Wednesday, June 27, 2007

retransition.

It's hard to blog these days. The lack of time not withstanding, the inspiration - or impetus - is just no longer there.

I don't remember much from the past few months, apart from stray images of headlights dancing across the ceiling, the discordant friction between broken glass and concrete, the old-new sensation of an unbearable tightness in the chest, and the scattered silver across the ebony sky. As if I'm all dried-up, withered, and unbearably shallow. I can only contain this much now, and everything else is rendered lost.

But I suspect I'm really practising selective amnesia, so.

Midsummer's Day came and left unnoticed. It's a small thing, really. Just one out of ten million things that I wish I had not forgotten. Not that I can remember forgetting, if you know what I mean.

Maybe, just maybe, it will all come back one day.

she procrastinated @ 14:01 |

Friday, June 15, 2007

change; great expectations.

Back where I was, back where I am. It's the same murky green waters, the same spiky points, the same-old-same speech, the same chill of the wind. I sat on those terracotta bricks for the longest, longest time, but this time round, I didn't get to see Tom the pilot. Tom the suicidal. Tom the philosopher. Not even once.

I will forget from now on.

she procrastinated @ 09:15 |

Thursday, June 07, 2007

Make no mistake, it's with an awakening sense of trepidation, the moment just before your breath is caught somewhere between the throat and at the back of your teeth, for the leaves refuse to unfurl in the shape most familiar and dear to you.

Incomprehensible, the green had never seemed more poignant and bittersweet.

she procrastinated @ 13:51 |

Tuesday, June 05, 2007

a frightening/beautiful epiphany.

Only when you least expect it, does it descend upon you, and suddenly, whatever little that had made sense previously - no longer does. But once you're past that, the world seems a tad bit brighter than before.

And a thousand times more peculiar.

she procrastinated @ 02:12 |

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

Old wounds hurt most, I learned this today, becaus...
She speaks, repeating the old litanies, of worn ac...
time skips
and it all comes together!
beethoven's symphony no.7 2nd mvt
again,
towards that something
In the alley of shadows and death
Masking Tape
another end of the world

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

"One is wicked, because one see things clearly." - Beaumarchais's Le nozze di Figaro.

And there were phlegmatic souls.