11 Jasmine flower buds

On a night, in a field, in a place forgotten by the moonlight, there was a jasmine shrub from which eleven jasmine flower buds have fallen off from their stems.

Indeed, the sky was growing older, and had her heart broken apart when her butterfly was caught. The night sky resembled the wings of the butterfly number 3, which were of dark blue colour and bore bright little white spots that were made to look like the stars that never failed to shine brightly from behind the clouds. It was for reasons not beyond a fairy-tale that the sky thought the butterfly very endearing, and eventually fell in love with the butterfly without realising. Then, when the butterfly was caught to be pinned down as a dead specimen beneath an anonymous plastic glass chest to be humiliatingly spread, the sky had finally realised that she had given away her heart without relentlessness. Now, she cannot do anything else but cry. Laden with sorrow, the rains that fell helplessly were too much for the eleven jasmine flower buds to bear, and they too, fell to the ground, disheveled, and slightly bruised.

They had wanted to whisper to the winds, to take away their hearts, and give them to the sad sky; but they could not muster enough words, for after all, they were only little flower buds. Out of despair and lack of anything else to do, the smallest of these fallen younglings wept and no one was around to smell the sad sweet scent of her tears.

"I am slightly bloomed, I was going to bloom even more tomorrow. If only I was bloomed, surely the wind will listen when I ask for my heart to be taken to the sky," thought one of the older buds to say to the others. However, as she was thinking this thought, the wind blew past, and made the jasmine bush shiver. This startled the slightly bloomed bud, and made her forget what was left unsaid.

One of the buds, who heard the thoughts of the slightly bloomed bud, felt sorry that she herself would never even be slightly bloomed. She had wanted to weep, but the wind blew a fallen leaf over her, and she took comfort from being hidden.

Two other fallen buds had fallen away from the rest of the others, and they felt alone and scared, and sorry for themselves that their lives will end sooner than they expected. One of them thought of the sisters she had never got to know, and cried for them. The other one of them thought of the mistakes that she had never confessed, and was filled with remorse but no room to repent.

One of them wanted to curse the reckless sky, for how could she have given away her heart to the fragile butterfly? However, the bud remembered that she had only just wanted to offer her own heart to the sky, for she was moved by the sorrowful rain, and then she altogether forgot that she wanted to curse the sky for being reckless.

One of the other buds cried hopefully to two others,

"Let us flee to the running waters, the rain has made a stream, and that will carry our songs to the wind and the sky for sure." The three of them agreed together, for they were ignorant of each other's follies, and took too much comfort in each other's company. Above all, the three of them had believed tacitly that the rain never meant to hurt them. Yet they were to find that the water was to bruise them even further, and they too, would become undone.

The tenth bud, which was the one who fell before the last to have fallen, was too careless to understand her new situation. She rested upon the ground, and enjoyed not carrying her weight herself.

Seeing the madness of her sisters, the eleventh bud to have fallen, wept silently to herself.

Perhaps it was because of the strong scent of sweet sadness that caught the wind's attention, or perhaps it was not, but suddenly, the wind whispered to them softly,

"Little jasmine flower buds, weeping on the ground, what word is it that you have for me? If you tell, I will listen."

"Wind, wind, wind, wind," cried the flower buds, "please, take our hearts to give it to the sky, so that it will stop crying."

"The sky is crying for she is sad, her heart was broken, and will not be mended by your hearts given to her. It is not the way things are meant to work. You can understand, for though you have never bloomed, most of your hearts are already broken."

"My heart is not yet broken," cried the tenth flower bud with glee while the other flower buds wept a little harder.

"Indeed it is not," replied the wind, "Will you give me your heart?"

"If I give you my heart, will you promise to break it?" Asked the tenth, and it was with this that the wind understood this flower bud desired other answers.

"If you give me your heart, I will promise to protect it, and keep it safe."

"I can protect it quite well, so you don't have to hold it to protect it," the tenth replied defiantly.

"You can break it too, my dear, I don't have to hold it to break it," the bemused wind replied.

The tenth thought about it for a while, and was completely confused. What was there to lose? What was there to gain? There was nothing to refute. Before she could decide for herself, the wind stole her heart, and carried it away.

"Come back!" She wanted to cry to her heart, but she knew it would be in vain, and so, she fell silent.

The other flower buds, that had enough left in them to feel sorry for their silly little sister, felt sorry.

Under the sky, the eleven jasmine flower buds would be forgotten with the things they left unsaid, having found forlorn. The wind, although she failed to promise, carried the scent of their sorrows and the stolen hearts to comfort the sky's sorrows. The rain would soon stop falling and the sun would rise to bring the morning shortly thereafter. The new day would bring new dreams, and new songs to sing, but broken hearts were never meant to ever fully mend.

Bitterness of things

She picked on the sliced red chillis that were soaked in light soya sauce and carefully removed the chilli seeds with her chopsticks. As she was going to put the red strips into her mouth, they sang to her,

"Don't eat us! For we will be minced, by the cruel teeth of your cruel jaw!"

This made her giggle and wonder about life and death. How is it that these little dead chilli could even struggle for their existence? When most of the time she was drunk and could not bear to consider the meaning of her own life? They ought to think of it as some metamorphosis. Like they will be minced, and swallowed, and gone into the stomach with the rest of the food that she had swallowed, and will eventually be passed out of her as, well, shit.

"Look at it this way," she said to them in her head, "it's like, the closest you would ever be to becoming a butterfly."

This reminded the chillis how bitter it was that they felt towards the disgusting caterpillars that bored into their brothers and sisters, and completely ruin them, before morphing into butterfly-like-moths, hatching like angels into the skies. Although she did not realise that they indeed tasted a little bitter, she whispered telepathically to them,

"If you give me your hearts, I will promise to break them."

They replied, begrudgingly,

"If we don't give you our hearts, who else will we give it to?"

In the night, in the night, there are bats flying around.
Eating flies, eating fruits, singing in ultra high pitched sound.
They were once dirty rats, crawling despicably on the ground,
Long before long before their wings were to be found.

(sneak.)

Untitled

The Green Fairy came to me one day
And asked me where did Shakespeare go to.
Unfazed by her intricate beauty,
I knew, by drawing implications,
That it was a catch-22-kind-of-riddle.

If I had answered her wrongly,
She would deliver a fatal bite,
From which a lethal poison would flow
And go to my heart and make it bleed.
I will eventually die.

If I had answered her honestly,
She would deliver a kiss,
From which a lethal poison would leak
From my lips to my heart and make it stop.
I will immediately die.

So, I kept quiet
And that is how I live to tell the tale.
She sits on the pulse on my wrist
Awaiting my answer.

Untitled

This is a picture of a tiger in an enclosure in the Singapore Night Safari. It was taken on a night of the tiger's life. It could have been a night significant to the picture, though probably not for the tiger. But then, who am I to say? Perhaps that night the tiger had found a new place to pace the figure 8.

She 4

She stroked her cheek quite gently
and thought if she'd want to die
but the slap whispered softly
to her that she was too old to lie.

Boredom Rhapsody

Of the many reasons that are true, it is indeed because of boredom, that I sleep and that I sleep a lot. On one such occasion, whereby I was bored, I fell asleep and I dreamt, that I fell asleep and I dreamt of a green poisonous snake with no name. The green poisonous snake bit me several times on my feet in the dream in the dream. I woke up in my dream and I recalled the dream to a happy green snake, who is a friend. I said,

"I dreamt of a green poisonous snake with no name." The happy green snake friend, who also had no name, and is usually quite harmless, and lived in a strawberry field, said,

"Hee! Hee!"

To this, I was not sure if it was directed to itself, or to me, so I asked, somewhat accusingly,

"What do you mean by that? Was it you who was pretending to be the green poisonous snake in my dream? Was it you who bit me?"

The happy green snake did not reply me. Instead, as somewhat quite predictable of non-sequential dreams, the happy green snake and I just both chose some strawberries to eat. The snake was more particular about the colour, shape, and size of the strawberries it chose to swallowed after two chomps. ("Chomp! Chomp!") On the other hand, I chose and ate some sour strawberries with less deliberateness and tact, though I did enjoy the circumstances very much, anyway.

Soon, the day broke, even though I did not notice that it was night. The happy green snake slithered away; and it will bother nobody and will have nobody to bother it back. I knew that the snake will live and be happy forever until that day when its heart gets broken, and I dread for that day to come, although I understand that it is inevitable.

Waving goodbye, I woke up from the dream too and to my curiousity, there were two new mosquito bites on my feet, in the place of the snake bites in my dream in my dream.

Now, simply because I remember to recall, I must indulge in wonderings if mosquito bites, or what I think are mosquito bites, are really snake bites in dreams of dreams? Or if the happy green snake was really the green poisonous snake which bit me? Or if the mosquito bites are really the manifestations of the sour dream strawberries I had enjoyed eating?

Perhaps it was not the happy green snake I met afterall, it was the green poisonous snake who was pretending to be my happy green snake friend all along? Perhaps, I did not dream that I woke up in my dream... Perhaps, I dreamt that I woke up from my dream when I was still dreaming it.

For the mercy of how every morning sky is both a beautiful and meaningless sight, can life be any bit more interesting? If any of my "perhaps" was true like that? If I am not recalling my dreams, but am just dreaming another dream?

I seriously, seriously doubt. Although, I am pretty sure the mosquito bites will still be itchy, anyhow. With my sureness, I dedicate all my capacity for melodrama to remorse and despair before boredom robs me of it.

I hope I won't have a stomachache

I have a bad cough. Today, I coughed so hard that I threw up. After throwing up a lot of vomit of spit and things I ate, I resumed coughing badly.

Suddenly, my heart and bits of my lungs flew out of my throat.

"Plop!" my heart went on the table, and, "Plop. Plop. Plip," the bits of my lungs went on the table and floor. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before this. Imagine my shock! After getting over being grossed out, I worried about the mess I made.

I noticed that they were gross and dirty, with bits of fats and some tissue things, or whatever that stuck around. So, I plucked my courage up and picked up my heart and lungs bits. I proceeded to wash them. There were some green stains and black spots. I used the kitchen sink sponge to help get rid of the stains. I was rather grossed out because I never liked to deal with raw slabs of meat. Some bits of lungs slipped into the sink and are lost to me forever.

After washing, I thought, if I tried to force swallow my heart back I would gag and die. Yet, I was compelled to put my heart back into my body. So, I decided to cook it after marinating with oyster and dark soya sauce, and finally, I ate it after dicing it up with a fork and butter knife. The butter knife was the closest thing I could find to a knife and was rather blunt and unenjoyable to eat with. Now, my heart is in my stomach as I am writing this, along with bits of my lungs, and soon, I will pass it out of my body, as shit.

I will have no heart, and incomplete lungs. I refuse to eat my shit. Although, I suppose, my heart is nourishing my body, and metaphorically, I will have my heart with me, in spirit...somewhat.

Now, I have to go and clean up the table of the blotches of heart stains my heart made. It's a little bit gross, but if I leave it until tomorrow, the blood stains may become impossible to remove.

If I have a stomachache now, my heart may hurt.

Ain't no sunshine

[Where have you been, where are you going? wait a while and tell me please before you leave... So at least I have some stuff to wonder, where you may be eating for dinner, what you may eat for breakfast... You are so cruel to steal yourself away from me. There is only darkness that awaits me, darkness everyday. Will you leave everyday?]

One day Snow White was ugly. It is a bit difficult to imagine, when all the stories say that she's quite the beautiful thing to look at. What happened on the day she turned ugly was that Snow White felt too free, so free was she, that she decided to go to laugh at a fish.

"Ha! Ha!" Laughed Snow White, as heartily as she could as she pointed at a fish swimming about in a lake, "Ha! You fish! Ha! Ha!"

This fish did not turn out to be a wizard or elf, or a prince, who was feeling too free such that he disguised himself as a fish; instead, this fish was just another fish, who happened to be very vain about its appearances, and happened to understand human's language, as some fish do. Upon hearing the unprovoked Snow White laughing at itself, its insecurities about being a fish drove it to commit suicide by diving on the river bank.

Snow White, upon witnessing this crazy fish, while still feeling too free, decided to take it home to eat.

"Sashimi!" She thought excitedly, and went to buy wasabi from the japanese guy who grew wasabi and taught people how to eat sashimi and generally profitted quite well from that... but anyway, Snow White got her wasabi and fish and went home to prepare the fish.

Briefly she wondered if the fish was poisonous, for it is always strange for fish to kill itself. Perhaps Snow White was feeling guilty about laughing at the fish for no apparent reason, but the guilt did not last anyway, as she soon raise her sumitomo sushi stainless steel knife to slice the over-sensitive fish.

Alas! Snow White had slippery hands, and the fish slipped, and the knife also slipped, and fell, and in the mad panic, the knife sliced off Snow White's nose, and half a cheek, and the fish was chopped into three uneven pieces.

From that day onwards, Snow White was ugly and lived as happily as she could be being ugly ever after. The fish was eventually thrown away.

All the people invent

Trit trot, goes the billy goat gruff across the bridge across the troll who doesn't care to eat the billy goat anymore because he has the black sheep and three bags full of wool stuck between his teeth! There are hazards to swallowing first class black wool, namely, one will have black wool's stools. The dentist will also wonder why the teeth will be strange. Frankly it tastes bad because the black sheep don't bathe or shave in a long time, in a clean way. We the racist black deep sheep hater but no it's not true we just fear the dark the night is dark the eclipse of the sun is dark, the shadows of our skin is dark it is dark and we are afraid of the unknown so don't get personal please it's wasting my time my life, are you sick of bearing the stench of unbearable lightness of being? Albert! Albert! are you hearing me? Where is the camel that will be the ship across the desert sands? Where will you bring me? my moose, my caravan!? Nobody, nowhere, the oasis and the lack of strong winds to reclaim the lost grounds. The existence is elsewhere. Albert! Albert! are you hearing my cries? Goodbye, goddesses, and profound injustice. Are you crazy? do you dare to ask this are you crazy? I am not. I am as sane as a madman! Albert! ALBERT! what are you talking about? I demand that you tell me now! Stop playing around the apple tree. No, the apple is either red nor green, it will be brown when it falls to the ground. In fact, let it be purple. or orange. So that the orange will be confused and feel all sensitive and cry. Why isn't the orange called the sun? I wonder if the sun is orange, or fire is really red or green. Does it matter? Albert doesn't want to tell me the answer, or ignore me completely. I think albert takes a sick fancy to look at me, and not answer me. I think it is annoying but it also drives me to look at the edge of my spectacles to only see the rims, blurred, and what's beyond it, blurred, and what's within it, inconsequential! ah! what a powerful word! INCONSEQUENTIAL! deserved to be bold.

Trit trot, goes the lady in red across the london bridge across the river where great fish live and will never be caught before they die at the hands of nobody! There must be a mermaid who is jealous of the trit trotting lady in red and will plot the murder of the one with legs maybe eating the human legs will let the mermaid grow her own legs so that she can trit trot across the london bridge too. so ghastly the idea. so plausible too! maybe so close to being true and so horrible and so true that nobody dares to write it out or suggest it for fear of being true. so the mermaid must eat the legs raw because cannot cook underwater anyway, maybe like sushi wrap in rice dumpling and sea weed, wet sea weed. the nails at the toes must be quite hard to chew. the bones the mermaid will use to stab herself in her dreaded tail. maybe her scales are pink, or orange like the clown fish, like the fruit, like the sunset. but will be red with the blood then again maybe blue maybe mermaids have blue blood or like a colour we never can imagine only mermaids have for their blood's colour. maybe it's brown. maybe it's brown like the colour of sand. maybe it's sand, they have sand instead of blood, it'll be refreshing, a different idea. but of course it will still hurt when the bones of the lady in red are stabbed into the tail of whatever colour. maybe somebody will cry, or somebody will be jealous. maybe there'll be an explosion, and all the starfish around will die. PLOMB! dead starfish galore. and i think the clown fish should die too. but clown fish are not found everywhere. so maybe the tuna fish. but we're talking about the london bridge no? fresh water is it? I apologise! i did not make sense. no starfish, no clown fish, no tuna i think. Maybe some... goldfish. or guppy. or prawns. i think there are prawns everywhere. an explosion of sand. the stomach of the mermaid will burst forth with new legs. Small at first, and expand later. to legs hopefully of different sizes. but stupid mermaid didn't eat the lungs. so still have gills at the side of the neck. so too bad. walk around naked in the dirty river bed ostracised for life! no eggs to lay, no babies, eventually die and all that drama for nothing! for NOTHING! poor things.

Trit trot.

you must think that i'm a little crazier than you thought, but i'm not. I'm the same. as you. except that i have a cold. and i have time to type and you have time to read!

ALBERT! albert! will you save me one day? PLOMB! INCONSEQUENTIAL NOTHING!

(sneak.)