Wednesday, July 11, 2007

just once.

To my very few readers - please pardon the recent spate of cryptic entries which are directed to nobody and everybody at the same time. It must be a compulsive disorder - once I start, I can't stop, and now I'm at the point where I observe myself from the third person's perspective, fully aware of the melodramatic idiocy that I'm indulging/wallowing in, but completely helpless anyway. Though helpless isn't the right word, really. It implies that I have no choice, but I do, and I make my choices, just like any one of you. Whether it is made in Bad Faith is a different story altogether - and it no longer matters.

I used to find it so easy to type, to give a name to what I feel without fear of censorship amongst others. But it's so different now. I can't even express what it is that I want to say, that which is at the tip of my tongue and yet not.

Always, always, I will turn it around, topsy-turvy is my middle name. Always, always, I question my intentions and inevitably sabotage myself before I can even begin - for I will find them wanting. So I remain silent, not in the usual definition 'absence of words' - because for all that I have typed, I remain deliberately waffly and vague. That being said, meta-speaking about it is already dangerous in itself - how long before the cracking of codes, how long before the falling of scales?

Today, I re-learned an important lesson. Comfort can be found within the arms of good friends! Refuge is sought between the spaces and the lines, the black and the white! How could I have forgotten? Never mind that unwelcome truth can be teased out from the missing shards, because I have much to be thankful for - I still may not be able to hear the dawning of light, but I am now deaf to Atlas's cries.

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

when it comes to things that are pregnant and lade...
for better or worse.
beneath.
and another.
retransition.
change; great expectations.
Make no mistake, it's with an awakening sense of t...
a frightening/beautiful epiphany.
the drowning of the formless unspoken.
If the soul of my dead father

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.