...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.