snapshots -  courtesy of the pond and the theatre practice

21 April [origami]

Tabula Rasa

i'll teach you to love me:

crease

(you with each kiss)

fold

(you in my arms)

repeat.

tenderly, tediously, fastidiously

delicately, deliberately, dexterously

a plane; a crane; a box with a lid

a flower; lawn-mower; a boy and his violin

the strength of my soul in my fingers

so even when you must unfold

the lines from my love linger

25 Mar [best.]

to quote a friend: "best is a big word" - and so big it is indeed i feel apprehensive about associations with it. yet, regardless of the veracity of the claim or the credibility of the title, an award is an award is an award.

for which i am thankful.

if i had made a speech, this would have been it:

i would like to thank the theatre practice and the production team for taking that leap of faith in casting me, but more importantly for their constant and tireless endeavor in helping me fulfill the vision they had for the character. the directors: jianhong and alvin (who are now cherished friends) for showing a genuine interest in my personal development, rather than only that which was instrumental to the production. the outstanding cast whose energy was electric onstage, especially george, who was inspiring, patient and generous - a model of an actor, and person. and my mother, to whom i owe (apart from too much else) the ability to communicate in mandarin.

10 Feb [fourth wall]

while reading an article on mei lanfang (acclaimed bejing opera actor), i came across this:

"Stanislavsky believed in the 'fourth wall', Brecht wanted to demolish it, while Mei Lanfang felt that such a wall did not exist and so there was no need to pull it down."

and i thought a little about the production i'm rehearsing for, the references to the "wall" and how satirical admissions of its presence is employed for comic effect, the symbolic conventions in chinese opera...

...and then i thought the "wall" as an analogy in general. built for protection, defence yet also to divide and incarcerate.

somewhere in those misty thoughts, i must have contemplated my own metaphorical walls. those around my heart. my pride. my beliefs. how i've had my defences built up, and torn down, and built up again...

i think i'll keep my walls up. but i'm putting a door in it.

and a window.

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uncannily, i was also just discussing with a friend, what to do with the bare wall in my newly refurbished room. perhaps, customised wall decals?

28 Jan [exorcism]

quiet now, you old spirits

your names shall no more be

hurt, indignation, jealousy

leave now, stubborn tenants

you have outstayed your welcome

you shall cease to call me Home

06 Jan [2Oosh8]

we kicked off our first saturday of the year with a spontaneous oosh all-stars jam with tribal tide (casey, and mohd noor), mario, and myself. dj yusri joined us for some scratchin' action on the decks, and we also had guest drummer rizal grippin' the groove. 'twas a night of mad music and drunken debauchery.

so dj yusri asked - how? are we having you back after your musical in april?

well, if this is a sign of things ahead for the year, i'm putting my name down in blood. watch out y'all. this joint is where it's all at!

05 Nov [assessment]

i may never be legendary

but greatness is not out of my reach

i can't all the world's burdens carry

but i can love it without needing to preach

not impenetrable, but resistant

not invulnerable, but resilient

not immortal, but i shall be remembered -

if not by many, then by the few to whom

i was friend or fair adversary

or did one or two of life's lessons teach

20 Oct [softly]

the rain falls like static to my ears

pre-morning:

already, wet tires on wet asphalt

crescendo and diminish

panning my ears in a breath

i wanted to write about you

but my cpu hums and the air-con

drones, still

the traffic murmurs

and the closest sound to quiet,

is my inside smile

whilst

the rain falls like static to my ears

10 Oct [the unproductivity of happiness]

i think that happiness must be a consumption good. a perishable. 

payment may be made in a variety of ways, or it could be given as a gift, picked by the wayside and perhaps even be stolen.

were i able to, i would grow my own. just enough for subsistence.

but for now, all labour else halts - its delicate fresh flavours demand to be savoured without delay or distraction.

yet always you know even as you taste that tender, succulent happiness, that your teeth will eventually strike a dry hard seed and all that will remain is a slippery memory of your tongue's delight.

17 Sep [subliminal, subconconscious, substance, subverted]

two consecutive nights of unsettling dreams.

teeth falling, re-growing haphazardly.

re-run of my greatest public success, yet understudied by the one who has already taken my place, and responsible for my greatest private failure.

vivid. so vivid.

i can still feel the sensation of teeth rolling about on my tongue before i spit them out.

i can still see her face of surprise, mild embarassment and bewildered satisfaction.

11 Sep [i am]

the accumulation of my yesterdays

the aggregade of decisions i've made

the weight of my will

the form of my feelings

the definition bestowed by others

the realisation of self-defined potentials

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if there're seasons... has come to pass for now. i am grateful for the growth, epiphanies, opportunities and friendships. it is testament to how someone's faith in you can take you a long way. it is also now a (happy) responsibility for me to shoulder - with every gift, is the obligation to receive and reciprocate.

every decision now becomes a choice. the opportunity cost for each choice weightier than before.  every price to be paid/ prize to be had, is  measured by the investments made in me especially in these past three months.

i could be so many things, but for this moment, i shall be thankful.

09 Aug [singapore]

you are not perfect, but you are mine.

and i am yours.

20 July [med]

modernity is condemned to mediocrity.

the contest now, is for the most.

17 July [snowy evening]

smoky sticky humidity. and yet there is talk of frost.

two thumbs touch; a point of connection.

yay. palindromic possibilities.

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"The woods are lovely, dark and deep./ But I have promises to keep,/ And miles to go before I sleep"

01 July [petrified]

if i'm moving on, then why was i rooted stone-cold?

but if i've not moved on, then why do i feel comforted that our chance encounter only evokes a mere shadow of a heartache?

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i appreciate that the people i work with care not just about the immediate performance, but about my growth as a performer, my maturity as an artist, and my well-being as a living person.

it moves me.

it is beautiful to contemplate that any relationship can be woven with this much honesty, generosity, humility, pride and integrity.

07 June [indelible]

just as your shallow existence bears no trace of the profound love we once shared, so the disappointment with your choice is indiscernable from my easy smiles.

29 May [humid]

the tension of my history saturates and hangs heavy in the atmosphere - i can feel it against my form as i walk through the thick invisibility, my body cutting it like a blunt knife on lukewarm butter.

yet a cold spoon digs into my heart.

22 May [id-]

i'm fond of these terms: ideology, idiosyncrasy, idiom and id

but of late, i have been contemplating mostly identity. 

presentation, interpretation, negotiation and affirmation of that still amorphous identity confronts me now, as it has before. though no longer in the throes of teen angst, i'm no less frustrated with having to defend something i have not yet, and may never fully comprehend.

that i do a decent job of dealing with nay-sayers, critics and fools belies the fact that i am deeply affected by non-reciprocity of reflexivity, empathy and tolerance.

17 May [profligate]

squandered time is my answer to love's wasted discourse:

no longer waiting, nor moving on -

only passing

only passing

01 May [you can hang up because]

i hear your heart beating everywhere

when we're apart i can close my eyes and hear you there

i hear your heart beating everywhere

everywhere i go

- jackson browne, everywhere i go

29 April [never is an absolute]

never to be wholly understood again

never to be heard honestly again

never to be held like a dream fulfilled

never to be, never to be me

the way i was to you

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the tables have turned yet i find myself in the same place as before. i give the same advice i've given before. i offer the same option as i've done before. this isn't deja vu. this is the rare trace of consistency in my being.

you have no obligations, save for what your heart really desires. i only ask that you listen carefully to it; decide, and persist.

the tables have turned, but i am still here. i am the axis, i am here, i am. but never to be. the way i was.

23 April [you]

you are the reward for my generosity

you are the comfort i was denied in adversity

you are the answer to the prayers friends said for me

you are the new day i can now turn my face towards

you are you.

you have me at a loss for words

you are late, but you're just in time

17 April [the alchemist & the bandits]

i met two friends, and heard about one book; i lost one earring, but gained two friends.

i was never good at math, but i'm liking how this all adds up.

16 April [gently]

rest me gently. like the crumbling end of a cigarette, in tentative disintegration.

wisp of wistful wishes.

so we are, in tandem deindividuation.

14 April [that you exist]

dear friend, if you feel that this might be addressed to you, then it is.

we both know, that the sorrow will take a long time to fade; that as much as you'd like to help, there really isn't much else that can be done.

this didn't come as a sudden revelation. but i must reiterate: that no matter how brief or transient our time together may be, the simple fact that you exist in my life, gives me hope, and strength to take each step that must lead to the next.

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i watched shall we dance? again. it's really just another feel-good movie, starring the ever charismatic richard gere. but it reminded me of the joys of learning to dance; of liberating your body by subjecting it to new rules.

it is even more joyous, to introduce someone to the dance, and have it alter their life quite irrevocably - this is a gift to the giver.

i can take myself away from the swing, but the swing cannot be taken away from me. that is a mark of ownership. and it only makes sense - for you can only give something away, if it belonged to you to begin with.

09 April [nothing comes of nothing]

king lear is on at esplanade in july. sir ian mckellan will now add lear to magneto, dumbledore and gandalf. the seagull should be good too. i like chekov. i'd really love to go, but i doubt that will happen.

there was also some student work on display at the concourse, large drawings tracing intricate outlines with thin continuous lines. two pieces appealed to me.

they were exchanging anecdotes in the car, and i was silent. their conversation was revelatory, moving and humorous self-disclosure. as i listened, i tried to commit the details to memory, and then remembered, that i won't be re-sharing these stories.

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when we stepped into the studio, i heard a familiar voice on the cd. i asked, "is it lisa or silje?"

as the layers and layers of hairspray was piling on my already heavy head - its sticky stiffness reminiscent of tears and mucus dried up on a cold cheek - i heard a familiar trumpet introduction, then those lyrics i know so well...

i found only enough strength to ask them to skip to the next track.

as the bobby mcferrin cd started spinning, i thought about not ruining the thick cake of makeup on my face. i thought about unlikely/untimely coincidences, probabilities and pathetic fallacies. i thought about pathos intermingling with bathos. i thought. about. you.

08 April [waywt]

- my heart on my sleeve

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some relationships are like raw denim.

beginning is difficult. the jeans start out stiff and even abrasive at first, but you are eager to break them in, so you spend all your time off work in your jeans. as it starts to take your shape, you grow ever so fond of your denim because they fit no one else but you perfectly, and make you look good. as the honeycombs and whiskers start to develop beautifully, you feel immensely proud of what you have painstakingly created, and you cherish the jeans for you have invested much time and effort in them.

eventually the indigo fades, and sure, the colour isn't as intense, but it's what is necessary for the jeans to display some character. the ones that look best are the ones that have really been put through some rough conditions. but all this is appreciated only if you're a true denim connoisseur.

there are those who develop a lifetime relationship with their jeans. perhaps straying to some others from time to time, but always returning to their favourite pair. those who grow fat from greed and sloth, resent the jeans they once loved for suffocating them. others, are only interested in the process of breaking in the jeans, and move on when they tire of the current pair.

a gem of a pair of jeans can only be achieved with time, careful handling, and most importantly, with true quality denim. do not be deceived, just because it looks like it is selvedge, doesn't mean it is. if it takes your shape too easily, if it doesn't put up a struggle when you put it on, if it costs you less than you know you should be paying - then the fabric may not be what it purports to be, and while you revel in the easy satisfaction that it may bring, you should also know that this fabric was not made to last.

yet inspite it all, there is never a right or wrong pair of jeans. only what you prefer to wear. there is never a better or worse type of denim. choose only what makes you feel truly happy being in.

07 April [try;pry;cry]

with every last ounce of love i have for you, i pry my fingers from their white-knuckled grip. spreading my tiny hands open, palms-up to the sky - ready to catch you, should desire ever let you down.

but for now, forgive this distance. i overestimated myself. i cannot bear to stay and watch. i've always hated horror films, and this tragedy strikes too dear to the core of everything i am.

yet, you must know i am with you. always. 

someday, that which i still believe in shall be vindicated. i guess, that day is not today.

03 April [plateau]

we arrived here long ago - running, laughing, loving the view and chillin' in the breeze. but what was freedom in uninhibited comfort, what was space to run free, became a weary distance; what used to be soul-binding intimacy, became heart-numbing familiarity.

so we hastened to find other mountains to climb, seeking thrilling adventure to rouse our too-calm hearts, the rush of sneaking up a secret trail overwhelming and obscuring what are afterall...only memories.

i fell.

and so did you.

and from the chasm i looked up, and realised that this plateau we've been on, is higher than any mountain peak i will ever know.

not everyone aspires to great heights. but most aspire towards happiness.

having returned here, there is no where else to go but into the skies. let this plateau be the long runway you need for take off. if you can, take my hand and let me soar with you. but if you must, then let me drop, so that you're light enough to fly towards that which you know makes your heart leap for joy.

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or perhaps... just perhaps, if you'd like...we could stay here. and take this barren flatland - build on it a stylish refuge, with sleek aesthetics, warm neutral colours, floor-to-ceiling windows, a bookshelf filled with everything from escher to bourdain to marx, and a living room where we will spend hours talking with each other, or our witty friends over culinary experiments and beer staples and and and...

30 Mar [way up in the sky little lamb...]

...do you see what i see?

i wonder if people wonder. what it's like to be who i am, and know what i know.

how is it possible for someone to see me as i see myself, and not love me? yet, it must be so, because even now, i do not seem to know how to love myself.

27 Mar [lady day, it is as you say]

i'm a fool to want you

words & music by jack wolf, joel herron, frank sinatra, 1951

recorded by billie holiday, 1958

i'm a fool to want you

i'm a fool to want you

to want a love that can't be true

a love that's there for others too

i'm a fool to hold you

such a fool to hold you

to seek a kiss not mine alone

to share a kiss that devil has known

time and time again i said i'd leave you

time and time again i went away

but then would come the time when i would need you

and once again these words i had to say

take me back, i love you;

pity me, i need you.

i know it's wrong, it must be wrong,

but right or wrong, i can't get along

without you

18 Mar [camomile]

hot tea; warm hug.

and everything else between was cool.

15 Mar [300]

i seldom borrow clothing, because i don't feel comfortable wearing items, knowing they do not belong to me.

but there will be those who will borrow more than just your clothes - your ideas, your ideals, your lifestyle, your love - nothing is sacred.

some return what they borrow. others borrow and start to believe the things are really their own. and then there are those whose intentions were never to borrow, but to rob.

most contemptible are those who strive and scheme to obtain what they desire, without really caring to know the true value of their plunder, or worse, simply lack the capacity to appreciate it in its entirety.

it is not my place to tell anyone to stop doing as they wish. but what is mine, i will defend. what i believe in, i will hold on to with tenacity.

i am no spartan, but i am not one to ask for sympathy, or hope for charity, or subordinate myself senselessly. my fragile heart may be scourged and drenched in tears, but my will is indomitable.

13 Mar [veritas et/und verstehen]

three pairs of white pointy shoes.

one, worn by someone for whom it wasn't intended.

one, a gift received with ambivalence.

one, stubbornly soiled and stained.

one can wear another's shoes, but never become the other person

one has put oneself in both other's shoes - empathy sans sympathy

one can tread wantonly, but must expect consequences to linger

three pairs of white pointy shoes.

two versions of the truth.

one metaphor; one marvelous mess.

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where will your felonious feet take you next? between unequivocal understanding, and selfless submisson, between testing your pride and pride in your testing, between one who thinks you're worthy, and one who's worth depends on you. as always, i know you have no answer. as always, i know.

01 Mar [kewts are kopyrighted]

this is a kewt. created by urchin and pumpkin.

if you are neither urchin nor pumpkin, then you should realise that by reproducing it in any form, you have trespassed the boundaries of decency. show some respect please.

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often, my past self gives insight to my present self. here's something i observed awhile ago:

"the beauty of the promise is in itself, not the keeping of it - that would be another kind of beauty." - pleb manifesto, 15th june 2004 

19 Feb [hyperbole]

i've always liked the word, but i don't like what it is.

i prefer measured metaphors to exaggerated expressions. but it's just such a cool concise word to describe all those lavish claims lovers like to make. because the human condition resents itself - for its frailty, capriciousness and mortality - and seeks to transcend that, even if only in words.

Our Love is Here to Stay - by George and Ira Gershwin

It's very clear, our love is here to stay

Not for a year, but ever and a day

The radio and the telephone and those movies that we know

May just be passing fancies and in time will go

But oh, my dear, our love is here to stay

Together we're going a long long way

In time the Rockies may crumble, Gibraltar may tumble

They're only made of clay

But our love is here to stay

16 Feb [...in the state of denmark]

it is a strange battle where no one seems to know who the attacker or victim is anymore. only a quietly terrifying and intangible violence that is so sweet we lap it up feverishly. the morphine for our suffering souls.

15 Feb [placid]

greet everything with a placid smile:

for then my secret thoughts are safe.

13 Feb [those three words]

tomorrow is the day in a year when those three words will be most wantonly used. and whilst most attention will be placed on the verb, the operative words are really: "i" and "you".

the "you" bit is easy enough - if the other person doesn't feel like you know them, it's not going to be very convincing when you claim anything about them.

what's often neglected though is: if one has no sense of self/ an identity of one's own, then there is no "i" to even begin with.

9 Feb [onion shoot]

it is gratifying to be in a position of benevolence. to give another life a chance, especially when it displays desperate determination; he who tries is deserving. it is all the more meaningful, when you are aware that you show no such aptitude for persistence yourself.

yet, what about those who simply are? who effortlessly surpass the basic requirements of being alive. who thrive without trying? it seems to be irrelevant whether or not they are deserving, because they appear self-sufficient and not in need.

but there is only one pot, and so you plant the onion shoot in it, rooting for it to grow and choke the plant that already lives in it. because being benevolent makes you feel good.

you forget though, that the plant has been thriving on little. that it didn't wilt inspite of your neglect. you forget that the plant inspite of it's lush foliage, is fragile. you forget that the only reason you have a pot, is because you wanted the plant.

benevolence, justifies the cruelty needed in order to deliver it.

or perhaps this is all irrelevant. your benevolence is a mere excuse. you can eat spring onions and you can't eat a plant. and that's that.

7 Feb [song for me]

dear ernesto sings this whenever he sees me, and it's the most beautiful song anyone's written with my name in it.

Joanna - by The Walker Brothers

Joanna,

I can't forget the one the call Joanna

We own the summer hand in hand, Joanna

And now she's always just a tear away

Goodbye you,

You long lost summer, leaving me behind you

Repeating things for lovers that may find you

I still hang on to every word that day

You passed my way

Joanna,

You made the man a child again so sweetly

He breathed your smile, looked in your eyes completely

And in his heart there's still a trace of you

I loved you,

But nothing in this world could make you mine

Yet still in time, Joanna

Joanna you may remember me and change your mind

5 Feb [where i must be]

purgatory for the disenchanted

no jolt, a thud or startling landing

no apparition or blinding light

no journey or catastrophic reckoning

no open wound and no closure

only a buoyant detachment

only an ungraspable memory

only indefinite anticipation

only here and only now

31 Jan [one down, only eleven to go]

a dozen months, and we are now one short. it's unequivocally stated there on my calendar, and yet it's not real to me. this is a familiar predicament. must be the motif for the month.

something i wrote spontaneously some time ago for a track feng arranged:

in the scheme of things

a wasted minute seems

like fragments of a dream

that's never been redeemed

the tears she cried

couldn't buy him time

the years he tried

have all sublimed

27 Jan [phenomenological + rhetorical]

if i am not allowed to believe what i feel, from the depths of my being to be real, then what can i believe? what distinguishes knowledge from faith, and faith from delusion?

what is intuition? is it as nebulous as that crazy little thing called love?

shhh. don't try to answer, nor tell me not to ask; there is no need to speak, as there is no need to flee.

the only refuge one has is silence and inaction - anything else is an admission to what you are most afraid to reveal.

23 Jan [reformatted]

not just that, i had my motherboard changed too. the viruses have been cleaned up apparently. now if only i could do that with my life.

i don't want to really. it means i'd have to reinstall programs again. it means indicating my preferences and reconfiguring everything. tedious. above all, it means i might lose some files, and never recover them again. never. lost in some abyss of neglected nothingness.

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because i had no computer, i decided to neaten up my room. i came across my thesis, pristinely bound in black and gold, and read it. all of it. i can't believe i wrote it. i can't believe i had that in me. i also can't believe it took me two months to write just forty-five pages. yet, there in those pages, it seems the 'me' of two-and-a-half years ago left a profoundly empathetic reminder for the 'me' today - i quoted my favourite book on one of the chapter-dividing pages:

'Who are you?' said the Caterpillar.

This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation.

'I -- I hardly know, sir, just at present -- at least I know who I WAS when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.'

'What do you mean by that?' said the Caterpillar sternly. 'Explain yourself!'

'I can't explain myself, I'm afraid sir' said Alice, 'because I'm not myself, you see.'

'I don't see,' said the Caterpillar.

Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

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i remember how you arrived as i was there collapsed on the garden swing completely defeated and nearly deranged, wanting to give up on that last examination paper of my academic life just a few hours before i was due to sit for it. you came and gave me the strength to go through with it.

looking at my results slip (it was still in its envelope, carelessly tucked in the pages of my thesis), i realise now, that was the examination for the module ananda taught.

now he is dead, you are silent and i am here.

16 Jan [i remember now II]

Piggy-back pool treks

Olympiad kayaking

Papaya spa

Beetle stalling mid-turn

Lavender

Pear cider

Finger portraits on a mirror

Rain showers

Mushroom head

Feeble fights

Cheek prodding

Finger pointing

ggyy!

Cow eyes

Best friend

11 Jan [ananda]

i couldn't recall what you taught me, nor what i had written for that term paper. i couldn't even recall what you looked like when i first heard the news. but i remembered that you had been nice, and that i liked you. i attended your classes once a week for three months, and that was it.

they said you always insisted we addressed you by your first name. that sounded vaguely familiar.

i went for the wake, meaning to catch up with those who are still living. i went for the wake because i've been forcing myself to go out and meet people - and for once i knew i wouldn't need to smile if i didn't want to. i wasn't really there for you - you meant little to me, yet when i saw your face in the casket, i felt a genuine sense of loss.

i felt privately embarassed that i was there, when others to whom you meant more were not. and yet i felt reassured that if you are who they say you were, then you wouldn't have minded. you couldn't have minded anyways - you're dead.

i was glad for the downpour, so i could sit there legitimately for longer. i ate alot of peanuts. 

there will be eulogies written for you, as you so well deserve. i only have a humble apology, that i am so base as to exploit you in your passing.

09 Jan [two songs with no music]

one was written two months ago, the other written today. they may never be sung, but that's okay. futility can be beautiful too. 

listen to me baby

hear the things i'm saying

know that i'm not lying

don't give up on me

hold me to you baby

feel the pain i'm feeling

see i'm not pretending

don't give up on me

i've made my mistakes;

you trusted my stories

i've tired your soul -

said too many "sorries"

i've watched you in grief

as your heart turned from me - yet i had to agree

that you need relief

which comes with this distance

the regrets that i have

won't make any difference

but as much as i know

i must let you go

baby don't give up on me

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this song will never be finished

'cos i'm struggling with the words

searching where it hurts

should the chords be diminished?

should this song be beautiful?

like these memories of you...

my heart will never recover

from the flights of fantasy

and the fall from love's glory

but if i could, i'd start over

and over and over and over...

bridge:

for beginnings are sweet

and the ends should be too

but the 'coulds' and the 'woulds'

are seldom the 'shoulds',

as if the things meant to be, must never be so

and so it goes...

this song will never be finished

for if i fail this one more time

our romance will have a friend

so i'll stop after this line

then our story need never...

07 Jan [feet on the floor]

i was standing paralysed in the middle of the room and suddenly the only sensation i was conscious of, were that my feet were in contact with the floor. skin against cold tiles greyed and scratched by years of careless trodding.

it should have been a moment of epiphany. it wasn't.

i thought about the fact that i was upright, no, vertical. felt the existence of appendages called toes, located the muscle in my arches, the floor started to feel warm. i took a step, and another, and the moment was over.

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and even though there's this pervasive feeling of emptiness and bewilderment. in between there are spates of hyper-lucidity. in these moments i can see in the near future, where we will look back at this and smile. in the deep recesses of our consciousness, there must reside a knowledge (or a belief, what have you) that we are still the best of friends.

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it is yet another piece of social evidence for my thesis observation, that the virtual has become the preferred medium for impression management, when an important relationship can be terminated not face-to-face, not over the phone, not via sms, but on msn. mediated by another contact on your list. i felt it was very inappropriate at first, but now i can hardly think of a better way it should have been done. i'm laughing! because it's brilliant. heh. goffman is good!

31 Dec [two thousand and six]

too much. it is all too much.

to remember, to feel, to regret, to celebrate

to sit back and appraise

appraise, a phrase, aphorism, abhor

i've done too much; too much was done to me

"two thousand and six" - say it really slowly and it begins to sound strange and meaningless

say it again a few more times, enjoy how it slides off your tongue - because in a few hours, we will abandon this string of sounds for another, with an additional syllable.

it's all just a sound.

but i've must have already made this observation years ago when i wrote this:

love is but a sound

Verse:

love is but a sound

they say

it goes

to your head

with dismay

pain is but a price

you

pay to feel

life each day

what we think we know is faith

that's built

on claims

we make

Chorus:

take my hand

let's fly away

drop the work

come out and play

say no more

see things my way

forget your plan

to seize the day

Verse:

honesty is rare

but why

do we lie

when things

go awry

power is a game:

we try to make

them comply

what we want to own are dreams

we hope

that time

can buy

Bridge:

question a little more

doubt just a little less

not every victory needs a protest

relax a little more

procrastinate less

even the passionate take a recess

let's all take the time to learn

let's not be afraid to rest

29 Nov [lick]

a cat licks it wounds. rough tongue on delicate spot.

does it not know time will heal its wound?

ah but the cat is wiser.

what is clean will heal, and what is left as is caked in filth

will fester - and so

a gentle prod at the pain again

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reflexivity. it is a curse. it troubles the mind, renders one
wretched. it robs you of sleep, and the joy of innnocent faith.

you say you do not learn anything from her - but what do you learn from me?

only the ugliness of humanity, the baseness of our beings and the
madness of our minds.

16 Nov [much to celebrate]

my dearests, it is a dark dark time, and yet, i had great cause to celebrate. because you are here. "happy birthday", means something to me. even now, the day-after, the effects linger and i am still happy, and i am still being reborn.

14 Nov [i remember now]

when i first started out posting on this page, i was careful to express only thoughts that were (somewhat) relevant to who i am professionally. of late, it has gotten increasingly personal. i really cannot deny that it's not for everyone to read but only for very few, or just one.

i wrote my thesis on this, and yet i can't seem to understand anymore why it's easier or even necessary to put your most private thoughts in a most public space. why a message for one, needs to be read by all. perhaps because there are codes to intimacy. that precisely because everyone can read the same thing, but only the ones for whom the messages are for will fully comprehend it; that the message achieves its purpose of reminding the reader of their relationship to the author. i guess this is the same reason why poems are published and songs are sung.

absolute speculation aside, this will probably be the most esoteric of all my writings. contrived? so what. sincerity is not measured by spontaneity.

I remember now

12 Nov [broken]

Everything is broken

Except the silence

Like a muffled womb

Around a growing, living pain

Shhh.

Shallow shelter for the sounds of an

Unsteady heartbeat

Everything is broken

Except the silence

29 Oct [7:48am and still awake and remembering]

strange that i struggle to recall the memories attached to this song, but i can remember every word of the lyrics in spite of never having performed it before. stranger still, that this is what i will be remembered for. all so fitting, for that is what i am now - a stranger.

Two Sleepy People

 - by Frank Loesser and Hoagy Carmichael

Here we are, out of cigarettes

Holding hands and yawning - look how late it gets

Two sleepy people by dawn's early light

But too much in love to say goodnight

Here we are, in a cosy chair

Picking on a wishbone, from the Frigidaire

Two sleepy people, with nothing to say

But too much in love to break away

Do you remember the nights we used to linger in the hall?

Father didn't like you at all

Do you remember the reason why we married in the fall

To get a little rest, to get this little nest

And here we are, just about the same

Foggy little fella, drowsy little dame

Two sleepy people by dawn's early light

And too much in love to say goodnight

24 Oct [written on 19 Oct]

The mad gibberish of my heart

For a long time I've been trying to listen

To what my heart might be telling me

And all this while it's been stone silent

Now at last its tongue is free

But the murmurs grow too loud

I can't discern what I'm meant to hear

And my head it grows too too proud

Now at last it doesn't care

24 Oct [written on 19 Sept]

Baby, it's been so good to have you ride with me

We've loved long and hard

But now our hearts beat out of sync

Time to let go because we're on the brink

Of falling out of love

Of failing what we believed

We're almost falling out of love

I don't want to go there with you

Time to let go and endure this alone

Baby, we've always known forever is a farce

Yet we gave it all we've got

Though now the cynics are disproved

I gue