...at times it just makes sense

Rainy nights are always inspiring of rainy nights.

Driving
on the shiny wet black highway,
watching wheels watching wheels glide
over the shadows from
red tail lights
and the
orange street lamps stand alone,
side by side by side.

It is cold. Quiet,
except for the uninteresting DJs on the radio reading tales of unrequited
love to go with ballads of pining
fornication
and the
soft sha-sha sounds
of the passing vehicles passing vehicles
that may explode
if they grow any little
bit louder.

It occurs to me that the drive will never really have to end
if I don't yet want it to.

The bloody
broken
lines in the
middle
of the roads chasing each other,
destined never to
catch up
with one another, chase
each other.

So, who do you think of, on rainy nights like these?

I cannot think of anyone in particular,
except
maybe that Charles Bukowski guy,
there's only the rusty-more-rain-harbouring-sky.

(sneak.)

Neville

One sunny day,
I was woken up by the little winds swinging on my yellow curtains as high and as faraway from my windows as possible.

The birds were also saying hello to somebody.
I don’t know their language.
I opened my eyes to welcome the winds.

Wake up, wake up, the winds are here.
My easily excitable curtains said to me.

The sky was blue, the clouds were white, and the sunshine, bright but pleasant.
The winds were on their way herding the clouds from south to north.
The little winds came to sit by the windows by my bed to look at my sleepy face, or to play with the yellow curtains, or to wake me up, or to do nothing at all.

That was when I first met Neville.
That sunny day.
Neville, a fair haired fair little boy waved to me from a cloud that he was on.

Obviously, at first, I had to wonder if he was a god but he said no.
Then I wondered if he was an angel but he said no to that too.
He said that he had asked to come along with the winds and that he was from a tiny place quite far away.
It was most acceptable because I thought he looked neither like a god nor an angel.

And the little winds tugged on my hair and the yellow curtains for a while.

I always wish for the winds to take me away too but they never seem to take the idea seriously. Sometimes they'll laugh a bit and wave a tree nearby saying "not today, not today".

Most of the time, I'm really just glad that they even bother to say hi.
So I think that Neville must be quite special, or at least more special than me.

And I also think I'm quite right.

There was really something about Neville that kept me from being envious of him.
I cannot place my finger on it, but there's really something about him that reminds me of... something strangely familiar...
He was quite tired or quite something else, I could not tell.

Anyway, he said that he had looked up to the winds and clouds all the time, from his window where he used to live, and that looking down from them was different.
Then he said, but then again, the letter "N" looks the same upside down or downside up.

"N is for Neville."
He said and I remember.

I never saw him again, but I think of him sometimes. I don't ask about him.
I like to watch the dust and things and the fallen leaves of the rain tree scurry across the ground when the winds come by.

If I see him again, that Neville boy, I'll offer him cherries if I happen to have any. If I don't, I'll tell him that I would offer him some had I had any. I wonder if they have red cherries in the tiny place he came from, but I just have a feeling that they don't have the black-skinned ones that will have red juice staining your mouth and teeth and tongue and everywhere in between.
I also have a feeling that he won't like cherries in the way I think he may like them.

This morning, the weather was fine too.
Then it rained quite hard in the afternoon.

(sneak.)

Red monkey bars

They hang side by side by side by side...
As they titter gleefully to me,
"Come and come and come outside
and come and play with me with me...
and come and come to see to see."

On this rainy day the raindrops play
and play and hang on the red monkey
bars side by side by side they sway
in a random way in a tolerable degree
to the cold wind beneath the tree.

"The sky's so blue and you would know
if you would come and come and hang
and hang on the first or the final row
where the drops will then go and hang
and hang from beneath your shoe and hang."

"My friends my friends my raindrop friends how can you see
when you're watching the sky's so blue
so blue so big so small so red the monkey
bars and your friends that flew right through...
you may weep too if you only knew you are a lucky few."

"Don't weep and come and play for friends who missed the game today
for you know i know they know we'll all die or dry one day
one day two days three hundred days we'll die and fly away
like you like me the raindrops come as the clouds shall surely gray
so dry your tears and wet your face and say ‘Only today is today!
The sky's so blue and now i know how rainy blue sky's blue
because i came to hang to play with the raindrops on my shoe!' "

Child of the Weather

You were with me today when I met her. She is a child of the weather.

It was sunny. The type of sunny where nothing moves, the trees stood still, the wind went elsewhere to play.

She was sitting at a shelter at the playground. Overlooking a sea of sand, I snuck a peek at her, with the side of my eyes, underneath the hood of my jacket, pretending to wipe the perspiration off my forehead.

Then without looking at me, she waved in my direction.

huh?

I looked unabashedly.

She's so young. in her teenage years. In a pair of school shorts and school p-e tee-shirt, with the wordings faded, and the silhouette of her figure showing with the sun. Her hair is in a pony tail. She is pretty.

She looked back and smiled.

I smiled.

And she beckoned me to her. And so I went to her.

And we sat down side by side.

She whipped out a mentos bar and offered me one.

She asked me if I'm feeling warm. "Not warm?"

"A little bit."

Then I took out what I came out to write to write.

The sky is blue beyond the stillness of the trees. The sun is forthright and frank. The occasional falling leaf or flower. Who can help but wonder what she was doing there? But since I don't want her to ask me I shall not ask her.

I draw a picture of a leaf.

She peeks and says,

"You know the leaves dance with rain?"

"But of course, it gets heavy and the branches will sway."

The trees must be amused.

"No, I mean the fallen leaves. They do the jitter-bug."

"Oh then I didn't know. Really?"

"Yes, I think you'll see soon."

She sighs, and like magic, it rains.

And the pock-marks begun to form on the sand, and the big leaves and the small leaves pop around and jitterbug with the giant black ants who never stop working.

Young adult

This is the truth:
The antidote to all existential anxieties nestles at the bottom of this beer,
if not,
the next!

CHEERS!

Let tomorrow come!
It will be a weekend soon!

Young

Come!
Sit with me
on a kerb by the orange lit road and puke in between knees
as the alcoholic acidic stench gently rise to nose
the vomit shall ebb away
and not recall the colour of the puke
and focused single thoughts say
Oh!
Give me another cigarette!
but light it the wrong way
say fuck!
and turn it around but drop it onto the floor pick it
up and it is wet from something
but don't care but take care to light it up the right way this time

breathe in
breathe out
breathe in
breathe out

Well now philosophize with the smoke in hand
was life supposed to be
this hard and complicated
being this young and invincible
cannot be this defeated
only confused
but it cannot not be simplified
by this weakened and drunken mind
the troubles must be all thrown up by now
wipe a few drops of tears with a right sleeve and
wipe a few drops of vomit off with a right sleeve and
broken dreams were meant to be forgotten
nothing in the world at this moment matters
but this precise desperation
and love and broken hearts that will mend
with a few more cigarettes
and must hope they will never run out
and must cross fingers
and believe tomorrow will not come!

The Secret Report on The War of Lizards and Flies

A long time ago, flies were an independent group of beings, and were not yet under the jurisdiction of the Shit King.

Flies were rather obnoxious and rather impudent. They irritated almost everybody and they liked doing that. The king of the flies was contemplating setting up his own domain of irritation. He thought he could collect all the irritation caused by his subjects and sit around feeling good about a newfound power. There were several reasons why this did not come about.
Firstly, the king of flies did not know what to do with the irritation he wanted to collect, other than to use it to cause more irritation, of which he could not think of what to do with.
Irritation was closely related to every other domain, as it is a by-product of most other functions, and nobody knows what to do with the mounting irritation.
Thirdly, nobody really cared enough about the king of flies, or flies. Other than being irritated, some beings treated them as banal beings; some beings treated them as other than banal beings.

The only bunch of beings that were truthfully irritated enough to want to do something about flies were the lizards. It must be something about their nature to be so irritated with flies that is not in our nature to fully empathize.

So, the lizards took it upon themselves to eat the flies, and to manage their population. In retaliation, the flies multiply themselves and try to irritate the lizards by the sheer size of their undeterred population. This drove the lizards nuts and they dove into extreme depths of delirium and despair, and went out of control of themselves.

Now, this becomes a problem, as you know, lizards are envoys of the panic kingdom, and being crazy, they don’t make very good envoys. The panic level of people and beings, and paranoia and anxiety and everything went astray and unchecked. The unwise beings that were unaffected and knew about the situation laughed at the lizards. Other beings that were unaffected and knew about the situation were concerned about the possible repercussions.

Finally, words reached the Panic King to persuade him to do something about the situation. Initially, the Panic King was as usually unmoved, but as the Panic Queen was more swayed by the situation and everything, she urged the Panic King to do something about it. Somebody told me that this is congruent with the nature of origin of the Panic Queen to be swayed to do something. Somebody else remarked that all is well for otherwise the Panic King would not have done anything much, for the Panic King is pretty much only persuaded by his Queen.

After much contemplation, the Panic King met up with his good friend, the Shit King, and urged the Shit King to take the flies into his command. The Shit King obliged because he was good friends with the Panic King, and was one of the beings who were unaffected but concerned anyway.

So, the Shit King met up with the King of Flies who was flattered by the attention and agreed to being the subjects of the Shit Kingdom. In accordance, flies fly around shit to feed on it and help its breaking down, and also help to spread food poisoning so there will be more shit around.

The Panic King and Queen met up with the King of Lizards and the lizards, and the Queen waved the magic panic wand about and ordered the lizards to get a grip. The Queen announced that now the Shit King had took the flies under his command and the flies were now somewhat allies, not mere advocators of irritation. It is rumored that the Panic Queen briefly smiled at the origination and the resolution of this elaborate situation, and the Panic King smiled at her.

The Kings decided that the lizards were to be somewhat placed in higher order of the flies to keep the flies afraid and thus, away from irritating the lizards. This is why lizards still get to eat the flies that threaten to irritate them.

Also to commemorate this event, the lizards were made to shit everywhere so as to remind them of the close relationship they have with the Shit Kingdom and how silly they were, and that they must consistently resist their nature to be so irritated with the flies.

"Oh my Sisyphus!"

It was a strange night.
In my sleepiness before I slept, I was standing in a circle and joining hands with Robin Williams and Che Guevera who was a black and white caricature and my mother. As in, my blood mother who gave birth to me. We were at a playground where I used to hang out after school when I was like around 10 years old.

Then from out of somewhere, a little fairy who looked like Salvatore Dali somewhat, popped out and flew to around our heads.

He yelled,
"Oh my Sisyphus!" To Robin Williams, in his face.
"Oh my Sisyphus!" To Che Guevera the caricature, into his ear.
"Oh my Sisyphus!" To my mother, in her face.
"OH my Sisyphus!" To me, in my face.

My mother asked me, "yi de gong simi?"
that's hokkien for "他在说什么？"
meaning, "he saying what?".

I replied, "yi ai wa lang buay suay sa hun hor yi"
that's hokkien for "他要我们买洗衣粉给他。"

My mother said, "gio yi khe hong gan."

And all the ang mohs didn't know what we were talking about.

(sneak.)

What Loso and Radiohead have in common.

Listening to Sek Loso and Thom Yorke
back to back with my earphones on.

I can really feel them creep in between my ears
into the deep inner depths of my head.
The words I do not understand drill around my insides.
The song and sounds blending.
My skull is a vessel of green and purple goo,
and I smell fish food.
I smell medicated oil.
I smell issey miyake perfume.

"Oh, you suck the blood out of me.
Then you take me to the emporium,
but not to pantip for sure.
Today it is raining. The flan in my face, help me call a doctor, put me inside put me inside put me inside. Will you know that I cannot sleep tonight?"

I widen my eyes with the sudden relevation:
my entire life is a waste of time compared to the drag of love in their voices.

Oh, am I too bored and lifeless?

For this dread is surely, surely, surely unintended?
Did you know you would have this magic over me?
My heartstrings cramp when you sing what you sing.
The resonance resounds in my empty sadness.

Oh, if I loved myself I would surely cry?

Even I do not understand how or why.
Perhaps we all sound too alone
to me and I don't want to die
heart unbroken on my own.

I am so uninspired I dunno what to do.

I am so uninspired I dunno what to do.

My friend suggested I blog.
So I typed "I am so uninspired I dunno what to do."

Three times already.

Then I am so uninspired I dunno what to do.

Throne

WHO belonged to this throne?
Who did it leave alone?
Who belonged to this throne?
Who did it disown?

August 18, 2006

Revealing the Secret of HK...!

It has long been to our amazement how HK, a seemingly healthy skeptical, cynical, paranoid, armchair critic is to withstand the repeated blows of a mundane job as an engineer at some firm somewhere mundane.

How does he stand it? How will he bear it? How can he swallow this shit everyday!?

The Gods of Fate finally took mercy upon us and by a random flash of ingenuity (credits to MOB for bearing the blinding Shazam!) we have finally figured out HOW- The end to an almost endless search for an answer!

THE TRUTH IS OUT!
And the TRUTH is that HK has a SECRET.
And the SECRET is that HK HAS A ROBOT BODY!
It all makes sense now. THINK ABOUT IT! You see, it will all make sense!
HK has a robot body, with a button somewhere in his brain (I suspect at the bottom of his diencephalon) which he will depress every morning with a pair of medical pincers that are one foot long, which he sticks through his ears, or nose, or pops one of his eyeballs out and through the empty socket and pops the eye back. This will allow a HUGE part (about 102.24%) of his consciousness to leave his body and sit at home on the armchair, while his robot body pimps his soulless existence for money. When the robot body comes back from work, the consciousness will point his finger and laugh at the plight of the robot body. The consciousness also points at the modern world triumphantly and laughs at her futile attempt to enslave him and how he rescues himself so perfectly each day. At the intoxicating pointing and laughter both half parties go into a trance and they are merged again. After which, he’ll turn on the computer to surf the web to look at the “other websites” he self-reportedly looks at.

The “other websites”? Other than what? Is this the website he bought his robot body from!?
Oh! Another great mystery to unravel!

(sneak.)

To Stand in a Wheelbarrow

It is not a simple matter, to stand in a wheelbarrow. It is a tricky lever, with possibly two fulcrums. (One of the most dreaded labeling questions in early science tests, for those who were tormented, you surely remember too?) If you stand too near to the wheel, it may tip towards the wheel. If you stand too far from the wheel, it may tip towards the hind legs. Maybe, it is like standing on two seesaws at the same time? Something like standing in between two seesaws at the same time?

It is quite peculiar to see the world while standing in a wheelbarrow. For one, your height is instantly elevated and your perspective changes helplessly immediately.

So I urge you to try it for yourself or even sit down in a wheelbarrow should you ever be lucky enough to have the chance. I have personally tried it only once, albeit briefly, and I will definitely do it again.

Maybe I should buy one for my home, and then I will invite you to come over to try it, and we can have tea. Yes, yes, what a good idea! But first, let me decide on the color of the wheelbarrow, red or green or blue, or if I should paint it later and not decide too hard on anything now. Also, if I can frustrate you more with strong, cheap western tea without sugar or strong, cheap tie guan yin (a type of Chinese tea, if you didn't know). If the tea should be annoyingly lukewarm or scalding hot if it is a warm day or ice cold if it is a cold day.

What a lovely way to spend any time together!

Maybe you should buy one for your home too, and invite me to go over. We can cart each other around the neighborhood and not worry about finding a place to sit for two people. We can also throw some picnic food into the wheelbarrow. We can also go to the supermarket, if your home is out of picnic food.

But, all these are to be done, of course, only after we quite perfect our skills in standing in a wheelbarrow up to some standard. I don’t want us to hurt ourselves, and I repeat in stress, it is not a simple matter to stand in a wheelbarrow.

So, let me know, if you do buy a wheelbarrow, so that I will bring my toilet paper's cardboard centre cylindrical thing to put to my right eye with as I stand in your wheelbarrow and to shout "Land Ahoy!" with much more style than I will if I have to shout without the toilet paper thing.

When we’re bored, we can go back to your place to bathe your baby or terrapin in it. By that, I mean, you can do the bathing, I watch and pass you the towel. Or, we can always go have bad tea at my place.

My True Story

Today, my big right toe was pricked by a magic rose's thorn. It was either a purple rose or a white one, which I wouldn't have known it was a magic rose if I hadn't known. A big drop of red blood oozed out immediately.

After a while, I wondered why I did not fall into a deep, dark sleep.

Tonight, I will dream of a purple or white rose elf who will tell me that I did not fall into a deep, dark sleep because I needed to be stung in the left thumb for the magic to work. If I had been poisoned by the left big thumb, a prince will come to me on a unicorn and kiss me to break the curse, two weeks later.

Shucks.

Quality of Life

If only I can enjoy the jarring sounds of street constructions as wistfully as I listen to the vague sounds of crashing waves, I am sure my temperament shall be greatly improved, for in this time, it is definitely harder for me to find a shell cone randomly to put to my ear than to toss a nail or a screw in an empty coke can and jiggle it with persistent consistency.

I am sure my temperament shall be greatly improved, for in this time, it is so much more possible for me to go home to a neighborhood with some kids almost colliding with the orange cones around, squealing with undeserved pleasure, annoying the adults, over and above the some hammering or demolition around, than to go home to a neighborhood with kids running around on the beach, swimming for undeserved leisure, annoying the crabs, and worrying about what to eat for dinner.

If only I can enjoy the jarring sounds of street constructions as wistfully as I listen to the vague sounds of crashing waves, I am sure my temperament shall be greatly improved.

Friends, let us imagine the benefits that are so enormous, deliberate with me!

Small Beer

So, he came into the pub where I was waiting, and threw his bag onto the sit beside me.
"Sup?" said I.
"Sup?" said he, as he put his elbow onto the table and his forehead into his hand.
I lifted my eyebrows and stuck out my lower lip, I paused, and I nodded.
With his other hand, he took out his cigarettes and lighter from his pocket. With his face still in one hand, he put a cigarette in his mouth and lit it and then with the exhale, loosened the frown his one hand held in place just slightly just in case something cracked or fell apart completely.
I lifted my eyebrows, and stuck out my lower lip, paused, and nodded.
I reached for my beer and took a sip.

With another drag, he lifted his face from his palm.
"I'm not in the mood to talk tonight, sorry, you talk, i'll listen," said he.

A girl came to behind him and "erm, hello sir, what can I get for you, sir?", said she.
"A small beer," said he.
I looked a bit to my left side and then back at them and lifted, stuck, paused, nodded.

Inhale. Exhale.

"Ahem. Today... is a damn hot day man. It was just... so... damn... bloody... hot... man," said I.
Without undoing what's left of his frown, he lifted his eyebrows, stuck his lower lip out, paused, and nodded his head.

(Untitled)

"Hey, hey! Where you going in such a hurry?
Take it easy girl, tell me a story."

the cupboard said to me

The cupboard was left unclosed and i don't understand why that always bothers me but it does and i don't understand why i always leave it open the first place but i do and will have to go ahead and shut it much later when i bother.

Today must be a special day for the cupboard to finally speak up though we did not converse at all on the left open or close issue and now i am a bit awkward about going to close it now that it spoke finally.

What the cupboard said to me?
Do you want to know what the cupboard said to me?
or will it be too imposing to just ask those questions and give you the answer.

Well if you want to know, you can read on, if not, go about your own business that you were going to go about if i had ended this writing here.

The cupboard said to me,
hello, the poster you stuck on my inside of bart simpson is going to fall off.

and I said,
oh okay. thanks.
and promptly tried to fix bart back to his place.

and the cupboard replied,
sure, no problem.

that's all.
do you like the story better that you had a choice?

(sneak)

想你 12

今天 我记得想你了。
可能 明天 我会忘记，
可是 今天 我记得想你了，
你知道了吗？

Sometimes, I rest my forehead

Sometimes, I rest my forehead against my open palms to hold in the noise inside my mind from ripping my skull apart it is getting harder and harder i bite my teeth tightly to be stronger and stronger i want to cry to let out some tension some strain but my tear system isn't working i imagine i slit open my face to find out what's wrong i start from my forehead because the flesh is quite thin should be easy but i realise it's mad i'm going crazy so i suddenly realise i suddenly wish for someone to do it for me!

I suddenly wish for somebody to slice open my back neatly and gently remove my spine. It will be great to start from the neck somewhere below my brain just at the top of my neck and just stab a clean knife on the right side of the bones we must try to locate first of course. Stab! Then remove the knife, then stab! into the left side. careful the knife not to come out from infront or it won't be as pretty as if it didn't.
Debone me!
Stab! Swish. Slice. Slice. Swish!

Oh. I suddenly want to scratch myself hard, to tear open my skin. It will feel nice to do it myself on the hand it is not so mad i will pretend. I will pretend I have a mosquito bite on the back of my hand. I will scratch with my nails. I will scratch my left hand with my right hand, and tear open my skin. bloody messy tear.

Oh. I suddenly want to slit neat lines down the flesh of my fingers on the back of my hand and I can have my bones crawl out bloodily. The somebody who defleshed my spine can deflesh my other hand.

I suddenly feel trapped within myself, I want to come out.
I've tried screaming, and it doesn't work at all.
Deflesh all of me! I want to come out. I want to come out.
Lay my skeleton in a field under the hot sun or toast me in a giant microwave oven.
So that my brains and everything beneath the bones will die and melt or explode and I will forget everything there is to remember.

I am sure I will be free.
I am sure I will be free.

想你 11

我可以对你说一百件事情，
一百件也许你会想知道 或对你有关的事情，
可是我真的不想
把一切说得太明白。

这一百件事情像树上的最后一百片叶子，
随时间而枯，
随轻风而落。

清风吹时，
树枝静静摇摆，
树上的剩叶 一片 一片
悄悄坠落，
地上的落叶发出“沙沙”声。。。

把一切说得太明白，
那就连枯枝落叶也没有得有了。

我们之间
就会多一百些单调，
就会少一百些想你的空间。

Too Perfect

Too perfect is less perfect than the perfect because the too perfect is more perfect than the perfect and the perfect is perfect.
So, ironically, too perfect is not too perfect really.

Worse

Worse possible scenarios can be worse than worst possible scenarios because the worse can get worse and the worst cannot.
So, ironically, worst possible scenarios are not worst possible scenarios really.

Eric and his "ha ha"s

Eric is the only person I know who types "ha ha"s on chat, instead of "haha"s.
They disturbed me a little at first. That's probably how they sustained my attention.
"haha" is already a funny looking word,
but "ha ha" is ever more peculiar.

Note the space in between.

There is enough space for a world to fit in.

Do you know a lot of people who type "ha ha"s on chat?
He is the only person I know, I think.

If you do too, I'm a little sorry if I didn't think of you.

Reminder: The Jilted Lizard Loves Her

So, I was walking along, walking along in my dream, when I met a quite handsome young lizard. Confessedly, I'm not sure how handsome lizards look like, but I imagine that a handsome lizard would look quite like how this lizard looked like.

"Hello," I said, in a friendly manner, for it was not too often that I meet anyone in particular in dreams.

"Hi," he replied, dejectedly.

"What’s wrong?"

"The love of my life has left me for another."

Awkward silence.

"The love of my life has left me for another. Now I am all alone."

I squatted down beside him with quiet condolence.

"My life has lost all meaning for the love of my life is gone. She was all of my meaning and now I am empty."

He looked at me and heaved a sigh so deep that, I suspect, lizards can never ever heave a sigh nearly as deep if not for being in a dream.

"I heard you take pictures in dreams," without waiting for my concurrence, he requested, "Take a picture of me, to remind all the other lizards... and everyone out there, everybody. Everybody..."

I took out my camera and waited for him to finish his sentence.

Nothing. I hesitated then prompted, "...remind them that...?" A least offensive prompt, I thought.

"No…" He looked at the ground in front of him and he begun to wept,

"Remind them that I love her. And she is my everything. And she has left me. And I am nothing. Remind them that I love her. And that she has left me. And that I love her. And that my tiny heart has broken into one. million. pieces. I gave my heart to her... and when she hastily threw it back at me, when it fell to the ground forever, when it smashed into one million pieces forever... I love her still, with all of every single one of my one million pieces. I have one million hearts that love her, but she has left me. And I cannot forget my sorrow and I cannot confront myself and I cannot confront everything that I thought I knew that I thought I was my courage is broken my spirit is broken my love has left me..."

He looked up from the ground, and sighed again at the sun,

"Remind them that I am a jilted lizard.
And that I love her."

With that, he stood up. He looked to the right of the road. He asked me for the time.
I didn’t have it.
He said nevermind.
He rubbed his face with the back of his left wrist. He walked straight ahead and away from me.

Perhaps, I was a little disoriented with his emotions. I forgot to take a picture of him. Instead, I was looking at his solitary figure... wondering what would be the right thing to say...

A shiny black car zoomed by to run him over.

想你 10

如果有一天 我睡醒过来
就不再这样地淡淡想念着你
将会是怎么样的感觉?

那时的我 是怎么样的一个我？

那时的你 会不会感到任何差别？
你会不会知道？

我会不会想念 这样想你的我？
我会不会想念 这种细细的伤心， 这种微微的心痛,
这种淡淡的想念？

那时的我们就是变了吧.
那时的你 会离我更遥远.
可能就是远到让我想想你也想不到.

July

July is like the Wednesday of the entire year.
After July, it's all down hill, baby.

Thursday is August and September.
October is Friday!
Saturday is November.
December is Sunday.

Monday is January, February, March.
Tuesday is April, August, June. June is like Tuesday night.

I think we should celebrate July 1sts.
Because Wednesday mornings are worth celebrating.
And July 1st is like, half year. So saying, happy July 1st! is like saying, Happy New Half Year!
That makes June 30th, New Half Year Eve.

I probably should have thought of this earlier,
I probably should have told you this earlier,
so we could have celebrated this year's July 1st together.

We could have waited up, on June 30th night, for July 1st.

Like a private joke you know.
Like we're cheating on them.
When the rest of the world feels the unreasonable sense of relief every January 1st, we can feel another unreasonable sense of relief on July 1st!
Behind
Their
Backs.
HAPPY NEW HALF YEAR!
Or in their faces,
HAPPY NEW HALF YEAR!
for that matter.

Churchill

Winston Churchill was one man.

The flying thing

A flying thing flew into my nose just!
Fucking hell, it might still be inside my head,
Swimming up into my eye, or into my frigging limbic system.
If I had known earlier, that this would happen today, I wouldn't get out of bed!
I would have slept right past 5.30 pm, and not have a flying thing fly
into me at 5-fucking-pm, and possibly crawl out from my eye!

I blew and blew my nose just!
I wanted to blow out the flying thing that flew.
But fucking hell, it might still be inside my head...
If life was bad it is worse,
And it will be this worse forever!

Dead Dog

She chanced upon a dead pregnant dog about which she, for a while, deliberated, if she should refer by as a dead pregnant dog or a pregnant dead dog before deciding on the former on the basis that the latter sounds like some necrophilic misfortune.
She looked around and saw nobody looking, and so from a little distance, she studied the corpse as closely as bearable. The dead brown pregnant dog was lying on her left, with her black eyes opened and tongue beneath her apathetic face. Flies fly around already. Big flies, small flies. The dog's dead pink nipples were unevenly taut from the dead impregnated tummy. She looked harder to see if the babies were moving mummy from inside, before deciding on no, on the basis that it would be too complicating to decide on yes.
Walking away for awhile, she wondered how she felt and began searching for some reactions. She was surprised, then disappointed, then desperately despaired to find she felt mainly, sincerely jealous.

Don

Don tapes his lighter to his box of cigarettes
so that Xiaowen cannot steal it from him easily.

想你 9

想你。
想我以前想你的时候。
想我以前想你的心情。
想你的手指在我的手指之间的感觉。

想你 8

可能最近很忙。。。
可是，其实我也不知道自己在忙些什么。。。
可以说时间就是这样地吧？
它一直跑，我一直追。

我不知道啦。

我就是好想对你说这些无聊的话。。。

我好无聊man.

I bet 我想你比你想我多。。。

我真的很无聊man.

Once upon a time...

Once upon a time, there lived a poor but beautiful little girl. She was a poor orphan who wore tattered clothes and slept on the floor of the church. The church people allowed her to help to do some chores at the church in exchange for her sleeping on the floor. She would beg for alms and would make a living despite that financial times were bad because afterall, she was a beautiful little girl.

One night, an evil witch who happened to pass by the church saw the little girl, felt deep jealousy of her beauty, and decided to turn her into an ugly little girl.

The next day, the little girl woke up and wept and wept when she found herself to be ugly.
The church people kicked her out of the church as they did not want an ugly little girl to be sleeping on the floor of the church or do chores when they could get other beautiful little girls to do that.
People stopped giving her alms as they did not want to give alsm to an ugly little girl when they could give it to other beautiful little girls.
So, the little girl wept and wept and thought of the world unfair. She cursed and cursed the evil witch for picking on her. Finally, she thought about ending her ugly life.

The ugly little girl took herself to a nearby stream and jumped into it hoping to die. She did not die successfully and sobbed on the bank.

An ugly prince was passing by while walking his pet cow, Spotty, and saw her, and asked her for her story in exchange for a glass of Spotty's milk, as the hobby of this ugly prince was to go around his father's kingdom exchanging Spotty's milk for stories. It grew dark as they spoke. The girl dried her ears with a tattered piece of her clothes and realised that her ears were full of wax. In a fit of innovation, she gathered all her ear wax around a piece of string and formed some kind of candle. They lit the candle and talked about what the girl can do from now on.
When dawn broke they realised that the lit earwax candle was not melted at all. How marvellous this was! A candle which will take one year to burn out!

So the ugly prince took it back to the castle and sold the marvellous earwax candle to his father, the king, who was a sucker for collecting useless things and paid a huge sum of money for the earwax candle.

So the ugly girl was no longer poor and did not have to die. She spent her time having fun and making earwax candles for the king. She grew older and naturally, fell in love with the ugly prince who fell in love back. They got married and lived quite happily ever after.

Later on, the story of the ugly earwax candle girl spreaded far and wide across many kingdoms, and through many distortions, somehow, resulted in ear candling to be what it is today.

(Dedicating this story to the Samurai Cheryl and Weijie.)

Today

I got a paper cut on my right middle finger.
I got messy hair.
I am so sleepy and tired.
I am losing my imagination.

A rainbow in the sky

I saw a perfect rainbow in the sky that day.
Behind me was a sunset that dyed the whole sky orange in a milky sort of way.

I stood and looked and saw a big perfect rainbow against the milky orange sky,
spanning from my left to my right or my right to my left,
it seemed so near, yet at the same time, it seemed so high.

I remember feeling a felt of delight. I remember smiling a smile to myself.
I remember to remember the perfect rainbow in the sky.

The girl who is sad

There is a girl who is sad in a way she had never been sad before,
like many girls who are sad, she thought about ending her life.
Yet, unlike many girls who are sad, she thinks if she is being melodramatic.
"How unfortunate," she wonders, "that I do not know if I'm being melodramatic because I shouldn't end my life for melodrama's sake."

So, the girl who is sad in a way she had never been sad before, just falls in sadness without ending her life.

She lives each day with sadness.
She sleeps because she is so tired,
She tosses and turns at night,
She sleeps each night with sadness.
She wakes up and wishes that she were dead and therefore need not live another day of sadness.

"Am I being melodramatic?" she wonders, "for is sadness so truly unbearable?"
The girl who is sad in the way she is sad in doesn't know how to compare her sadness and has no answer.

So, she just falls in sadness and lives each day and night wishing she were not alive.

The Frog in the Toilet Bowl

One night, not too many nights ago, when I was dreaming, I came across a frog living in a toilet bowl.

I was very curious and I found myself asking, "Hello frog, do you live in this toilet bowl?"
"Yes," he croaked as he lifted his stout head to look at me, "I certainly do."
"How then," I asked before I could stop to think, "will anybody use this toilet? I mean, do they flush? or what?"

The frog laughed at me before replying, "Silly person with silly questions. I shall not answer you and leave you to wonder."

It is quite true, I thought to myself, that I certainly do not need to know the answer to whether people use or flush this toilet bowl with a frog living in it, all of which is in a dream. This frog is quite sensible indeed.

So, I said to him, "Okay, frog. Then please tell me something interesting, something for me to remember you by."

The frog laughed again and replied," Silly person with silly questions, I know of nothing interesting to tell. For if I may remind you, I am a frog living in a toilet bowl after all. You shall remember me for precisely who I am: a frog living in a toilet bowl after all."

It is quite true, I thought to myself, that he is a frog living in a toilet bowl after all. Then, I laughed and thought this frog quite sensible indeed.

So, I said to him," Okay, frog. It is true. But at the very least, please allow me to take a picture of you? So that I can better remember you for precisely who you are."

The frog laughed again and replied with what was, I suspect, genuine interest, "Silly person, if you can take a picture of me, sure, go ahead. But how will you take a picture of me? I am in a dream!"

To this it was my turn to I laugh before I replied, "Silly frog, you are a frog living in a toilet bowl after all. Of course I can take a picture of you. We are in a dream."

The frog thought and smiled and nodded and graciously agreed to my taking of this picture of him.

想你７

今天，不知道为什么好像从我身上嗅到一点你的味道。
好想知道为什么。

Sincere Regards

Hello friend.
How have you been?
I haven't heard from you for so long.
I don't know what you are doing, where are you, or anything tangible at all.
But I really hope you are doing great.
Best Regards,
Your friend.

Call her tomorrow

He doesn't know if he had missed her call,
though she might have called him everyday for a week or two.
He didn't think, at first, that she might have called,
until he was reminded by some unsuspecting reminder.
For a moment he didn't know what to do,
as his heart was dramatically seized by regret.
A voice in his head said "call her tomorrow",
"but i don't have her number," resigned his heart in deep sorrow.

(C.)R.A.P. ((Composed) Rants with Ants in the Pants) 3 - The cure for Self Pity

A cure for self pity is self loathe.
The fundamental prerequisite, of course, is a decently logical mind.

Most who self pity learnt to self pity because they are unhappy.
Perhaps, another perspective is that they are unhappy because they self pity, too much.
Self pity is somewhat a shortcut way of reducing their cognitive dissonance, between their expectations and their rewards.
The issue is that most who self pity don't want to be cured of their self pity.
This is generally because of two reasons.
The first being that they don't want to be happy and/or like to self pity, which ironically, means that they are happy self-pitying, and their self pity is fake.
The second being that they want to be happy, but are trapped in self pity.
This reflects serious failure to identify that self pity is self inflicted,
like how those who slash cuts on their bodies self inflict pain.

BUT there is a very important difference between these two groups of upset people.
That is that generally, the self-slashers do not complain as much as the self-pities.
If the self-pities don't complain to me, it is not a problem to me at all.
Like how the self-slasher slashes in his private space is not a problem to me at all.
It is a problem to me, if the self-pity complains to me, and wants me to pity him.
Like how it is a problem to me, if the self-slasher complains to me, and wants me to slash him.

MY problem is that I don't want to pity the self-pity, I am more inclined towards wanting to slash him, but I think it will make him self-pity even more.
So it makes me loathe him. Which will not improve the situation, because if I tell him, it will also fuel his self-pity.
So, I suppose, one way to help myself will be to either pity myself even more profoundly, which is to contract his disease, or to slash myself, at the neck, with a parang knife.
Then again, I suppose if I had a parang knife, I might as well slash his neck first for two good reasons: 1, for practice before my own, 2, to save human kind from his incessant self pity.

IF you share my problem, take as many down as you can with you.
IF you are my problem, and have a logical mind, understanding this:
UNLIKE what the shampoo guys tell you, YOU'RE NOT WORTH IT.
Go and learn to hate yourself, it's a very precious skill.
IF you are my problem, and don't have a logical mind, follow these simple instructions:
1) Tell yourself repeatedly that life is unfair.
2) Believe that life will improve in heaven (of course you will go to heaven).
3) Kill yourself immediately.

OR you can go away from me.

Thank you.

The secret of the bath towel

The bath towel hangs on behind the door
with a single dress that is unwashed for weeks
which is depressed like how they say
it's always depressed
as they say it likes to be depressed
with which the dress most certainly disagrees.

Anyway, the secret here is that the bath towel is actually in love with the dress
in a way no other towels ever loved dresses
though the towel doesn't know that
but it can never confess to the dress
because the towel feels that they belong in quite different worlds and they can only meet behind the door or in the cupboard perhaps or in the toilet whatever
but really very rarely
as the towel changes shift very rapidly and frequently
so maybe the towel feels nothing good will come out of anything anyway
so might as well don't say.

The dress doesn’t know about this at all
and perhaps it does not ever need to know, you know, being a dress and all.

想你 6

今天，我不小心割伤了自己。
流了一点血。
感到一点痛。

DESPAIR

I think I should go and sleep and give up waiting.
I think I should go and sleep and forget about everything.

Because nothing ever happens,
and nothing will, in time.

Blow, Wind, Blow

It's such a cold day today.
I am so tired because I did not have enough to sleep
and empty because I did not have enough to eat.

A cold wind blows.

Some darkened clouds strolled by to say hello.
Like neighbours passing by.
My collar brushing against my neck,
waving back...

The wind blows,
so,
I hide in a somewhat corner, by myself.

Blow, wind, blow...

Watching the grass move and bend in the wind comforts me.
Watching the lazy birds flap less in the wind comforts me.
Watching everything with my hair away from my face
in the wind comforts me.

Blow, wind, blow.

Hey.
Bring me with you.
Bring me away.
For a little while...
For a longer while.

Blow, wind, blow.

Its nice when you are in a good mood,
when you are kind and we are quiet,
when we are restful when I am tired,
when you are feeling fine.

Blow, wind, blow.

Blow on before the sun sets,
Blow on before I have to go.
Blow on before we have to remember,
Blow on before we forget.

Let us steal a little time,
let me run away with you,
I am so tired
and empty,
let me run away with you
for a longer while,
please,
blow, wind, blow.

Sleep lesser still

Yesterday, I thought, and I think I know why I don't like to sleep early.

The earlier I sleep, the sooner tomorrow will come.
Today will end, tomorrow will come. I don't want tomorrow to come.

So, I wait up.
Hour after hour.
Aggravating disappointment.

Maybe this is keeping faith.

Forever is too much.

The Reckless Sleeper

"...mystery means nothing..."

(The wait is not in vain.)

Sleep lesser

Nothing happened again.
I'm too sleepy to wait anymore.

Tomorrow then!