Once upon a time, there lived a poor little boy and his poor mother. They lived in harsh times where most of the people were poor and were usually hungry.
The mother recognised the importance of education and tried to teach her son as many things as she could. One day, she was cleaning a pair of candle holders. She showed her son to teach him, that to clean candle holders, one could pour hot water into the candle holders to melt the residue wax which would then be easy to remove.
Another one day, he was playing in the field when he found a little puppy who was sick with ears infected with pus that was hard to remove. Out of his compassion to save the puppy, on his own accord, he poured hot water into the ear of the puppy so to melt what he thought was "ear wax". But the puppy was scalded, of course, and died soon after.
The boy cried for a while and apologised to the dead puppy.
When he was done crying, he took a deep breath and realised that the part of the cooked puppy smelled good enough to eat. It had been a while since he and his mother had proper food to eat, let alone any meat, and to bury the puppy would be to feed the corpse to the insects and worms living in the ground anyway.
(sneak.)
Wednesday, 31 December 2008
Monday, 29 December 2008
So No
Logically, illogical is illogical.
So, is illogical logical for being illogical, as logical is logical?
No, because "illogical is illogical" is logical, but "illogical" is "illogical".
So, illogically, illogical is logical, and logical is illogical?
No, because "illogical is logical, and logical is illogical" is a somewhat logical derivation.
So, illogically, illogical is illogical?
No, illogically, illogical is perhaps like an apple that drives a truck full of dinosaur balloons, that are made of bones and that will become ballet shoe ghosts and roosters with bows, directly into a sea of granite to join a a splat fag ding dash flip-flop fish swimming in stone doing U-turns every two seconds. But now that I've said it, I don't think so.
So? Illogical is sensible?
No, I don't think so.
So, illogical is nonsensible?
No, I don't think so.
So? You think illogical is...?
No, I think, perhaps, thinking is logical, and thinking about the illogical, including thinking this, is like waving shining spotlights at a shadow to find it in the dark. So no, again, I don't think so.
So, is illogical logical for being illogical, as logical is logical?
No, because "illogical is illogical" is logical, but "illogical" is "illogical".
So, illogically, illogical is logical, and logical is illogical?
No, because "illogical is logical, and logical is illogical" is a somewhat logical derivation.
So, illogically, illogical is illogical?
No, illogically, illogical is perhaps like an apple that drives a truck full of dinosaur balloons, that are made of bones and that will become ballet shoe ghosts and roosters with bows, directly into a sea of granite to join a a splat fag ding dash flip-flop fish swimming in stone doing U-turns every two seconds. But now that I've said it, I don't think so.
So? Illogical is sensible?
No, I don't think so.
So, illogical is nonsensible?
No, I don't think so.
So? You think illogical is...?
No, I think, perhaps, thinking is logical, and thinking about the illogical, including thinking this, is like waving shining spotlights at a shadow to find it in the dark. So no, again, I don't think so.
Saturday, 27 December 2008
The Gardener's Garden
In my dream, I found myself in a beautiful garden. It had all kinds of flowers and plants arranged in the most exquisite way. I walked about in awe. In a corner of the garden, I met an old man in a pavilion, and I asked him for permission to join him. He was agreeable. Then, before I could be conscious of myself, I remarked "This is such a beautiful garden!" like a sigh of exaltation.
The old man looked troubled, and then he thanked me. He introduced himself as the head gardener and owner of this garden.
"You must be very proud," I said and congratulated him.
"Thank you. And if you don't mind me asking, who are you?"
"I am... nobody in particular, I think. I am a dreamer, who have the good fortune to find myself here. Hope you don't mind my intrusion."
"No, no, it's my pleasure. If you don't mind me asking for your opinion about something that has been troubling me. Since you come from the reality, perhaps you may lend me some insight."
I was sceptical of what I could help with, but I agreed to try anyway.
"You see, a garden critic came to my garden some time ago. He was a renowned professor from a famous school and very well-known for his meticulousness. So, I was very proud when he praised my garden and especially commended me on how there were very little bugs and insects. He had noticed that the leaves of the plants were very perfect, with the lack of insect bite marks."
"It must be splendid to have your efforts validated by an expert from the field."
"Yes, indeed. I was very happy. He said he was going to list my garden as one of the exemplary gardens of our time... and he did. Soon, visitors flocked from faraway places to visit my garden."
"That's great! Why are you troubled then?"
"Last week, a famous poet came by to visit my garden. He was renowned for writing beautiful poems in praise of gardens. I admire his work, and I had hoped that he could write me a couplet so that I could put it up at the entrance of my garden.
"After taking a walk around my garden, the poet said that this garden is so perfect that it was like a garden in heaven. I was ecstatic, and I thought if he would write me a poem on that, my garden would surely be immortalised in more than one way! But, he went on to say that if this was how a garden was like in heaven, he would much rather stay on earth.
"I did not quite understand him, I thought he may mean that there was no need to go to heaven now that he has seen my garden. But then again, he said it with a tone of regret and was shaking his head, so it must have been a negative remark.
"I asked him what he meant. He explained that the garden was perfect, but there were no butterflies dancing around and no birds' song that could be heard. He imagines that in heaven, that was what he would expect of a garden, since no mere butterfly or bird could fly in through the gates of heaven.
"The poet, however, said that in gardens, he personally preferred to watch the lively fluttering of the ordinary butterflies instead of the most exquisite bloom of flower. So, he would rather remain on earth."
Indeed, even though the weather was pleasant and there was a gentle breeze, the beautiful garden suddenly seemed very still because of the lack of birds and flying things. The gardener had taken so much care of the garden, in removing all garden pests, that no caterpillar was allowed to hatch, and without the caterpillars, there were no butterflies to be there to pollinate the flowers to bear fruits for the birds. Then again, there were also no dragonflies, no bees, no ants, and no stray grain of sand.
"My flowers bloom for a longer time than in other gardens, because there are no insects to pollinate it, they do not wilt to become fruits. I do have some earthworms, because they are good at mixing the earth, but I removed all other insect traces, to keep this garden perfect. And because of that, the garden is now imperfect.
"I will one day come to pass, and so would the perfection of the garden. I could take a few million photographs, but nothing besides poetry could ever truly capture the beauty of the garden. Now I am troubled because the garden would never be immortalised through a poem."
At first, I thought that to comfort the gardener, I could have told him about how perfection is imperfect, because it leaves no room for improvement and imagination. Since he had now discovered the imperfection of the garden, he should be glad that he found a new way to improve and breakthrough. Then again, there was the dilemma that if he succeeds in introducing the butterflies, he would lose the original appeal of the garden and its perfection. Or worse, even if he succeeds to resolve that dilemma somehow, the garden might become truly perfect, and then, by the definition, be truly imperfect. I decided that it was too muddling to discourse through this argument.
Then, I thought that I could remind him to enjoy the garden for himself, and measure the success by his own yardstick. But such a beautiful garden couldn't have come about from a man who did not understand the importance of balancing self-fulfilment and others' validation. This was not an issue about his confidence or showing off.
I thought that I could remind him about the critic's appraisal, but I already knew that the critic's endorsement would not immortalise the garden's beauty.
"Haven't other poets visited your garden before? Haven't they written anything?" I asked.
"They might have, but they were not famous."
"Is it that important?"
"A famous garden has to bear the quotes of a famous poet, and that is only befitting. Otherwise, it would be like a lady wearing the most exquisite dress with a pair of cheap-looking shoes."
Initially, I thought that I could have told him that the other poets' poems were just as good as the famous poet's. They may become famous one day, or at least, there are probably more of them and there was only one of the famous poet. Then, what about quality versus quantity?
I thought that I could have told him that I could come back to reality and write him a story, then I realised that I'm not a famous anybody either, and that wouldn't be very comforting to him.
Is fame important? I have not been famous before, but he was a gardener who has gardened a very famous garden. I was in no shoes to discuss the futility of fame.
At this point, the garden didn't look very beautiful any more. It looked dull and everywhere I looked, I saw dead caterpillars and poisoned insects' corpses. I realised that I was in no position to help the gardener at all.
Dismayed, I took my leave and told him that I'd return if I thought of anything that might be helpful.
The old man looked troubled, and then he thanked me. He introduced himself as the head gardener and owner of this garden.
"You must be very proud," I said and congratulated him.
"Thank you. And if you don't mind me asking, who are you?"
"I am... nobody in particular, I think. I am a dreamer, who have the good fortune to find myself here. Hope you don't mind my intrusion."
"No, no, it's my pleasure. If you don't mind me asking for your opinion about something that has been troubling me. Since you come from the reality, perhaps you may lend me some insight."
I was sceptical of what I could help with, but I agreed to try anyway.
"You see, a garden critic came to my garden some time ago. He was a renowned professor from a famous school and very well-known for his meticulousness. So, I was very proud when he praised my garden and especially commended me on how there were very little bugs and insects. He had noticed that the leaves of the plants were very perfect, with the lack of insect bite marks."
"It must be splendid to have your efforts validated by an expert from the field."
"Yes, indeed. I was very happy. He said he was going to list my garden as one of the exemplary gardens of our time... and he did. Soon, visitors flocked from faraway places to visit my garden."
"That's great! Why are you troubled then?"
"Last week, a famous poet came by to visit my garden. He was renowned for writing beautiful poems in praise of gardens. I admire his work, and I had hoped that he could write me a couplet so that I could put it up at the entrance of my garden.
"After taking a walk around my garden, the poet said that this garden is so perfect that it was like a garden in heaven. I was ecstatic, and I thought if he would write me a poem on that, my garden would surely be immortalised in more than one way! But, he went on to say that if this was how a garden was like in heaven, he would much rather stay on earth.
"I did not quite understand him, I thought he may mean that there was no need to go to heaven now that he has seen my garden. But then again, he said it with a tone of regret and was shaking his head, so it must have been a negative remark.
"I asked him what he meant. He explained that the garden was perfect, but there were no butterflies dancing around and no birds' song that could be heard. He imagines that in heaven, that was what he would expect of a garden, since no mere butterfly or bird could fly in through the gates of heaven.
"The poet, however, said that in gardens, he personally preferred to watch the lively fluttering of the ordinary butterflies instead of the most exquisite bloom of flower. So, he would rather remain on earth."
Indeed, even though the weather was pleasant and there was a gentle breeze, the beautiful garden suddenly seemed very still because of the lack of birds and flying things. The gardener had taken so much care of the garden, in removing all garden pests, that no caterpillar was allowed to hatch, and without the caterpillars, there were no butterflies to be there to pollinate the flowers to bear fruits for the birds. Then again, there were also no dragonflies, no bees, no ants, and no stray grain of sand.
"My flowers bloom for a longer time than in other gardens, because there are no insects to pollinate it, they do not wilt to become fruits. I do have some earthworms, because they are good at mixing the earth, but I removed all other insect traces, to keep this garden perfect. And because of that, the garden is now imperfect.
"I will one day come to pass, and so would the perfection of the garden. I could take a few million photographs, but nothing besides poetry could ever truly capture the beauty of the garden. Now I am troubled because the garden would never be immortalised through a poem."
At first, I thought that to comfort the gardener, I could have told him about how perfection is imperfect, because it leaves no room for improvement and imagination. Since he had now discovered the imperfection of the garden, he should be glad that he found a new way to improve and breakthrough. Then again, there was the dilemma that if he succeeds in introducing the butterflies, he would lose the original appeal of the garden and its perfection. Or worse, even if he succeeds to resolve that dilemma somehow, the garden might become truly perfect, and then, by the definition, be truly imperfect. I decided that it was too muddling to discourse through this argument.
Then, I thought that I could remind him to enjoy the garden for himself, and measure the success by his own yardstick. But such a beautiful garden couldn't have come about from a man who did not understand the importance of balancing self-fulfilment and others' validation. This was not an issue about his confidence or showing off.
I thought that I could remind him about the critic's appraisal, but I already knew that the critic's endorsement would not immortalise the garden's beauty.
"Haven't other poets visited your garden before? Haven't they written anything?" I asked.
"They might have, but they were not famous."
"Is it that important?"
"A famous garden has to bear the quotes of a famous poet, and that is only befitting. Otherwise, it would be like a lady wearing the most exquisite dress with a pair of cheap-looking shoes."
Initially, I thought that I could have told him that the other poets' poems were just as good as the famous poet's. They may become famous one day, or at least, there are probably more of them and there was only one of the famous poet. Then, what about quality versus quantity?
I thought that I could have told him that I could come back to reality and write him a story, then I realised that I'm not a famous anybody either, and that wouldn't be very comforting to him.
Is fame important? I have not been famous before, but he was a gardener who has gardened a very famous garden. I was in no shoes to discuss the futility of fame.
At this point, the garden didn't look very beautiful any more. It looked dull and everywhere I looked, I saw dead caterpillars and poisoned insects' corpses. I realised that I was in no position to help the gardener at all.
Dismayed, I took my leave and told him that I'd return if I thought of anything that might be helpful.
Wednesday, 24 December 2008
Untitled
Her mother told her that the bumps on her fingers were probably some allergic reaction to something she touched, but she was pretty sure she didn't touch anything exciting that day she first discovered them. Since then, she washed her hands profusely, and deliberately drank more water so that she could use the toilet extra times, without generating any suspicion for using too much of the toilet, in case anyone was watching her.
In the privacy of the toilets, which was the only place that she thought was truly private, she stared at the bumps until some time after she was convinced that aliens must have had implanted something strange in her finger. It was on her ring finger. Perhaps the aliens married her!
Perhaps the little lumps were actually alien eggs laid in her fingers, because perhaps that was how aliens reproduced!
Finally, she decided that she had to cut off her hand because the alien worms or whatever organism would try to overtake her by her nervous system. By the time she realised this, they must have overtaken her entire hand. No. She should cut off her entire arm just to play it safe.
In the privacy of the toilets, which was the only place that she thought was truly private, she stared at the bumps until some time after she was convinced that aliens must have had implanted something strange in her finger. It was on her ring finger. Perhaps the aliens married her!
Perhaps the little lumps were actually alien eggs laid in her fingers, because perhaps that was how aliens reproduced!
Finally, she decided that she had to cut off her hand because the alien worms or whatever organism would try to overtake her by her nervous system. By the time she realised this, they must have overtaken her entire hand. No. She should cut off her entire arm just to play it safe.
Monday, 22 December 2008
She Laughed Feebly
"Wow, what are you doing here? How long as it been since?"
"Hm... Was it when I bumped into you sometime ago at Lane Crawford...?"
"Oh man, I haven't heard anyone say 'Lane Crawford' in a while. But yah, that was a long time ago! I was still dating Sarah then, right? You were with... your sister, right?"
"I can't quite remember already. So how have you been?"
"Great! I'm doing great! Tony, my eldest, is going to Primary School next year, so Sarah and I have been busy volunteering at the school... you know... to secure the place. No joke one I tell you. Then Joni just recovered from flu. So poor thing to see the little girl sick. Just breaks your heart. How about you? How many have you got?"
"Oh no, none for me please. I'm still single. See, no ring!"
"Oh no... why are you still single? Don't tell me you're still hung up over me?"
"No no, I have been seeing people, you know. Very, very eligible men, trust me. They're definitely much more eligible than you... Oh, don't get me wrong. I don't know why I said that."
"Relax relax. I was just joking. If they're so eligible, then what's wrong with you? Still so hard to please? Must be so picky meh?"
"No lar... I don't know. Maybe they're just not very interesting, or as my friends say, I'm just can't be bothered lor. Maybe I am just so happy being single, after all."
"If they can't even interest you, then they can't be that eligible, right?"
"Well, erm... well, maybe you're right lar."
"Well, I gotta go. Meeting Sarah at the Forum. Gotta control her spending on the kids' clothes. Those stuff not cheap you know! Like a simple tee-shirt can cost a hundred bucks. Crazy right? Branded stuff lar, granted, but still don't need to sell so ex right?"
"Right, right. You go ahead. I'm headed this way. Take care."
"You take care too. Faster go look for somebody ah! Don't waste time liao leh! Women old will lose value, and have babies also dangerous lor. Your number no change right? Okay, okay, I'll call you sometime, and let's catch up properly. Maybe can give you some advice. Okay, I really gotta rush. Bye!"
That night she lost sleep, because she deeply regretted not telling him off.
In the next week, she hunted him down over facebook. After much consideration, she sent him a message saying, "Married with kids, so what? BIG FUCK lah? You have no right to make me feel like SHIT lor, right? We've broken up for so long liao and I don't understand why you must still torture me like that? FUCK YOU, okay?" with the caps and all.
Two months later, she messaged him again, "Thanks for last night. ;) "
"Hm... Was it when I bumped into you sometime ago at Lane Crawford...?"
"Oh man, I haven't heard anyone say 'Lane Crawford' in a while. But yah, that was a long time ago! I was still dating Sarah then, right? You were with... your sister, right?"
"I can't quite remember already. So how have you been?"
"Great! I'm doing great! Tony, my eldest, is going to Primary School next year, so Sarah and I have been busy volunteering at the school... you know... to secure the place. No joke one I tell you. Then Joni just recovered from flu. So poor thing to see the little girl sick. Just breaks your heart. How about you? How many have you got?"
"Oh no, none for me please. I'm still single. See, no ring!"
"Oh no... why are you still single? Don't tell me you're still hung up over me?"
"No no, I have been seeing people, you know. Very, very eligible men, trust me. They're definitely much more eligible than you... Oh, don't get me wrong. I don't know why I said that."
"Relax relax. I was just joking. If they're so eligible, then what's wrong with you? Still so hard to please? Must be so picky meh?"
"No lar... I don't know. Maybe they're just not very interesting, or as my friends say, I'm just can't be bothered lor. Maybe I am just so happy being single, after all."
"If they can't even interest you, then they can't be that eligible, right?"
"Well, erm... well, maybe you're right lar."
"Well, I gotta go. Meeting Sarah at the Forum. Gotta control her spending on the kids' clothes. Those stuff not cheap you know! Like a simple tee-shirt can cost a hundred bucks. Crazy right? Branded stuff lar, granted, but still don't need to sell so ex right?"
"Right, right. You go ahead. I'm headed this way. Take care."
"You take care too. Faster go look for somebody ah! Don't waste time liao leh! Women old will lose value, and have babies also dangerous lor. Your number no change right? Okay, okay, I'll call you sometime, and let's catch up properly. Maybe can give you some advice. Okay, I really gotta rush. Bye!"
*
That night she lost sleep, because she deeply regretted not telling him off.
In the next week, she hunted him down over facebook. After much consideration, she sent him a message saying, "Married with kids, so what? BIG FUCK lah? You have no right to make me feel like SHIT lor, right? We've broken up for so long liao and I don't understand why you must still torture me like that? FUCK YOU, okay?" with the caps and all.
*
Two months later, she messaged him again, "Thanks for last night. ;) "
Sunday, 21 December 2008
Sunday, 14 December 2008
Spaces
While he spoke and I listened, the cool morning breeze came to send a shiver up and down my spine and to keep a part of my mind quite awake while I watched from inside how a dull glaze overtook my eyes, and the houses that were outside the window that was behind him suddenly became two mountains. Two mountains, that were dark green and faraway - like a scene from a morning in a China featuring two faraway mountains - appeared behind him and everything faded away. His face became younger. He lost age.
I did not sleep, but I must have been dreaming. I dreamt that he was no longer himself, but my teacher from once upon a time, when I was a farmer or a peasant, of sorts, I think, and he was talking slowly, and I was listening slowly - much slower than the pace at which I had to listen to him now. But I was confused.
I listened to the voice of the teacher for a while. If he was my teacher, and I, his student, why didn't I study harder? I was aware that back in the olden days, I had no internet, no fast paced life, no sms, no errands to run in town later in the day. Why was I confused? I blamed myself for being unable to appreciate life when it was slow.
Then I dreamt that the teacher hit me with his stick, and I felt a sharp pain on my head, so I woke up.
I blamed myself for being too tired, but it was the pace of living the pace of being nowadays. Who isn't too tired nowadays, really? Woe is everybody for having to suffer the living now instead of living then. Woe. Even though they had to plough the fields and had no electricity, their needs were simple, and it was easier to be happy. They lived amongst mountains and woke up to good air, good poems, good sky.
Come on man, I had to wake up this morning to check my emails and my bank account on the internet. And everybody knows how the weather has gone haywire. It was just so hot yesterday, and cold winds blow today. It should only get colder in December... Oh if only I was at home in bed, under the warm covers sleeping. This weather is perfect to sleep in.
But no. Too bad. I can't sleep in tomorrow, I have to go to work. And too bad, I can't sleep in next weekend because I have to go to some baby shower and another somebody is getting married. And too soon, will come warmer weather and goodbye cold winds and hello cold winds...
While he spoke and I didn't listen, I realised this with fear and trepidation - the pace of living the pace of being will only get faster and faster.
(sneak.)
I did not sleep, but I must have been dreaming. I dreamt that he was no longer himself, but my teacher from once upon a time, when I was a farmer or a peasant, of sorts, I think, and he was talking slowly, and I was listening slowly - much slower than the pace at which I had to listen to him now. But I was confused.
I listened to the voice of the teacher for a while. If he was my teacher, and I, his student, why didn't I study harder? I was aware that back in the olden days, I had no internet, no fast paced life, no sms, no errands to run in town later in the day. Why was I confused? I blamed myself for being unable to appreciate life when it was slow.
Then I dreamt that the teacher hit me with his stick, and I felt a sharp pain on my head, so I woke up.
I blamed myself for being too tired, but it was the pace of living the pace of being nowadays. Who isn't too tired nowadays, really? Woe is everybody for having to suffer the living now instead of living then. Woe. Even though they had to plough the fields and had no electricity, their needs were simple, and it was easier to be happy. They lived amongst mountains and woke up to good air, good poems, good sky.
Come on man, I had to wake up this morning to check my emails and my bank account on the internet. And everybody knows how the weather has gone haywire. It was just so hot yesterday, and cold winds blow today. It should only get colder in December... Oh if only I was at home in bed, under the warm covers sleeping. This weather is perfect to sleep in.
But no. Too bad. I can't sleep in tomorrow, I have to go to work. And too bad, I can't sleep in next weekend because I have to go to some baby shower and another somebody is getting married. And too soon, will come warmer weather and goodbye cold winds and hello cold winds...
While he spoke and I didn't listen, I realised this with fear and trepidation - the pace of living the pace of being will only get faster and faster.
(sneak.)
Friday, 12 December 2008
By the way: A Mercedes
小时候 常常听见 大人们说 Mercedes 也可以 用福建话叫 “免修理” (mian2 xiu1 li4) - 不必修理的意思。
每当有人说出 这个不好笑的笑话 都会有人跟着笑。
长大了 才了解 应该叫它做 “不免修理” (mm3 mian2 xiu1 li4) 会比较适合。
可是 说出来了 很有可能 大家会觉得 这更不好笑。
每当有人说出 这个不好笑的笑话 都会有人跟着笑。
长大了 才了解 应该叫它做 “不免修理” (mm3 mian2 xiu1 li4) 会比较适合。
可是 说出来了 很有可能 大家会觉得 这更不好笑。
Wednesday, 10 December 2008
Yakult lover
She would set aside a task of the day that she did not feel like doing, and promise herself a bottle of Yakult for accomplishing the task. As a child, she did not like taking a shower, so her mother would give her a bottle Yakult to drink, as a reward for going to the shower without putting up a fight.
"Yakult is so nice to drink. The happy little bottles make a kid feel happy about being a kid because it fits so nicely in the palms of a kid. Adults look stupid drinking yakults, but it's so hard to resist. It's so nice to drink! Then the adult would feel happy like a happy little kid." She would tell her friends sometimes when she presented them with yakults for their birthdays or christmas gifts. On one such occasion, her friend tsked and remarked,
"Yakult should really pay you to do the copy-writing. Or for your marketing at least."
She applied for a job in Yakult as a taster.
And she got it.
And she tasted Yakult all day everyday (though she only drank up to the daily recommended serving) and had high job satisfaction and lived happily ever after.
"Yakult is so nice to drink. The happy little bottles make a kid feel happy about being a kid because it fits so nicely in the palms of a kid. Adults look stupid drinking yakults, but it's so hard to resist. It's so nice to drink! Then the adult would feel happy like a happy little kid." She would tell her friends sometimes when she presented them with yakults for their birthdays or christmas gifts. On one such occasion, her friend tsked and remarked,
"Yakult should really pay you to do the copy-writing. Or for your marketing at least."
She applied for a job in Yakult as a taster.
And she got it.
And she tasted Yakult all day everyday (though she only drank up to the daily recommended serving) and had high job satisfaction and lived happily ever after.
Tuesday, 9 December 2008
There is no if
When we were at the crossroads two traffic junctions away from your house, I thought of how there must be a million quotes on crossroads, but that I couldn't think of any that touched me. Then when you said that you loved me, I heard from somewhere, or nowhere, the Cure's "There is no if", like it was playing loudly on a stereo in a car driving by.
I thought hard about that - what was the matter with me, and if I still believed in love - I worried myself for a while.
But I thought of her.
She leapt in from the open window in the middle of that sleepless night. Perhaps, she had descended from the moon. The moon was not yet full. Perhaps she was why the moon was not yet full. She looked like she was made of ivory. She looked like she was made of ivory so much that it was impossible that she was made of ivory. I watched her slowly dance around my bed - it was some ballet - it looked like ballet - and she twirled around my bed. It was difficult to see someone so rigid and impossible dance like a ribbon. I was worried if she fell, she would break herself, or crack, or disappear.
When dawn came, she became sunlight.
How could I have told you? Would you believe me if I told you that I'm in love with a girl that I must have been delusional to have met? I suppose I am in love with her.
Then I still believe in love - that is how I will comfort myself.
But what will I tell you?
I thought hard about that - what was the matter with me, and if I still believed in love - I worried myself for a while.
But I thought of her.
She leapt in from the open window in the middle of that sleepless night. Perhaps, she had descended from the moon. The moon was not yet full. Perhaps she was why the moon was not yet full. She looked like she was made of ivory. She looked like she was made of ivory so much that it was impossible that she was made of ivory. I watched her slowly dance around my bed - it was some ballet - it looked like ballet - and she twirled around my bed. It was difficult to see someone so rigid and impossible dance like a ribbon. I was worried if she fell, she would break herself, or crack, or disappear.
When dawn came, she became sunlight.
*
How could I have told you? Would you believe me if I told you that I'm in love with a girl that I must have been delusional to have met? I suppose I am in love with her.
Then I still believe in love - that is how I will comfort myself.
But what will I tell you?
Friday, 5 December 2008
想你17
可能我想你的心情 就好像
公海马 在生小海马的时候 想着母海马的心情。
我可以承担着 自己生活在茫茫大海中的孤独。
我愿意怀着 与一般母动物生育不一样的寂寞。
但就算是有了 多么非凡的成就
我仍然还是想着你。
公海马 在生小海马的时候 想着母海马的心情。
我可以承担着 自己生活在茫茫大海中的孤独。
我愿意怀着 与一般母动物生育不一样的寂寞。
但就算是有了 多么非凡的成就
我仍然还是想着你。
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)