst. did they happen to also tell you the father of all screw-ups?
current aural of a woman’s scorn - Till There Was You!!!!! by Gabriel and Dresden.
of late. the jamming of doors to clear out an open highway bummed her. hard. it felt like a force. invisible in that she couldnt see it nor felt it coming. like a heavy sigh that lends a breath of fresh heir to immobility. with the corners of the elevator rounded in passed concrete lined with sandpaper at the bottom. to smoother and smother the landing of highs and lows. the buttons naturally reach out for a hand with adequately-sensored numerically forward and back fingers. tipping off the velvet more pricelessly than moonwalking the foxtrot. mailing sanity in black envelopes through a characteristic hostage situation. the alarm bell softly spots a hinge of creaking fear and cracking confidence. which she would like to think is realism envisioned in an extreme and unruly head of a pig. the only way she knows to be truly functional. albeit from scratch. in minute progressions. piece by piece. as the lubricating dependence immediately if not instantly wears off.
she moves in a way that they all cant keep up. too quick to upset. too slow to disappoint. no one knows if she’s up or down. in or out. still here or there. she takes herself out of her world to place it that high up. spins that beautiful bubble she wouldnt stop complaining about so it never stops short of that best. picture perfect. it will always remain.
the left. to be cruel and heartless. the right. to be tolerating and patient. at the mercy of doctor inadequacy. at the most consequential of time. in the weakest of being. she tries. and fails.
she can take the possibilities but not the things that could possibly take a turn. away. and she wont.
she signs out. shuts away. takes off.
current aural of a helium balloon - Hands by Jewel.
did a random call check and realise that of the nearly 300 numbers stored in my mobile memory. that are but only 3 i would call everyday (almost). and 5 who’s calls i would faith-fully return. it doesnt say anything. but it means something. i think.
im sure there are some i’d like to talk to. or others whom i’d simply ask how their day was. but punching in those numbers just wasnt on the active protocol. after assessing the risk of attachments gamble of managements and exposure of fears. the too uncertain ends just couldnt in any way justify the means.
to say whatever tomorrow brings. i’ll be there. to say im with you. all of the way. to say im not going anywhere. im here to stay. it means alot. i mean to say it. but cant seem to say much. this inadequacy has resulted in a million casual teas. and having chosen coffee over. it does not necessarily sign off as my adequacy. they say it is all about taking the first step to get to where you want to. yet any one wrong subsequent step lends the possibility of too many diffferent paths. and compromises a totally up and planned route. theres room for compromises. and all things that hasnt walked itself to happen. but none for promises. or mistakes. for the latter will drown you in helpless abyss. and the former. in helpful bottomless.
her tears. i cant bear it. my fears. i will handle it.
im taking a few risks. managing some gambles. and allowing exposure to only one fear. bracing myself to get ready. get set. dont go.
current aural of a gem - Breathe by Anna Nalick.
this year. too many senses have been taken away from me. snatched from right under my nose. the whiff of the thefts. attempted or aggravated. are still left gnawing away without justice. without a remedy. the extent of intricate connections beautiful and under a most unworthy circumstance. have taken the last of my breaths away.
minted on the spilling handful of shocks manifested in the form of surprises. were my sweet surrenders. each time over the course of 3weeks. i was overwhelmed by existing waves of people. the silent efforts that effected as long as 2months ago. from the east of continents to downtown east coast. the too many well wishes. the favourite foods and foots. the egging overdose. the tripling cakes. the waterfall. my eventual downfall. that ring i dont deserve. the ring i now wear. i have indeed been given at many wills. simply. you deserve it. most undeservingly.
being crowned in tiara. chained in gold. booked in Mac. mirrored in silver. star-rocked in tees. shuttered in lomo. heeled at 4inches. unstabled in A.Bicycle. limited in love and pink. stripped naked at lunch. caked in mermaid. laced by the neck. reddened with gucci. vapoured oh so burberryly. misguided in resident london.
i’ll be leaving behind alot more than i thought.
current aural of when i close my eyes - Bleeding Love by Leona Lewis.
in a society where everyone wants to be special. its funny how someone is screaming to want to be normal. unless of cus. the contrary of normal here isnt special. but abnormality.
it is often almost too much for her to undertake even basic daily tasks. to shower. to dress. to clean up the house. to wash her clothes. to feed herself. and El. she runs out of all but the most essential foods and doesnt do anything about it until there is nothing left for the dog to eat. you might know Elley. she got her as a puppy. who should be about a year old in 4days. her friends loved Elley almost as much as they love her. you’d love her too. i can imagine she was a wonderful friend. albeit with a mood that couldnt quite get off a swing no matter how sick it made her sometimes. you might remember her father. someone you probably called Uncle. a loud and boisterous man with humour the size of his ego. it was just before he boarded one of those plane things. he was at the airport and i was. of cus. in my little crib. getting the last little bits of my last meal from the bottom of a pot. in between the laundry and vegetative surfings. i could tell by his voice that he was annoyed. with something maybe someone. he’d always tell her but this time he kept mum. something she wished he would always do. i quite agree with her on this. she just didnt need to be put in emotionally and mindlessly compromising situations every then and now. the conversation steered in the direction she needed. not wanted. she feels a sense of relief. amongst the pangs of inconsistent breaths.
that letter piece you mailed her in e that day. with forms of text and doodles. insisting she assessed it only when you have left tuesday for monday. she nearly said it. i couldnt believe it. not because she just wasnt capable of it. but that she could almost consciously act on it. she imagines calling and giving more than she actually does. it must have been the laughter. the carefree laughter. the chain phone calls. the in-jokes. the instant music. the sunlight you carried with you. the way she felt when you spoke to her friends. the earnesty of your three-words. the tiny underwears. the private dancing. the good-graced acceptance of shifting part-time work. the apparent absence of expectations. the indiscreet coaches and that other transportation. the uncompromising estimation of distance. the constant venues. the ever-changing menus. the big time roles. the little boy blues. the feminine. the feminist. and the way you surprise with the air of one making a salad.
you would love the way she sees you.
she uses you as a weapon against herself not because you do. she thinks of you when the woman lying next to her thinks she’s asleep. do you remember you thought her beautiful? you never told her. she has to assume it. she was beautiful and is now. some years later. even more so. not always thou. first thing in the morning or after she abuses ivy and then herself. of late it has been no more of a problem with her then it is with herself. which is to say. of late the substance itself is no cause for alarm. but there is a secret need to have her inhibitors inhibited. in her case. this is merely the tip of an older and more fundamental iceberg.
and she loves the way you see her. through.
current aural of walking the men - In The Dark by Tiesto.
the nose went about its daily breaths. with the aesthetic faculties doused with flavours of bitter and sometimes salty zests. powdered almost to perfection. the lips had begun shedding from some time ago. but nobody really noticed it till the fingers began itching for a peel. and the eyes shared glimpses of a ninth reality. in an impossibly natural course of mind meets matter.
everything that a man creates begins in a thought. the one thing that nature has endowed us with absolute control over. so how comforting can it be to know then. that our minds have just as much potential to be medication as it has to be poison? none. for an unruly mind is indeed. a liability to both its owner and others.
base on these thoughts. we fly into a rage at the spur of a moment over some things and later wonder what it was that we were so angry about. and be surprised to realise what a waste of time and energy it had all been. we have deliberately continued being unhappy when we could have stopped being so. like race track greyhounds running after a rabbit decoy. the dilemma that we face in an ever changing world is whether to live with or break with the past.
things happen for a reason. or so ive been thought to fine-tune. these reasons. that lurk behind cautious walls and mindful executions. significant only with the prerogative of time. reaches out like a hand in dire need of another. crying out for the other to participate with utmost game-manship in making buller sense of things. and eventually. most definitely. lure the minds out to play.
but if left alone and without help. these reasonings would not be able in any way whatsoever to continue cycling viciously to that rhythm of deep empty talk. at the whims and fancies of their beheads.
current aural of yonder side - Stop And Stare by One Republic.
dear Ear. you have lost alot of weight. is everything okay? you have become so light now i can hardly feel your pressure. i remembered the countless failed wars you fought against Mind to be in the frontline of all circumstances put to you. but yet now with all these unexpected victories. you cant seem to hold out on your own. and all i see are the celebrations in pain time after time. that invincible force you once yielded against all odds. where has it gone? you have caused enough messes. please do allow Mind to take over till youre ready. and meanwhile. have a speedy recovery. and send my best regards to your twin.
after a dramatic revelation of overhauled information tonight. i suddenly felt the shivers of not loneliness. but aloneness. its a strange feeling i cant quite put a finger to. and this is possibly the only emotion in a long time that ive felt for myself which isnt induced or played up/down by anyone else.
in a nutshell. ive been trusting. concerned. and loved. all my issues summarised into 3 words too big for even me to comprehend. it now seems. i just havent been deserving enough.
checked up the dictionary and found meanings that constitutes the silence one is capable of. the difference between being speechless. and having absolutely nothing to say. the latter is somewhat selfish and overbearing. expecting nothing more than to be left room to assume and relish in self-induced thoughts. yet the former reeks of a gross lack of understanding and much refrainment. a lesser and more civil evil as i’d like to think. and practice. in a ‘your benefit of my doubt’ sort of way.
i truly am amazed with the amount of talk that is non-existent at best. and at worst. thwarted with bit-ters of self-indulgent truths. the better in me that i have always craved to embrace and have embraced till today. with goodwill and intentions have sadly been manipulated and wielded high and far as a sign of my idiocy and gullibility. low and near in the audacious proximity of my comfort zones. i aint dumb. or blind. so what the hell is wrong with me.
a friend said it was cus i never bothered explaining or refuting. but they are ALL unheard doubts. and for the very fact that they are not asked would definitely seem to me (at least) most unecessary to clarify. what have been assumed conveniently and with ease in the propheting way of seeing/hearing is believing dont read truths. why issit always my cross to bear? this friend then goes on. youre involved in all the shits. (yay)
i really ought start feeling/doing/saying things for myself. which really is just a nicer way of saying. get a life shirley.
current aural of confusion - All At Once by Jack Johnson.
on a day that most would reckon the last day of the week. you call it the first day of yours. for the thoughts and emotions of this day would usually carry itself over to complete the week. from the time when this day upheaved a whole new significance. compromising situations have been unfolding itself one after another in a never ending blanket around you like never before. so close to comfort. this blanket warms you yet at the same time stifles you. one would assume with such proximity things would very much be within your control and executed accordingly but no. we forget that this blanket of situations has a life on its own. for it consists not of one homogeneous lifeline. but of many different heartbeats which pump a different expectation individually. despite doing more bad then good at most times. you give due to the latter and bear the cross for the former. for these heartbeats are of people whom you and you alone allowed for distances to be breached. or guards to be let down. or time to pass. or different ships to sail. whether spoken or muted. you could never not bother or stop caring in some way or another. for reasons nobody would or could try to understand. hence you keep these thoughts of reason indoors. cus once they are let out. usually only when affected and/or necessary (by your standards). they appear wild and homeless. with no proper upbringing or good intentions flowing from it. it is just always the case. that one apple of everybody’s eye. a rotten one. without a core.
truth is but just a whisper away. yet choice comes before it. youve been brought up to know honesty like the back of your scarred hand. and you will continue to learn it. in the hardest most impossible way. the only way you know. silent truths in the face of a cruel lie. yes nobody looks too far beyond. but you cant shed the clothes that have become your skin anyway.
you hear what everybody says. and you know it isnt true. youre not here for trouble. all pleasures are the same for you. it keeps you from trouble. and hides that prideful pain. i know you get cold. cus you just cant leave things well alone. but you have to remember that you are different. your accident proneness is beyond normal. cus trouble never fails to find you. of which you have scars to prove for. you have indeed come a long way. dont give up. not yet. not like this. Life just has such a way with you now. something it never quite did. do get back on your feet soon.
oh how i detest self pity.
current aural of down against the wall - Smoke by Natalie Imbruglia.
i never liked doors. and the redundancy of having to open or close them. it is but just a delicate motion of taking a step forward. so whats with that big thing not only standing in your way but expecting shamelessly to be turned and poked at in the natural course of walking a more-superior-in-all-ways human being? thats not only begging a muderer to kill me. but providing the exact weapons necessary to execute the killing of me. which people ever so pathetically embrace without a flinch each time they come to a point in life where they are faced with these doors. these decisions to make.
for something so dead and mortified. these wooden portals sure live their life after death a little too obnoxiously alive. their damned existence never fails to prod me in my stubborn face. these things we hardly even noticed nor cared to dedicate a single fraction of our time to when they were living. so why should their worth be hailed and overstated now when they are so lifeless and dead?
these have-beens. too compromising and uncertain. yet we allow them to overbearingly distant two comfort zones. for the reason that it separates complicated grounds by uncomplicating already familiar grounds. so why then do we still have these difficult and perplexing minds and emotions? and how issit possible that these familiar as hell grounds can still consist of never before explored boundaries?
i dont know. dont want to know. all i need to know is that my doors have always been left unopened. and unclosed. to shut or keep no one. whether it be for walking to or away from me. i’d always be so quiet. so good. all for fears even i cant fully comprehend. but if i am made to choose. forced to open or close my doors. confronted to let in or keep out. choked to be all or nothing. albeit most unwillingly. albeit most unreadily. i will.
to shut down and away. completely.
current aural of obstinate defiance - Tears And Rain by James Blunt.
words. ive always placed too much emphasis on them. that very noted imbalance trips me. and unknowingly brings me to my knees. yet that immediate instance of unmechanical existence. in the visual raydar of muchly distanced laymen. would appear as still as the lifeline of a dead man. it was as if the knees unkneed themselves. threw their weight around. and wouldnt give in till they saw the bleeds of unnerving effort made to knock them straight up. leaving all there was and is for those tiny feet to burden. this pair. although never hand in hand. they never walk left. ever. undisputedly the most dishonest parts of me. but they carry with them the qualities that every bits of me unanimously hold so dear to their entity in its entirety. courage strength and determination. and on top of everything else. sheer selfish independence.
current aural of cruel intentions - Runaway Train by Soul Asylum.
I named you. cleaned you. vet-ed you. fed you. taught you. water-ed you. called you. teeth-ed you. rubbed you. cared for you. walked you. spanked you. towel-ed you. loved you. touched you. slept with you. drove you. saved you. ran after you. protected you. read about you. learned with you. toy-ed you. bathed you. medicated you. dried you. combed you. vaccinated you. screamed you. punished you. forgave you. cried with you. carried you. whispered you. spoke to you. treated you. starved you. played with you. thought of you. hugged you. kissed you. wanted you. came home for you.
my baby. youre a pedigree from australia. had a brother and sister. and a little white tip at the end of your tail. if you ever wonder why you were named El-ley. its because mommy insisted on getting a male and naughty girl you were in your brother’s cage. mommy remained indignant and met your brother. the klutzes at the shop put your brother with you in a play pen. and as if you wanted to tell me that you would be stronger and better in every way. you pinned him up hands down. and i bought it. that show you mimed to me. i bought it. in the literal sense. i wish now.
and darling. El refers to he or him in spanish. the language your mommy loves. and you’ll always be a part of mommy like how ley will always be a part of shirley.
i know you wonder who took you away. im sorry i dont know that stranger too. if that person ever tells you that your mommy misses you. thats one thing you must believe. mommy will be strong for and with you.
and i will never ever forget why you went away.
p/s. te quiero el, siempre.
people search for directions everyday of their lives. for a crest or placard to lead the way. for a motion or wave to guide in the taken route. for an omen or premonition to give due for a deter or detour. in those many life’s crossroads. to graduate with an inked rubber stamp of living. of being. of loving.
but what happens when there are just too many signs. too many directions. all for a path thats everything but going your way. and every step you take forward or back. is either many efforts away. or as many efforts out of the way. automatism has presided over voluntary action/inaction. and taken over as a way of life. an entire framework of mind alien even to its own. like signboards and notices. you find willing arms and ears embracing you along the way. unnecessary. yet very much indispensable. they stand alone from where they are. but through and for you seek allegience in their loneliness. giving birth to harnesses capable of withholding sanity. and more.
naturally. but not too surprisingly. every wrong doesnt seem too wrong. and every right feels more right. under that facade of value-added strength and independence. it is and always will be all good. but when that facade tires. and fades. everything that you think works for you. suddenly doesnt.
im chilling. getting too cold for even me to comprehend. i put my sweater back on and realise its inside out. but it doesnt matter cus at the end of the day. it still keeps me warm. i cant recall which one of those many times that i stopped moving in sync. stagnated with much help. and retreat became the way. my way. once again. but making heads meet where the ends sit. has finally taken its toll.
i chased 2 things away today. one belonged to me. the other didnt. i wasnt the type to have happy endings in a karma sort of way. guess i dont deserve it. or maybe i just didnt allow it. mind over matter has always been the way for me.
and a lifetime of it sounds just fine.
current aural of bricking - My Interpretation by Mika.
its funny how we credit moments and insert them like coins into our heads. yet the memory jukebox. at material times. chooses to play at its own discretion what it deems unfit for the purpose in question. this would more positively be known as mind over matter. or that which nagatives sanity. but having put that in the context of a subject matter where the existence of self is almost as shamelessly shared as nature and us. the tension between the conversing mind and matter at stake is impossibly magnified. amongst all of which comparisons can be disputed. and refuted. the life of one very insignificant plant comes to mind. unchallenged. and like how we compartmentalise people into these pixelated one-dimensional seizures often drawn from the most prejudiced of ways. there is most certainly only one known characteristic about this plant.
muchly signified. overtly remembered. cardinally reminded. more often than not in an over the top sense. but it is true is it not. that what draws it back from the slightest possible invasion. is its natural instinct to protect itself. and as much as its fundamental necessity lies in sustaining its own life with the light that reaches it in all the right places. the very tactless defensive tactic arising most naturally remains its key source of survival. of comfort. and ancient as this may sound. what its been through and what its done to it has everything to do with what it is today. or the very least. what it appears to be.
silent as it is to the naked ear. the heartbeat lingers on. and there is no disguise which can hide where it exists. or stimulate where it does not. you just have to listen. harder. and feel.
for what its worth. the supreme happiness in life remains. in the conviction that we are loved. in spite of ourselves.
current aural of cant not - Head Over Feet by Alanis Morissette.
