Thursday, May 03, 2007

crooked x-ray.

So it took me three months before I would deign to move my arse and unpack my cartons. Everything has since been haphazardly stashed onto shelves within the span of an hour, and I'm absolutely devastated. I just didn't want to take the items out of the boxes, you know? As if by not taking them out, I would have retained the last vestige of the illusion that I'm not here.

Or, perhaps, that I had never left. Dislocation. Dismemberment. What's that?

New routines possess and enchant, I live and breathe the rhythm of the morning sun, that which is so foreign but once-familiar to me. New old, old new. It's the mobius strip all over again. Fraught hilarity, not because I've come full circle or shit like that, but it's the complete divergence away from paths which I had thought I will never leave. But I still come across markings which I can identify at some previous point in my life, enough to draw parallels, enough to feel as if nothing has changed, enough to wring a tired laugh from myself to mask the unsaid.

There are too many layer cakes around, you see, and I feel the need to deconstruct and rebuild them from ground up. But more often than not, nothing will be left after the first step is taken. Some things - you just know.

It's been quite some time. I've yet to learn the words to the sung broadcast of honour and duty, I can't bring myself to sing something I don't quite want to, or something I'm unable to do. Inadvertently, I do pick up a few phonetic sounds here and there, and each time I learn something new, a red laceration opens up from the anguished conflict, that which only exists in my mind.

You know, I want to tell you about the affliction of memory. I want to tell you about the divinity of recollection, the rejuvenation of dirty nostalgia and bereavement. I want to tell you about the splicing of words and phrases, and the splitting of tongues. But I don't really know how to say what I want to say anymore. Out of it, out of practice, out of phase.

I hope it rains tomorrow.

blueprint

I will like to spend my days, as though they are my own, which I mostly end up doing in halves, for duty beckons, and I am answering its clarion call. Soon enough! I am also a veteran procrastinator.

fresh monodies

monologue.
the curtain falls - farewell.
Dominic and I were on a quest to look for last-mi...
the beginning of the end.
2 min break from work II.
i was robbed by two men, aka one minute break from...
2 min break from work.
a quick one.
stressing out.
today.

previous rants

August 2004
September 2004
October 2004
November 2004
December 2004
January 2005
February 2005
March 2005
April 2005
May 2005
June 2005
July 2005
August 2005
September 2005
October 2005
November 2005
December 2005
January 2006
February 2006
March 2006
April 2006
May 2006
June 2006
July 2006
August 2006
September 2006
October 2006
November 2006
December 2006
January 2007
February 2007
April 2007
May 2007
June 2007
July 2007
August 2007
September 2007
October 2007
November 2007
December 2007
January 2008
February 2008
March 2008
April 2008
May 2008
June 2008
July 2008
August 2008
September 2008
October 2008
November 2008
December 2008
January 2009
February 2009
March 2009
April 2009
May 2009
June 2009
July 2009
August 2009
September 2009
October 2009
November 2009
December 2009
November 2010
January 2011
February 2011
August 2011
October 2011
May 2013

treatises on life

arty jen
betty boop
carmentica
charming-linn
chasing snowy cars
cheeky lynn
cheryliciously glam
clean and cute
cyclist-mad bass
darling dominic
feisty jing
fellow ditz-sista/porkSTAR
hail mary!
hell's kitchen
hero on the beach
h-Euge heart
hunky lenny
lipgloss queen
little cheryl
live n learn, baby
lolita lou
loony loon
mr popular
musically dan
m y s t j
phringe
princess tania
roger smurf
runaway pigeon
sabotage king jeremiah
sibling angst1
sibling angst2
spector dan
spunky tian
steffy bunny
sun-sunzzz
teeny wee-nee
weeeee, leonard!
yangtze yang'en

frivolous pursuits

for shallow ppl
for very geeky ppl
for the truly bored
spun prose
binary thoughts
past imprints
some stamps
montage of images
other memories

mulling over

And there were phlegmatic souls.