| it's always ourselves we find in the sea |
[November 07, 2009] |
wuthering heights stormy nights recently it feels like ten thousand nights of thunder thrown all back to me in all its darkness, dampness and noise. i would like to see ten thousand nights of thunder in the way that is cinematic; like through a window or on a bench under a void deck, where there is a distance and where there is a toggle to the slideshow so i can actually appreciate its might and wonder. i would like to imagine putting a finger to the sky and see a bolt be cast as if i were zeus himself and assume solitude to be empowering.
but these dark, damp and noisy ten thousand nights of thunder are uncontrollable, incessant and blinding. i feel like i am caught in an electrical storm under a black cherry tree, shivering as the tree quivers and shakes, watching each black bead drop like bombshells and wither like tears. under this tree i am alone, and it does not feel good. i would like many things like a jacket and a wide cup of hot chocolate with mini marshmallows in it, but then at once i picture dirt and ash falling into the cup and immediately i am disgusted from the thought.
i feel my tenses being all twined up into a knot, and then pulled to breaking point. now i am a broken sentence, bad english and poor vocabulary. i am a convoluted creation of adjectives and adverbs and i are on the running like an mountain goats. i hope by the end of the month i can find myself atop a grey hill peaked with leafy green short grass, cast upon a deep blue sky and shapey clouds and that for once in ten thousand nights it will feel like day, and that i may once again feel naïve.
|
|
| LOVE IS A COSMIC POLICY |
[April 03, 2009] |
| [ |
music |
| |
don't haunt this heart don't haunt this place |
] |
burning down the highway skyline on the back of a hurricane, the windows are down and with it all our hopes and fears. i recall: wearing a grin leaking a cheeky, youthful vigour, wind slashing against the skin, eyes shut like stars in the day but the ears ever-porous, carelessly allowing in the songs of summer days and yesteryears. i recall the chuck palahniuk i read earlier:
Each holiday tradition acts as an exercise in cognitive development, a greater challenge for the child. Despite the fact most parents don't recognize this function, they still practice the exercise.
Rant also saw how resolving the illusions was crucial to how the child uses any new skills.
A child who is never coached with Santa Claus may never develop an ability to imagine. To him, nothing exists except the literal and tangible.
A child who is disillusioned abruptly, by his peers or siblings, being ridiculed for his faith and imagination, may choose never to believe in anything - tangible or intangible - again. To never trust or wonder.
But a child who relinquishes the illusions of Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy, that child may come away with the most important skill set. That child may recognize the strength of his own imagination and faith. He will embrace the ability to create his own reality. That child believes his own authority. He determines the nature of his world. His own vision. And by doing so, by the powers of his example, he determines the reality of two other types: those who can't imagine and those who can't trust.
i try to recall younger days and realise i am still in it - it has not run out, not yet fossilised and archived. as long as i walk the world remains flat at my mercy. as long as i breathe the flowers have reason to bloom. as long as i keep hoping, dreams will effervesce. so long as i will the moons and stars up in the sky, the galaxy will remain dark as contrast. within this darkness will lie the the great secrets of the universe, the greatest adventures, deepest of tremors and the most tired of hearts.
|
|
| HEY, SNOW WHITE |
[March 07, 2009] |
|
what i'd give for five minutes is more than can be said in an hour, or thought in a day; it is certainly more than can be created in a week or even prayed for in a month. it is for the same five minutes that rainbows seem to last for, that dreams take to tease and turn, that a kid takes to realise that his hand no longer ringed around his dad's finger, and that the desperation creeping up his eyes could last forever. yet these five minutes are not exclusive but are shared with the unnecessary attendance of emotions, sentiments and sheer unadulterated exhilaration that make the time spent not just the seconds minutes but also a ticking sensation that burns with too much delight and too much fear. right in the middle of all that thrill there is the blushing of the cheeks and fluster about the face, and the painful, arresting thought about what i'd give for five more minutes.
|
|
| THE UNIVERSE WILL HELP YOU NOW |
[March 05, 2009] |
17 Though the fig tree may not blossom,
Nor fruit be on the vines;
Though the labor of the olive may fail,
And the fields yield no food;
Though the flock may be cut off from the fold,
And there be no herd in the stalls—
18 Yet I will rejoice in the LORD,
I will joy in the God of my salvation.
19 The LORD God is my strength;
He will make my feet like deer’s feet,
And He will make me walk on my high hills.
|
|
| wondrous place |
[January 15, 2009] |
you are the font of youth. energy, colour, fuss and fuzz are all you, are all you because you are a vibe, and i know you are so because your presence gives you away. you are the font of youth, and no matter where and when you will be defined by your poise and pomp and that is your curse, i guess. your style is uneasy and unlikely and that makes you distinguishable, so deal with it - that is the mantle of the font of youth. the onus is on you to both amaze and disappoint, so go sparkle, right now.
|
|
| gotta catch 'em all |
[January 09, 2009] |
We went up and watched the bears, on that little hill, for a while, but there wasn't much to watch. Only one of the bears was out, the polar bear. The other one, the brown one, was in his goddam cave and wouldn't come out. All you could see was his rear end. There was a little kid standing next to me, with a cowboy hat on practically over his ears, and he kept telling his father, "Make him come out, Daddy. Make him come out." I looked at old Phoebe, but she wouldn't laugh. You know kids when they're sore at you. They won't laugh at anything.
i'm having trouble finding the word to describe it. i hope to God that i didn't enjoy the catcher in the rye and i really wish it wasn't so damn unattractive. but what i liked about it so much was that even though his world was all so musty and moody and downright dull there was not at all a hint of predictability in where the story was heading, and maybe j.d. salinger didn't even see that one coming (you can plan a pretty picnic but you can't predict the weather). holden planned and planned with vindication and years but how the plans would unfold its own plans was just beyond him and therefore us. but that makes him the hero because he makes us depressed and his spontaneity is at once exciting and disappointing and at the end of the day there is little to love but whatever's left that doesn't fail you, and you pray for your dear life that it never ever will. urrrrrrrrrr
|
|
| Friendly Fire |
[January 03, 2009] |
We'll take ourselves out in the street
And wear the blood in our cheeks
Like red roses
We'll go from car to sleeping car
And whisper in their sleeping ears
We were here, we were here
We'll set off the geese of Beverly Road
Hey, love, we'll get away with it
We'll run like we're awesome, totally genius
Hey, love, we'll get away with it
We'll run like we're awesome
We won't be disappointed
We'll fight like girls for our place at the table
Our room on the floor
We'll set off the geese of Beverly Road
Hey, love, we'll get away with it
We'll run like we're awesome, totally genius
Hey, love, we'll get away with it
We'll run like we're awesome
We're the heirs to the glimmering world
We're drunk and sparking, our legs are open
Our hands are covered in cake
But I swear we didn't have any
I swear we didn't have any
Hey, love, we'll get away with it
We'll run like we're awesome, totally genius
Hey, love, we'll get away with it
We'll run like we're awesome
We're the heirs to the glimmering world
Oh, come, come be my waitress and serve me tonight
Serve me the sky tonight
Oh, come, come be my waitress and serve me tonight
serve me the sky with a big slice of lemon
We're the heirs to the glimmering world
Oh, come, come be my waitress and serve me tonight
Serve me the sky tonight
Oh, come, come be my waitress and serve me tonight
serve me the sky with a big slice of lemon
|
|
| EXISTENTIALISM ON. |
[December 07, 2008] |
prom reeked of fabulous happiness, cheer and smiles that were at once past, present and future, so that was that. friends will be friends - some will be great and some would've been so - but friends will be friends will be friends will be friends and i'm glad to have some of the best of them in my life.
( such stuff )
|
|
| "I WISH I WOULD HAVE LOVED LESS" |
[December 02, 2008] |
yeah I got busted
so I used my one phone call to dedicate
a song to you on the radio
yeah I got busted
in custody I imagined our melody
being played on a grand piano
I saw your face in front of me
it was perfect clarity
I saw a light in the end of the tunnel
and it was you
'cause you are the light by which I travel into this and that
you are the light
you are the light by which I travel into this and that
|
|
| "for those who protest against nuclear war...I am with you!" |
[November 07, 2008] |
|
This morning I dreamt that I was sitting down with my dad, having a cup of coffee in a corner of a departmental store in Malaysia. Presumably I had been in the midst of collecting donations, so after our cuppas I rather unremarkably approached three unanimously plain-clothed men with my can, earnest but unconcerned. When they heartily withdrew a generous sum (in the region of what I can only recall as $72) I smiled with great delight; my father beamed.
|
|
| FOOTBALL - |
[October 17, 2008] |
could anything be more charming?
walking in between dusk and night i felt infinitely alive. i plead: if every sunset felt this wonderful, let there be an end to each and every day. on the street court we were at once kids and kings, and with much sovereignty we played for the soil, the sand and the trees, and didn't stop until they whispered the sun into the clouds, and the night into our hands. we were sundown kids, and this one doesn't want to go home.
|
|
| navigation |
| [ |
viewing |
| |
most recent entries |
] |
| [ |
go |
| |
earlier |
] |
|
|
|
|
