I will be twenty-four years old soon. This year, there's an extra reason to celebrate; everyday.
We will be a year happier soon. This time, it's the beginning of a new chapter in our lives.
You've made me so very happy today, with everything simple again. You've also allowed me to learn more about you, and believed that we could communicate and work things out. On hind sight, it seemed like all we really needed was time. Time to do what we wanted, time to be with ourselves and time to want to be with each other. You needed time to explore your interests and your new-found personality. I needed time to understand how to better manage my emotions and expectations. Our various commitments did teach us some a thing or two, but it also made the moments we shared today all the more precious. Those moments were so much more intense and quirky than what it used to be.
I love you. I love us. We'll get there, together.
JKLM
Friday, July 28, 2006
Monday, July 24, 2006
Two Songs
This song made me cry; a hollow pain burning its way down my cheeks amidst the casual ignorance of a public bus. Nobody knew, nobody would have known from the look on my face.
You think your days are uneventful
And no one ever thinks about you
She goes her own way
She goes her own way
You think your days are ordinary
And no one ever thinks about you
But we're all the same
And she can hardly breathe without you
She says she has no time
For you now
She says she has no time
You think about the lonely people
Or think about the day she found you
Or lie to yourself
And see it all dissolve around you
She says she has no time
For you now
She says she has no time
For you now
She says she has no time
Lonely people
Don't go downwards
And my heart opens
Up to you
When she says she has no time
For you now
She says she has no time
For you now
She says she has no time
~~ by Keane
===============================================
This song just made me sit up and listen. Maybe there is hope yet. Something from Maroon 5
After school, walking home
Fresh dirt under my fingernails
I can smell hot asphalt
Come screech to a halt to let me pass
And I can't remember what
Life was through photographs
And try to recreate images
Life gives us from the past
Sometimes it's a sad song
But I cannot forget
Refuse to regret
So glad I met you
Take my breath away
Make everyday
With all of the pain that i've gone through
And mama I've been crying
Cos things ain't how they used to be
She said, the battle is almost won
And we're only seven miles from the sun
Moving on down my street
See people I won't ever meet
I think of her, take a breath
Feel the beat in the rhythm of my step
Sometimes it's a sad song
But I cannot forget
Refuse to regret
So glad I met you
Take my breath away
Make everyday
With all of the pain that i've gone through
And mama I've been crying
Cos things ain't how they used to be
She said, the battle is almost won
And we're only seven miles from the sun
Rhythm of her conversation
The perfection of her creation
The sex she slipped into my coffee
The way she felt when she first saw me
Hate to love and love to hate her
Like a broken record player
Back and forth and here and on
And on and on and on and on
I cannot forget
Refuse to regret
So glad I met you
Take my breath away
Make everydayWith all of the pain that i've gone through
And mama I've been crying
Cos things ain't how they used to be
She said, the battle is almost won
And we're only seven miles from the sun
===========================================
While some people feel that I think too much, just as many people simply don't think enough.
I've made you a promise to grow with you.
I guess I've been trying to keep an eye out for us in the things we do. Sometimes it helps, but at other times it hinders because I become too cautious to make decisions. I had become so worried that I'd loose you to your work, and that we could simply come crumbling down.
That's the reason why I had not dived into mine. Because I used to be just like that, and had lost several things dear to me.
You mean more to me than I could hope to tell you. "That we communicate," is all I asked for. It too, was what we agreed on.
Both you and I would say: "I love you." Let us make it truely happen.
JKLM
You think your days are uneventful
And no one ever thinks about you
She goes her own way
She goes her own way
You think your days are ordinary
And no one ever thinks about you
But we're all the same
And she can hardly breathe without you
She says she has no time
For you now
She says she has no time
You think about the lonely people
Or think about the day she found you
Or lie to yourself
And see it all dissolve around you
She says she has no time
For you now
She says she has no time
For you now
She says she has no time
Lonely people
Don't go downwards
And my heart opens
Up to you
When she says she has no time
For you now
She says she has no time
For you now
She says she has no time
~~ by Keane
===============================================
This song just made me sit up and listen. Maybe there is hope yet. Something from Maroon 5
After school, walking home
Fresh dirt under my fingernails
I can smell hot asphalt
Come screech to a halt to let me pass
And I can't remember what
Life was through photographs
And try to recreate images
Life gives us from the past
Sometimes it's a sad song
But I cannot forget
Refuse to regret
So glad I met you
Take my breath away
Make everyday
With all of the pain that i've gone through
And mama I've been crying
Cos things ain't how they used to be
She said, the battle is almost won
And we're only seven miles from the sun
Moving on down my street
See people I won't ever meet
I think of her, take a breath
Feel the beat in the rhythm of my step
Sometimes it's a sad song
But I cannot forget
Refuse to regret
So glad I met you
Take my breath away
Make everyday
With all of the pain that i've gone through
And mama I've been crying
Cos things ain't how they used to be
She said, the battle is almost won
And we're only seven miles from the sun
Rhythm of her conversation
The perfection of her creation
The sex she slipped into my coffee
The way she felt when she first saw me
Hate to love and love to hate her
Like a broken record player
Back and forth and here and on
And on and on and on and on
I cannot forget
Refuse to regret
So glad I met you
Take my breath away
Make everydayWith all of the pain that i've gone through
And mama I've been crying
Cos things ain't how they used to be
She said, the battle is almost won
And we're only seven miles from the sun
===========================================
While some people feel that I think too much, just as many people simply don't think enough.
I've made you a promise to grow with you.
I guess I've been trying to keep an eye out for us in the things we do. Sometimes it helps, but at other times it hinders because I become too cautious to make decisions. I had become so worried that I'd loose you to your work, and that we could simply come crumbling down.
That's the reason why I had not dived into mine. Because I used to be just like that, and had lost several things dear to me.
You mean more to me than I could hope to tell you. "That we communicate," is all I asked for. It too, was what we agreed on.
Both you and I would say: "I love you." Let us make it truely happen.
JKLM
Friday, July 21, 2006
My Fellow Idealist
To my fellow idealist,
It's been a while since I laid down these words for you and to you. In this exclusive digital world, which I have found recently fascinating, you can read my words and almost hear my voice; addressed to you and only for you, regardless of the time or place. Isn't it wonderful, that we can now easily make something "timeless".
So advanced our race has become, and yet so cold, the touch of our souls are upon the society.
At work, I find people craving for good conversation all the time. Regardless of the amount of time they actually spend at the shop front, they leave trails of longing for interaction and talk. Young adults carelessly spew thoughts and words when prompted by a listening ear. Young 'uns peep and preen for a hint of un-adult-erated fun, hoping that these guys aren't truely as old as they look. Brought together by a common interest, yet stranded by their different preferences. Gaps, ravines and bridges have been thrown up all over the climbing gym. Sometimes, 'leave-me-alone' signals dangle carelessly from a member like the ends of a frayed rope. At other times, the cheers and laughter of those who are still young enough to forget themselves fight with the radio for aural supremacy, giving the gym a raw thunder -- the loud youthful heartbeat of fun.
On my way home, I helped an old lady find her way home. My first encounter with her was at the interchange, while I was in the queue for my bus. She had first approached a lady 2 places behind me to enquire about the route of the bus which we were waiting for. Just as abruptly as she had begun her inquiry, she was shoved off with a torrent of 'I don't know's and 'why don't you ask the guy behind's. In less than 30 seconds, their conversation was ended. Their souls met, but never touched. One of them suddenly looked so very tired.
Feeling rejected more than helpless, she was just about to wander off in search of both the way home (and some warmth, perhaps) when the lady directly behind me asked her where she inteded to go. 'Jalan Bahar,' was her reply. Though helpful, the lady was unable to offer more than a suggestion to 'look for another bus there.'
Watching the drama unfold over my shoulder, I hated myself for being a spectator. I knew where the bus I was about to board was going, but I had not spoken up. Twice over, I could have easily resolved the old lady's predicament, but I had chosen instead to analyse the futility of another lady's fatigue. It looked like both our consciences would have some nagging coming our way for the rest of the night.
It wasn't until I had boarded the bus that the old lady came tramping up with the rest of the passengers. Something wasn't right, I thought to myself. Unless she had gotten her destination wrong, she wouldn't have been on the right bus. With a crowded bus and a flexing conscience, I felt little room for more than a feeling of awkwardness as I sought to while away the rest of the bus journey by catching the moving lights from the bus window.
By the time the crowd cleared and I was about to alight, I could take little more of my suffocating pride -- the old lady was still glancing left and right from her seat, perched like a watchtower at the back to the bus. And so I approached her to ask her for where she was going. It turned out that she was on the wrong bus and she was riding in the wrong part of the area. Eventually, I accompanied her off the bus, flagged a cab and sent her home.
Beyond a nominal cab fee, the encounter too a toll on my soul. In these touch-and-go journey with the old lady, I had come to face several emotions -- guilt, worry (for her safety), relief and a quickly returning sadness. This realisation made me sad: I sure took my time to resolve the old lady's predicament. Had she not boarded the bus like she did, might she have made it home at all? Furthermore, will my delayed, guilt-driven idealism be too little too late should the situation have been dire?
Perhaps I don't fit the description of an idealist well. Tonight, I have come to understand that my 'idealism' is still very much entrenched within the cloud kingdom of coffee-losophy. I still can't bring myself to mean all that I want to say. And that makes me sad because, well, this shouldn't be so.
With renewed determination to exercise my individual right to engage other people, I am opening up my soul to search for and touch another. This life needn't be about me. This life needn't be warm.
================================
I am now undertaking a major project to understand and to consolidate my beliefs. Fashioned after the meditations of French philosopher Renee Descartes, I intend to explore my foundations, and attempt to build the start to the rest of a good life. Impossible? Not quite... though surely the task would be huge and complex. I am however confident that I will succeed, one way or another.
My motivation for this undertaking is not to change my life or in any way re-establish myself from scratch. Rather, I hope simply that the completion of this project would enable me to be a good father, a good husband and most of all a beautiful person. After all, it was through life that I was born and shaped, it will therefore be life that I want to know and share. This undertaking is also in part for you, because it is you that I want to keep growing with, and loving more than anything else.
JKLM
It's been a while since I laid down these words for you and to you. In this exclusive digital world, which I have found recently fascinating, you can read my words and almost hear my voice; addressed to you and only for you, regardless of the time or place. Isn't it wonderful, that we can now easily make something "timeless".
So advanced our race has become, and yet so cold, the touch of our souls are upon the society.
At work, I find people craving for good conversation all the time. Regardless of the amount of time they actually spend at the shop front, they leave trails of longing for interaction and talk. Young adults carelessly spew thoughts and words when prompted by a listening ear. Young 'uns peep and preen for a hint of un-adult-erated fun, hoping that these guys aren't truely as old as they look. Brought together by a common interest, yet stranded by their different preferences. Gaps, ravines and bridges have been thrown up all over the climbing gym. Sometimes, 'leave-me-alone' signals dangle carelessly from a member like the ends of a frayed rope. At other times, the cheers and laughter of those who are still young enough to forget themselves fight with the radio for aural supremacy, giving the gym a raw thunder -- the loud youthful heartbeat of fun.
On my way home, I helped an old lady find her way home. My first encounter with her was at the interchange, while I was in the queue for my bus. She had first approached a lady 2 places behind me to enquire about the route of the bus which we were waiting for. Just as abruptly as she had begun her inquiry, she was shoved off with a torrent of 'I don't know's and 'why don't you ask the guy behind's. In less than 30 seconds, their conversation was ended. Their souls met, but never touched. One of them suddenly looked so very tired.
Feeling rejected more than helpless, she was just about to wander off in search of both the way home (and some warmth, perhaps) when the lady directly behind me asked her where she inteded to go. 'Jalan Bahar,' was her reply. Though helpful, the lady was unable to offer more than a suggestion to 'look for another bus there.'
Watching the drama unfold over my shoulder, I hated myself for being a spectator. I knew where the bus I was about to board was going, but I had not spoken up. Twice over, I could have easily resolved the old lady's predicament, but I had chosen instead to analyse the futility of another lady's fatigue. It looked like both our consciences would have some nagging coming our way for the rest of the night.
It wasn't until I had boarded the bus that the old lady came tramping up with the rest of the passengers. Something wasn't right, I thought to myself. Unless she had gotten her destination wrong, she wouldn't have been on the right bus. With a crowded bus and a flexing conscience, I felt little room for more than a feeling of awkwardness as I sought to while away the rest of the bus journey by catching the moving lights from the bus window.
By the time the crowd cleared and I was about to alight, I could take little more of my suffocating pride -- the old lady was still glancing left and right from her seat, perched like a watchtower at the back to the bus. And so I approached her to ask her for where she was going. It turned out that she was on the wrong bus and she was riding in the wrong part of the area. Eventually, I accompanied her off the bus, flagged a cab and sent her home.
Beyond a nominal cab fee, the encounter too a toll on my soul. In these touch-and-go journey with the old lady, I had come to face several emotions -- guilt, worry (for her safety), relief and a quickly returning sadness. This realisation made me sad: I sure took my time to resolve the old lady's predicament. Had she not boarded the bus like she did, might she have made it home at all? Furthermore, will my delayed, guilt-driven idealism be too little too late should the situation have been dire?
Perhaps I don't fit the description of an idealist well. Tonight, I have come to understand that my 'idealism' is still very much entrenched within the cloud kingdom of coffee-losophy. I still can't bring myself to mean all that I want to say. And that makes me sad because, well, this shouldn't be so.
With renewed determination to exercise my individual right to engage other people, I am opening up my soul to search for and touch another. This life needn't be about me. This life needn't be warm.
================================
I am now undertaking a major project to understand and to consolidate my beliefs. Fashioned after the meditations of French philosopher Renee Descartes, I intend to explore my foundations, and attempt to build the start to the rest of a good life. Impossible? Not quite... though surely the task would be huge and complex. I am however confident that I will succeed, one way or another.
My motivation for this undertaking is not to change my life or in any way re-establish myself from scratch. Rather, I hope simply that the completion of this project would enable me to be a good father, a good husband and most of all a beautiful person. After all, it was through life that I was born and shaped, it will therefore be life that I want to know and share. This undertaking is also in part for you, because it is you that I want to keep growing with, and loving more than anything else.
JKLM
Sunday, July 09, 2006
I Still Rhyme For You
Through hourglass neck
A torrent of specks,
We flowed with tides of gold
Within this pass
Of precious glass
From ashes rose two souls
Our feet in sand
Hearts in our hands
Each burning autumn twilight
Your lovely rapture
Your soul matured
A wine sweeter than the night
From cursed earth
A poet's birth
Bring hopes and dreams alive
A missing calm
These stormy arms
Push and pull, and never still
Tho' it may rain
Upon this flame
But wash it down
Time never shall
Don't ever be sorry
For who you are,
For I still rhyme for you
JKLM
A torrent of specks,
We flowed with tides of gold
Within this pass
Of precious glass
From ashes rose two souls
Our feet in sand
Hearts in our hands
Each burning autumn twilight
Your lovely rapture
Your soul matured
A wine sweeter than the night
From cursed earth
A poet's birth
Bring hopes and dreams alive
A missing calm
These stormy arms
Push and pull, and never still
Tho' it may rain
Upon this flame
But wash it down
Time never shall
Don't ever be sorry
For who you are,
For I still rhyme for you
JKLM
Sunday, June 11, 2006
Addicted
Much like Lestat and all the young Vampires that Anne Rice writes about, I find myself addicted to my senses. To my delight, becoming a Vampire was a mixture of the shedding of an immortal skin and the doning of an immortal responsibility. Indeed, the burden of eternal life is a heavy one -- likely heavier than any short-lived concerns that have crossed or beared down on our limited mortal minds.
Limited indeed. Oh how fragile our existence is, and yet how magnificent we frequently think we are, decked up in our pride and prejudices, blinded by our lack of wisdom, and retarded by our lack of courage. Vampiric senses and sensibility seem now a panecea for the clumsy disease that is mortal life, always degenerating and degrading... Glory in but moments; grasping at every moment we have and can before the inevitable happen.
Well having said that, this existence isn't all morbid and dismal to me. If anything, I'm just disgruntled at how clumsy, how unwise and limited we so frequently let ourselves become. Without making an outrageous comparison with Vampires, it still comes as no shock to know that the simple wisdom of constantly employing your intellect is a difficult one. Seems as if we're even lazy to think, and that there can be such a thing as 'too much thinking'. On the contrary, brooding is quite a different issue -- just as how meditation can be a waste of time should the wrong technique be employed, brooding is frequently misguided, thoughts driving a person's emtions in a perpetual self-feeding loop under the influence of self-cherishing values like ego.
Take the simple issue of communications, for example. How many times have people had the vast opportunities and skill to communicate with another adequately, yet fail to do so? And again, how many have used that opportunity and yet failed to truely communicate with the opposite party? My mentor once issued me this simple statement, among many other valuable lessons: "a conversation is the interaction between two mindsets..." When was the last time you had a conversation with another person?
You might wonder if I'm just sounding a little disgruntled, as if someone had forced his will unpon me or did not listen to me in recent days. Most certainly that happened. However, it is just these simple errors that have upset me. Not once, but many times over, we have been on the receiving end of his will, albeit consistent over the span of our history, but frequently inconsistent at times. What I cannot understand is the lack of consideration and mindfulness of his actions and intentions. At times, they have failed to match in some glaring ways and we have been frustrated for the almost contradictory way they seem to work -- what he said then and what he did now, what he just did and what he meant to have happen then (which has barely taken shape). Sometimes, I wonder why he even bothers suggesting that we 'discuss' about things, when there is obviously little room for negotiations or suggestions.
I'm tired of us having to bend ourselves to accomodate, but I'm neither suggesting that we insist upon our ways nor we force our will upon his unwillingness. I keep wishing it didn't have to be his way-or-the-highway whenever we talk. What's the use of discussing anything? Aren't you just setting yourself (and all of us, because we are inextricably linked) up to be hurt eventually? Don't you realise that you could be wrong? Do you have to experience things for yourself before you can trust, because it certainly seems that you don't trust us to be within your comfort zone.
We're not a threat; we're just family. Why can't we just get along?
Idealistic as my opinions seem, they are still very much flawed due to my over-reliance on my limited and biased senses; I am still nonethewiser as to a solution for our predicament. We have long since learnt to live with it than fix it and live without realising a potential. If I were wise, the issue would already have been solved, but it is not; instead, it has been winged on a daily basis, together with a host of unecessary salt-and-pepper between the ruling authorities.
Because damage from these tensions had long ago left its mark on my development and instincts, I shall not suffer such tragedy on my future should I have the ability to do so. The choice has been made; though I have not the slightest idea how I shall act when it comes my turn in his shoes, I certainly know that I've made a choice to try -- to be wise, to be mindful and to be deserving. Not that I accuse him of lacking these attributes, years with and without you have taught me to respect these values. It's simply that.
JKLM
Limited indeed. Oh how fragile our existence is, and yet how magnificent we frequently think we are, decked up in our pride and prejudices, blinded by our lack of wisdom, and retarded by our lack of courage. Vampiric senses and sensibility seem now a panecea for the clumsy disease that is mortal life, always degenerating and degrading... Glory in but moments; grasping at every moment we have and can before the inevitable happen.
Well having said that, this existence isn't all morbid and dismal to me. If anything, I'm just disgruntled at how clumsy, how unwise and limited we so frequently let ourselves become. Without making an outrageous comparison with Vampires, it still comes as no shock to know that the simple wisdom of constantly employing your intellect is a difficult one. Seems as if we're even lazy to think, and that there can be such a thing as 'too much thinking'. On the contrary, brooding is quite a different issue -- just as how meditation can be a waste of time should the wrong technique be employed, brooding is frequently misguided, thoughts driving a person's emtions in a perpetual self-feeding loop under the influence of self-cherishing values like ego.
Take the simple issue of communications, for example. How many times have people had the vast opportunities and skill to communicate with another adequately, yet fail to do so? And again, how many have used that opportunity and yet failed to truely communicate with the opposite party? My mentor once issued me this simple statement, among many other valuable lessons: "a conversation is the interaction between two mindsets..." When was the last time you had a conversation with another person?
You might wonder if I'm just sounding a little disgruntled, as if someone had forced his will unpon me or did not listen to me in recent days. Most certainly that happened. However, it is just these simple errors that have upset me. Not once, but many times over, we have been on the receiving end of his will, albeit consistent over the span of our history, but frequently inconsistent at times. What I cannot understand is the lack of consideration and mindfulness of his actions and intentions. At times, they have failed to match in some glaring ways and we have been frustrated for the almost contradictory way they seem to work -- what he said then and what he did now, what he just did and what he meant to have happen then (which has barely taken shape). Sometimes, I wonder why he even bothers suggesting that we 'discuss' about things, when there is obviously little room for negotiations or suggestions.
I'm tired of us having to bend ourselves to accomodate, but I'm neither suggesting that we insist upon our ways nor we force our will upon his unwillingness. I keep wishing it didn't have to be his way-or-the-highway whenever we talk. What's the use of discussing anything? Aren't you just setting yourself (and all of us, because we are inextricably linked) up to be hurt eventually? Don't you realise that you could be wrong? Do you have to experience things for yourself before you can trust, because it certainly seems that you don't trust us to be within your comfort zone.
We're not a threat; we're just family. Why can't we just get along?
Idealistic as my opinions seem, they are still very much flawed due to my over-reliance on my limited and biased senses; I am still nonethewiser as to a solution for our predicament. We have long since learnt to live with it than fix it and live without realising a potential. If I were wise, the issue would already have been solved, but it is not; instead, it has been winged on a daily basis, together with a host of unecessary salt-and-pepper between the ruling authorities.
Because damage from these tensions had long ago left its mark on my development and instincts, I shall not suffer such tragedy on my future should I have the ability to do so. The choice has been made; though I have not the slightest idea how I shall act when it comes my turn in his shoes, I certainly know that I've made a choice to try -- to be wise, to be mindful and to be deserving. Not that I accuse him of lacking these attributes, years with and without you have taught me to respect these values. It's simply that.
JKLM
Sunday, June 04, 2006
Simply
When you know
That things can be easy
That you can live simply
That enjoyment is so
How simple it were
Both you and I
Like chocolate and wine
Our journey in a year
Oh how you stay nimble
In worldly tides
Through storms to ride
To fight for simple
To keep that eye open
Keep the pain shut
Feed the burning heart
A fevernt hope unspoken
In scattered magic moments
Quiet visual snippets
Precious mental nuggets
Thoughts in rays golden
Like the generosity
Of a maternal host
Or a child's jealous hold
On her given family
I fall in love quickly
With old friends and you
A freshness like dew
You've always stayed with me
I'd keep them all with me
Of the things we've shared
And the things we've had
These thoughts of you simply
JKLM
That things can be easy
That you can live simply
That enjoyment is so
How simple it were
Both you and I
Like chocolate and wine
Our journey in a year
Oh how you stay nimble
In worldly tides
Through storms to ride
To fight for simple
To keep that eye open
Keep the pain shut
Feed the burning heart
A fevernt hope unspoken
In scattered magic moments
Quiet visual snippets
Precious mental nuggets
Thoughts in rays golden
Like the generosity
Of a maternal host
Or a child's jealous hold
On her given family
I fall in love quickly
With old friends and you
A freshness like dew
You've always stayed with me
I'd keep them all with me
Of the things we've shared
And the things we've had
These thoughts of you simply
JKLM
Friday, May 12, 2006
Writing
Anne Rice stirs my imagination like no other writer so far. Her books on Vampires have got an iron-grip on my imagination. Her narration of these creatures of the night have set my fingers ploughing through her yellowed pages. Her suggestion and seeming believe of an existence of an immortal but damned eternity seduces me like no other; how else could she have been able to sketch such vivid scenes for my starving imagination to feast on. Their imagined smell of blood, the glassy and cold skin, their stories -- Anne Rice makes it so easy to believe that they are real.
In one interview, Louis the Vampire told the tale of his life in such vivid details to a reporter. In one book, I began wondering what it was if mortals were given such interviews instead. What would you say? How would you say it, for that matter? While it's likely that becoming a Vampire affords you much preternatural attributes, and surely an unsurpassed capacity of awareness and memory are in order; the biting question I faced was one concerning the very nature of life, or supernatural life in this case.
It seemed to me that with or without these attributes, much of our memories are the products of active choice. I'm quite convinced that if you want to remember, you will eventually, somehow. Human limitations aside, I'm quite sure that most potential memories don't even make it past the initial stages of observation and information acquisition. How seldom it was that we paid such attention to the things around, within and after us that we could phrase emotions in words and capture feelings and thoughts in reasoning and argument. But how quick we are to react to the prick of discomfort, disturbances and dissonance.
Could it have been a question of skill and practice? I do believe so. After all, self-awareness is innate, but practiced selectively. How quick this skill responds to the toll of defence and preservation, but yet slow to the more subtle call of reason and arguments. Seems to me, that with time and growing comforts, we begin also to grow in us a vagueness and detachment towards details, even towards life itself. Yet at the same time, we're sharpening the tack of our egotism, driving it into every soft spot we can, establishing a new 'my space'.
Louis the immortal was tormented by his mortal nature. His human soul had been trapped in a transforming Vampire body. Questions, longing, guilt, detachment, hunger... Confusion. Aren't we much the same way? Except that while we frequently run and hide, suppressing our inner demons, Louis could do little to hide, especially since he was now like the demon's bastard child. Run for an eternity? I don't think so.
Does searching and a desire to know make a person wise? This is a tricky situation. A person could search, and not find. For that matter, he could search and find, and still not be wise. Could detachment be a manifestation of wisdom? Louis seemed to have learned a lot through his internal and external witchhunts for the truth in order to come to terms with his unplanned immortality. He learned to be detached, and yet still feel his emotions rage within his wretched shell on issues concerning his humanaliity. Given his experiences, dare someone in his shoes be considered wise? For that matter, by what do we judge wisdom and it's value? Could it be a virtue? Surely, we can't discount the possibility of there being a person who is wise, and yet at the same time immoral because he can be. Though we condemn people in these positions to names like 'craft', 'sly', 'cunning' or 'evil', can we not admit that they are still clever and to a large extent wise? How else would they have had the advantage over us that we so loath?
And so now, I'm beginning to wonder about my desire to strive towards wisdom... Like sailing in the night sky, a black ocean marked by stars, vague guidelines and obstacles; where are we to head? Our characters are a key determinant on how we navigate this life; what then constitues our characters? Could it have been given to us, thrust into our mortal shells without a choice otherwise? Could it have been chosen by us right at the very start, and we're only beginning now to discover who and what we really are? That could explain the internal conflicts we frequently face, but this implies that we're likely to have some kind of a character 'destiny'. Choice and character... one influencing the other. So many questions that concern what I am now, and where it brings me, and how I ought to be...
In spite of these questions, doubts and suspicion, my mind is still calm, perhaps in the knowledge of commitment -- a belief that there will always be a truth, which is an aspect of the truth. And I am the eternally roving spiritual hand that seeks out the next piece of the puzzle. Regardless of the ultimate picture or purpose of completing the puzzle, I intend to keep searching yet determined never to stop.
JKLM
In one interview, Louis the Vampire told the tale of his life in such vivid details to a reporter. In one book, I began wondering what it was if mortals were given such interviews instead. What would you say? How would you say it, for that matter? While it's likely that becoming a Vampire affords you much preternatural attributes, and surely an unsurpassed capacity of awareness and memory are in order; the biting question I faced was one concerning the very nature of life, or supernatural life in this case.
It seemed to me that with or without these attributes, much of our memories are the products of active choice. I'm quite convinced that if you want to remember, you will eventually, somehow. Human limitations aside, I'm quite sure that most potential memories don't even make it past the initial stages of observation and information acquisition. How seldom it was that we paid such attention to the things around, within and after us that we could phrase emotions in words and capture feelings and thoughts in reasoning and argument. But how quick we are to react to the prick of discomfort, disturbances and dissonance.
Could it have been a question of skill and practice? I do believe so. After all, self-awareness is innate, but practiced selectively. How quick this skill responds to the toll of defence and preservation, but yet slow to the more subtle call of reason and arguments. Seems to me, that with time and growing comforts, we begin also to grow in us a vagueness and detachment towards details, even towards life itself. Yet at the same time, we're sharpening the tack of our egotism, driving it into every soft spot we can, establishing a new 'my space'.
Louis the immortal was tormented by his mortal nature. His human soul had been trapped in a transforming Vampire body. Questions, longing, guilt, detachment, hunger... Confusion. Aren't we much the same way? Except that while we frequently run and hide, suppressing our inner demons, Louis could do little to hide, especially since he was now like the demon's bastard child. Run for an eternity? I don't think so.
Does searching and a desire to know make a person wise? This is a tricky situation. A person could search, and not find. For that matter, he could search and find, and still not be wise. Could detachment be a manifestation of wisdom? Louis seemed to have learned a lot through his internal and external witchhunts for the truth in order to come to terms with his unplanned immortality. He learned to be detached, and yet still feel his emotions rage within his wretched shell on issues concerning his humanaliity. Given his experiences, dare someone in his shoes be considered wise? For that matter, by what do we judge wisdom and it's value? Could it be a virtue? Surely, we can't discount the possibility of there being a person who is wise, and yet at the same time immoral because he can be. Though we condemn people in these positions to names like 'craft', 'sly', 'cunning' or 'evil', can we not admit that they are still clever and to a large extent wise? How else would they have had the advantage over us that we so loath?
And so now, I'm beginning to wonder about my desire to strive towards wisdom... Like sailing in the night sky, a black ocean marked by stars, vague guidelines and obstacles; where are we to head? Our characters are a key determinant on how we navigate this life; what then constitues our characters? Could it have been given to us, thrust into our mortal shells without a choice otherwise? Could it have been chosen by us right at the very start, and we're only beginning now to discover who and what we really are? That could explain the internal conflicts we frequently face, but this implies that we're likely to have some kind of a character 'destiny'. Choice and character... one influencing the other. So many questions that concern what I am now, and where it brings me, and how I ought to be...
In spite of these questions, doubts and suspicion, my mind is still calm, perhaps in the knowledge of commitment -- a belief that there will always be a truth, which is an aspect of the truth. And I am the eternally roving spiritual hand that seeks out the next piece of the puzzle. Regardless of the ultimate picture or purpose of completing the puzzle, I intend to keep searching yet determined never to stop.
JKLM
Sunday, April 30, 2006
Means and Ends
My brother and I used to have a little discussion over this: yoga, as a means or an end?
Our characters were different, and safe to say, he took to yoga as a means of pursuing the goals of his life, as a way through life. For me, there was a different quiet I sought, one that had its hunger fed from deep within. Yoga was an end for me, representative of my search for wisdom and as a way of life. Why? Perhaps this could answer your question:
Our characters were different, and safe to say, he took to yoga as a means of pursuing the goals of his life, as a way through life. For me, there was a different quiet I sought, one that had its hunger fed from deep within. Yoga was an end for me, representative of my search for wisdom and as a way of life. Why? Perhaps this could answer your question:
| You Are The Chariot |
 You represent a difficult battle, and a well-deserved victory.You tend to struggle to get what you want, both internally and externally.You excel at controlling opposing forces, getting down the same path.In the end, you bring glory and success - using pure will to move forward.
|
What Tarot Card Are You?
JKLM
Thursday, April 20, 2006
A Theory
While I stared into the sink this morning, it dawned onto me that there are some aspects of a person's life that are linked, and the balance of these aspects will ultimately have a resounding impact on the person's quality (or quantity too, if you may) of life.
The mind, body and soul. These three components form the 'circle of power' that is your life, one reigning in balance with the other in its rightful aspect of your life. Your body is a link to reality, your soul forms part of your subconsciousness while your mind bridges the two to facilitate a flow of energy that is life. Should one of these components be affected, it is only a matter of time that the others will experience a similar fate. Build up one aspect of your mind, body or soul, and I'm quite certain you'll soon see (and feel) the benefits the come to another. Damage or destroy you body through alcohol, and you'll soon suffer a similar slow-burning doom with your mind and soul. Should one aspect be damaged or suffer a handicap, the other faculties will be burdened with the additional responsibility of sustaining life.
Perhaps the most influential of the three would be your mind, because it bridges the other two aspects and thus holds the key to a separated or inegrated existence. Still, the three aspects will need to function in balance. So perhaps it really is 'all in the mind'. Through the mind, I have felt my body and soul. It was through the mind that I know my body and soul. Without it, I would have been no better than an animal, living life only to sustain my body and feed my soul.
But this is just a theory, a hocus-pocus that dawned on me while I was brushing my teeth and razor-scrapping my chin in the mirror. I'll be testing this theory though. Maybe it's true.
JKLM
The mind, body and soul. These three components form the 'circle of power' that is your life, one reigning in balance with the other in its rightful aspect of your life. Your body is a link to reality, your soul forms part of your subconsciousness while your mind bridges the two to facilitate a flow of energy that is life. Should one of these components be affected, it is only a matter of time that the others will experience a similar fate. Build up one aspect of your mind, body or soul, and I'm quite certain you'll soon see (and feel) the benefits the come to another. Damage or destroy you body through alcohol, and you'll soon suffer a similar slow-burning doom with your mind and soul. Should one aspect be damaged or suffer a handicap, the other faculties will be burdened with the additional responsibility of sustaining life.
Perhaps the most influential of the three would be your mind, because it bridges the other two aspects and thus holds the key to a separated or inegrated existence. Still, the three aspects will need to function in balance. So perhaps it really is 'all in the mind'. Through the mind, I have felt my body and soul. It was through the mind that I know my body and soul. Without it, I would have been no better than an animal, living life only to sustain my body and feed my soul.
But this is just a theory, a hocus-pocus that dawned on me while I was brushing my teeth and razor-scrapping my chin in the mirror. I'll be testing this theory though. Maybe it's true.
JKLM
Monday, April 10, 2006
SuperFurrBall!
There's nothing quite as inspiring as a motivated, dedicated, caring, joking and loving all-nighter furrball. Well, except for the fact that this SupperFurrBall is someone to call mine.
For several hours I lay squirming, tossing and turning in her yellow and blue salad bowl, dressed in an evolving pain that was fast becoming my undoing. Stomach flu. I thought it was just retribution for some of the terrible things I had done the day before when I wasn't in such a good mood. Karma.
Speaking of Karma... That poor toilet bowl downstairs has suffered immensely under me (literally). It's my favourite, cos it's just next to the toilet entrance, and for some reason, I don't ususally pay him a visit until my bowel state it becomes a matter of national security. After being stuck in a half-meditative 'thinker' trance perched on its ledge last night at 2 am, I whispered my thanks to my porcelain provider and wished I didn't need to be so reckless with the passing of such heroes in my life.
SuperFurrBall's sidekick put a kick in the flu for me with a little aluminium container of bitter-tasting brown powder. I believe it was called Xing Jun Shan. In my state last night, it could have been called Phuc Dhat Bic for all I cared -- I would have eaten its contents nonetheless in my desperate attempt to stop the ache. To make matters worse, my pain-fest was coupled by a fever. Mild stuff... but still nonetheless annoying.
At 4 am, I had to run another bombing raid downstairs. SuperFurrBall was still up working on a 20 paged supervillain. Boy, that was a tough fight... Not to mention the fact that SuperFurrBall was dealt a severe under-the-belt (monthly) blow by mother nature just yesterday. Things just don't work out like they do in the movies anymore... Seeing my superhero pull another all-nighter, it brings to mind a familiar question. It was presented to me before my Furrball was converted to SuperFurrBall by the threat of impending academic disaster. How do you get by with so little sleep? Heck, I'd like to know that now... Better yet, I'd like to know how you just changed into SuperFurrBall over the weekend!
It was 9.45 am when I was finally released from the monsters in my stomach. SuperFurrBall wasn't done with her fight just yet. The villain had one last fight left, in spite of having been defeated word-for-word through its 20 paged challenge. All my mere mortal hands could do was offer some worldly comforts and hugs for a battle-weary superhero. She was no stranger to struggle and strife, but that didn't stop her from continuing to fight hard. More than that, she had multi-tasked her responsibilites by helping me to overcome my own struggle. I was still a little shaken up from my ordeal, but nonetheless impressed by my superhero. Seems like multi-tasking isn't just an acquired skill; my SuperFurrBall proved to me that multi-tasking is simply a matter of heart and commitment.
Ah, superheros. They exist!
JKLM
For several hours I lay squirming, tossing and turning in her yellow and blue salad bowl, dressed in an evolving pain that was fast becoming my undoing. Stomach flu. I thought it was just retribution for some of the terrible things I had done the day before when I wasn't in such a good mood. Karma.
Speaking of Karma... That poor toilet bowl downstairs has suffered immensely under me (literally). It's my favourite, cos it's just next to the toilet entrance, and for some reason, I don't ususally pay him a visit until my bowel state it becomes a matter of national security. After being stuck in a half-meditative 'thinker' trance perched on its ledge last night at 2 am, I whispered my thanks to my porcelain provider and wished I didn't need to be so reckless with the passing of such heroes in my life.
SuperFurrBall's sidekick put a kick in the flu for me with a little aluminium container of bitter-tasting brown powder. I believe it was called Xing Jun Shan. In my state last night, it could have been called Phuc Dhat Bic for all I cared -- I would have eaten its contents nonetheless in my desperate attempt to stop the ache. To make matters worse, my pain-fest was coupled by a fever. Mild stuff... but still nonetheless annoying.
At 4 am, I had to run another bombing raid downstairs. SuperFurrBall was still up working on a 20 paged supervillain. Boy, that was a tough fight... Not to mention the fact that SuperFurrBall was dealt a severe under-the-belt (monthly) blow by mother nature just yesterday. Things just don't work out like they do in the movies anymore... Seeing my superhero pull another all-nighter, it brings to mind a familiar question. It was presented to me before my Furrball was converted to SuperFurrBall by the threat of impending academic disaster. How do you get by with so little sleep? Heck, I'd like to know that now... Better yet, I'd like to know how you just changed into SuperFurrBall over the weekend!
It was 9.45 am when I was finally released from the monsters in my stomach. SuperFurrBall wasn't done with her fight just yet. The villain had one last fight left, in spite of having been defeated word-for-word through its 20 paged challenge. All my mere mortal hands could do was offer some worldly comforts and hugs for a battle-weary superhero. She was no stranger to struggle and strife, but that didn't stop her from continuing to fight hard. More than that, she had multi-tasked her responsibilites by helping me to overcome my own struggle. I was still a little shaken up from my ordeal, but nonetheless impressed by my superhero. Seems like multi-tasking isn't just an acquired skill; my SuperFurrBall proved to me that multi-tasking is simply a matter of heart and commitment.
Ah, superheros. They exist!
JKLM
Friday, March 31, 2006
Musings From the Shower
There's something greatly stimulating I find from the flaccid punches of water on my head. I like my shower time, partly because I can sing when I'm not thinking about stuff; and think when I'm not butchering some poor artiste's number.
How do you know that you're on the wrong path? When do you stop? How do you know that your ladder ain't leaned up on the wrong tree in the forest?
I've been told that there is a truth, while I remember most of my life being spent in pursuit of the truth. Now that I know some truths, I'm inclined to hold onto truths that have been proven in one way or another, while pursuing the truths of the other truths that I'm not sure about.
Confusing? Not really... Perhaps the simplest summary of my disposition is that I understand things are dynamic (or never fixed for long, rather) and that there are very few things that are and will remain certain. And as such, I hold onto little, and try to expand my heart to accomodate more.
That being said, I find that life puts your in these 'catch 22' situations sometimes. Like how it's hard to tell if you're taking the first step in what would eventually be a series of wrong steps, Given that so many things are circumstantial, and that in our attempt to understand everything, we in fact misunderstand more because we can't escape the mistaking of our own value judgements as facts or guidelines. On the other hand, it would not do to simplify things for the obvious risk of over or understating certain aspects of an issue, especially since the simplified answer is but a projection of an iceberg of complex emotional and intellectual interactions.
So when should we start to change course or stop our current potentially self-destructive path? Frankly, I don't know... While it's easy for self-help books or spectators in life to issue nuggets of canned wisdom, I find it hard to take these various opinions, suggestions and prescribed truths as biblical-type markers. After several rounds of eliminative self-mediated arguments, I've narrowed down my course of action in life to some simple ones.
I will try my best to consider all factors within my ability. I will be mindful of what I know and what I don't know -- seeking out the unknown where the opportunities avail. I will also seek to modify my perceptions of truths and established opinions. Where will it end? I have set no boundaries on knowledge, for I seek only to be wise. Alternatively, I have chosen to acknowledge the magic of chance, and thus life, in terms of having my knowledge modified, established, broken down or reaffirmed by the complex network of interactions with life over which I have limited control. Within this framework of consciousness lies the keystone of choice. Knowledge affords me choice, and results in action. I shall learn to accept all the results of my actions regardless of their true nature. And I shall learn to choose my actions, with knowledge of both my available choices and their results.
Take relationships for example: when do you know that things aren't working out? When you decide so? When your friends tell you so? When do you say that you want to work things out? How do you do it? I believe in giving and taking. As far as I have control over my mental faculties and have influence over my spiritual ones, I shall endeavour to explore, embrace, give and grow love. Of particular concern is how I would like to and believe that people ought to get along with one another.
Don't mistake me for a hippie tree-hugger simply because I'm conflict-avoidant. I value the presence of stresses and conflict, and I'm quite sure that we already receive enough of both positive and negative forms from our environments. Most importantly, my approach simply focuses on the things within my control and influence -- me, and my immediate surroundings. If I can make a choice to be happy, or to influence a situation to relief some tension, I will. If I can make a choice to suffer a temporary loss of statisfaction or comfort to sustain a moment of growth, I will. Again, the trick is to find a balance, because I do not have a confident answer as yet to what makes an adequate choice. Perhaps what rings most clearly in my mind is that I shall not allow myself to again choose to cause hurt, to myself or the people around me -- especially not to the people I love. I shall not allow myself to cause hurt for the temporary relief of my ill reasoned discomforts, my short-sighted pride or my disgruntled sense of justice. It is because I have made and suffered under such mistakes, that I do not wish to be part of them again.
Now that the lenses of my machinery are set, I would seek to move. Moving on is another matter of both the mind, body and soul. Here, I've only begun opening up a small part of my mind, for the consciousness of a social soul will forever be as vast as the oceans as long as it remains open.
There are very much more thoughts, arguments an opinions that I have on the tip of my fingers tonight, but this is all the time my shower affords me. For both opportunities and time for thoughts are a luxury to me, I treasure their passing and have faith that I shall behold them once again.
-------------------------------------
YOU
You don't need to apologise for being who you are with me. We are both free spirits in our own ways, and along our paths we dance. Sometimes we collide, sometimes we fly. Sometimes we cross, and sometimes we pass alongside one another. Know this: I have chosen a path that moves closely beside yours. Where you will go, I shall venture too, now or eventually. I still share in and with you the leaves and tress in my enchanted trail. I look upon your forest and marvel at your enchanted garden.
But know this, that I will bend under your breath if you wish and I will hold my pace along the trail edge, just so that you be comfortable and we be able to grow. I do not know all that your playful feet try to tell me in their intricat dance, I will still rely on your eyes and lips to lift my deafness and numbness.
No matter how we may trip or tumble, dance or fly, it's with you that my soul is exclusively intertwined. And it's also for you that this spring won't dry.
How can I survive with so little sleep? Simple... I embrace you in my sleep, and I wake up to you again. That's how.
JKLM
How do you know that you're on the wrong path? When do you stop? How do you know that your ladder ain't leaned up on the wrong tree in the forest?
I've been told that there is a truth, while I remember most of my life being spent in pursuit of the truth. Now that I know some truths, I'm inclined to hold onto truths that have been proven in one way or another, while pursuing the truths of the other truths that I'm not sure about.
Confusing? Not really... Perhaps the simplest summary of my disposition is that I understand things are dynamic (or never fixed for long, rather) and that there are very few things that are and will remain certain. And as such, I hold onto little, and try to expand my heart to accomodate more.
That being said, I find that life puts your in these 'catch 22' situations sometimes. Like how it's hard to tell if you're taking the first step in what would eventually be a series of wrong steps, Given that so many things are circumstantial, and that in our attempt to understand everything, we in fact misunderstand more because we can't escape the mistaking of our own value judgements as facts or guidelines. On the other hand, it would not do to simplify things for the obvious risk of over or understating certain aspects of an issue, especially since the simplified answer is but a projection of an iceberg of complex emotional and intellectual interactions.
So when should we start to change course or stop our current potentially self-destructive path? Frankly, I don't know... While it's easy for self-help books or spectators in life to issue nuggets of canned wisdom, I find it hard to take these various opinions, suggestions and prescribed truths as biblical-type markers. After several rounds of eliminative self-mediated arguments, I've narrowed down my course of action in life to some simple ones.
I will try my best to consider all factors within my ability. I will be mindful of what I know and what I don't know -- seeking out the unknown where the opportunities avail. I will also seek to modify my perceptions of truths and established opinions. Where will it end? I have set no boundaries on knowledge, for I seek only to be wise. Alternatively, I have chosen to acknowledge the magic of chance, and thus life, in terms of having my knowledge modified, established, broken down or reaffirmed by the complex network of interactions with life over which I have limited control. Within this framework of consciousness lies the keystone of choice. Knowledge affords me choice, and results in action. I shall learn to accept all the results of my actions regardless of their true nature. And I shall learn to choose my actions, with knowledge of both my available choices and their results.
Take relationships for example: when do you know that things aren't working out? When you decide so? When your friends tell you so? When do you say that you want to work things out? How do you do it? I believe in giving and taking. As far as I have control over my mental faculties and have influence over my spiritual ones, I shall endeavour to explore, embrace, give and grow love. Of particular concern is how I would like to and believe that people ought to get along with one another.
Don't mistake me for a hippie tree-hugger simply because I'm conflict-avoidant. I value the presence of stresses and conflict, and I'm quite sure that we already receive enough of both positive and negative forms from our environments. Most importantly, my approach simply focuses on the things within my control and influence -- me, and my immediate surroundings. If I can make a choice to be happy, or to influence a situation to relief some tension, I will. If I can make a choice to suffer a temporary loss of statisfaction or comfort to sustain a moment of growth, I will. Again, the trick is to find a balance, because I do not have a confident answer as yet to what makes an adequate choice. Perhaps what rings most clearly in my mind is that I shall not allow myself to again choose to cause hurt, to myself or the people around me -- especially not to the people I love. I shall not allow myself to cause hurt for the temporary relief of my ill reasoned discomforts, my short-sighted pride or my disgruntled sense of justice. It is because I have made and suffered under such mistakes, that I do not wish to be part of them again.
Now that the lenses of my machinery are set, I would seek to move. Moving on is another matter of both the mind, body and soul. Here, I've only begun opening up a small part of my mind, for the consciousness of a social soul will forever be as vast as the oceans as long as it remains open.
There are very much more thoughts, arguments an opinions that I have on the tip of my fingers tonight, but this is all the time my shower affords me. For both opportunities and time for thoughts are a luxury to me, I treasure their passing and have faith that I shall behold them once again.
-------------------------------------
YOU
You don't need to apologise for being who you are with me. We are both free spirits in our own ways, and along our paths we dance. Sometimes we collide, sometimes we fly. Sometimes we cross, and sometimes we pass alongside one another. Know this: I have chosen a path that moves closely beside yours. Where you will go, I shall venture too, now or eventually. I still share in and with you the leaves and tress in my enchanted trail. I look upon your forest and marvel at your enchanted garden.
But know this, that I will bend under your breath if you wish and I will hold my pace along the trail edge, just so that you be comfortable and we be able to grow. I do not know all that your playful feet try to tell me in their intricat dance, I will still rely on your eyes and lips to lift my deafness and numbness.
No matter how we may trip or tumble, dance or fly, it's with you that my soul is exclusively intertwined. And it's also for you that this spring won't dry.
How can I survive with so little sleep? Simple... I embrace you in my sleep, and I wake up to you again. That's how.
JKLM
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Waking From A Dream; That Old Familiar Feeling
Seldom do we come across moments in your life when a single incident can launch you from a murky wallowing confusion into the clarity of a piercing darkness. It's like flying upwards into a hole. You feel certain of your movement and clear of your intentions, but you can't be sure of your destination. For that matter, you never were sure of it. In flight, before the hole, you find a confidence and strength you never knew you had -- the pieces are in place, the moves are set and you think you're ready. And just when you enter the hole, that dreaded phantom whispers a curdling beat through your heart: are you sure?
Genius of the hole: the moment you step in you don't stop falling, no matter what you do and how long and hard you try to climb out. Like a bullet lodged in your mind, slowly spinning and grinding its way through yout synapses, the hole doesn't take a generous bite of your enegy but drains you slowly instead, one crimson drop at a time.
There's probably a timebomb ticking in our heads. At least I'm sure that there's one in mine. The trigger is under someone's finger, waiting and ready to perform its deadly assignment. Regardless of its intention, the trigger was never at fault, even if it were responsible for setting that bomb off. For that matter, the finger on the trigger couldn't be held entirely responsible for it. Like a set of steel rings linked up to one another end to end, these isolated factors link up in their weary burden, going round and round. Round and round, back to you. You were responsible. You were always responsible; and by that understanding, you were also irresponsible.
There are no happy endings in sacrifices. Who truely knows what price people pay for the outcomes we see? Who truely knows how it feels to feel trapped, helpless and wanting? When has there been a cost that really "didn't matter"?
I had jumped on the chances I had to search for answers, answers to the questions that I had asked. People read my commitment as confusion, and perceived my search as an obsession. It might have been, if I didn't know what I was doing. It might have seemed so because of my inadequate communication. Conversely, it would have been equally likely that my exisitence was a complicated product of your own consciousness and circumstantial conditions.
This isn't the first time, but wont' be a last time such a transaction has befallen me. There are no simple situations, at least none that my eyes can see. I wish I were wiser. And more patient. Are there simple answers? Perhaps simple ideals more than simple answers.
It was supposed to be simple.
It still is. We're just a few steps away. Cummon kid, think!
JKLM
Genius of the hole: the moment you step in you don't stop falling, no matter what you do and how long and hard you try to climb out. Like a bullet lodged in your mind, slowly spinning and grinding its way through yout synapses, the hole doesn't take a generous bite of your enegy but drains you slowly instead, one crimson drop at a time.
There's probably a timebomb ticking in our heads. At least I'm sure that there's one in mine. The trigger is under someone's finger, waiting and ready to perform its deadly assignment. Regardless of its intention, the trigger was never at fault, even if it were responsible for setting that bomb off. For that matter, the finger on the trigger couldn't be held entirely responsible for it. Like a set of steel rings linked up to one another end to end, these isolated factors link up in their weary burden, going round and round. Round and round, back to you. You were responsible. You were always responsible; and by that understanding, you were also irresponsible.
There are no happy endings in sacrifices. Who truely knows what price people pay for the outcomes we see? Who truely knows how it feels to feel trapped, helpless and wanting? When has there been a cost that really "didn't matter"?
I had jumped on the chances I had to search for answers, answers to the questions that I had asked. People read my commitment as confusion, and perceived my search as an obsession. It might have been, if I didn't know what I was doing. It might have seemed so because of my inadequate communication. Conversely, it would have been equally likely that my exisitence was a complicated product of your own consciousness and circumstantial conditions.
This isn't the first time, but wont' be a last time such a transaction has befallen me. There are no simple situations, at least none that my eyes can see. I wish I were wiser. And more patient. Are there simple answers? Perhaps simple ideals more than simple answers.
It was supposed to be simple.
It still is. We're just a few steps away. Cummon kid, think!
JKLM
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Questions
Where is the concerto
That used to play
Upon my parched beach
With dancers of pure white clay?
Where burns that soul fire
Within your comet gems
That sparkle with
Such subtle desire?
When cometh the wind
Of Autumn spice
Thou Winter cold
Should suffice?
Perhaps today
We shall find
Perhaps in here
Behind those eyes...
JKLM
That used to play
Upon my parched beach
With dancers of pure white clay?
Where burns that soul fire
Within your comet gems
That sparkle with
Such subtle desire?
When cometh the wind
Of Autumn spice
Thou Winter cold
Should suffice?
Perhaps today
We shall find
Perhaps in here
Behind those eyes...
JKLM
Monday, March 13, 2006
Martini
Shaken, not stirred. With a few bruises too, if you might.
"Dry, please," you would have said instead.
I feel shaken -- physically tossed around, bruised and raw. Twilight hours that flowed with such spirit now crank in mechanical labour. Marching on through the communism of events management offered me a reward at dawn-break. Fleeting as a promise, I was offered a peek at the phantom glory of an impending golden hope.
The Sunday that followed was much like an youthful party: a continuous flurry of mindless activities for the sole purpose of fulfilling your mental massage quota. I didn't want to stop moving, knowing that chasing a high from all that activity was at any time better than clawing my way through douldrums of sober fatigue.
Just as I began falling later in the day, the chatter of excited preoccupation and excited clatter of steel on ceremics ceased my waning attention in a slingshot sweep. With a palate of green, orange, black and white, an artist and her apprentice presented a selection of simple tates and well-bodied goodness. They made me miss my mother's cooking; they made me miss home too.
On the note of food and drink, my vagabond imagination teased me of the chatter and clatter with an old friend. An old friend who wore her spaghetti on her head, her heart on her face, and her soul in her eyes. Through her, a cocktail flowed; from her, a heart-aches were grown and bestowed; with her, a mind was opened.
Wordsmith, welcome back. Few things can move us like your words: some move me close to tears while others move us all closer to you. We missed you.
Despite the lyrical puzzle that I find so intriguing, the patchwork of autumn style still offer a home for my stirred-up heart. For your colours are still the ones that paint my horizon, and the bricks my bare-feet follow. Where to? To tomorrow, my dear; to tomorrow, starting from yesterday and today.
JKLM
"Dry, please," you would have said instead.
I feel shaken -- physically tossed around, bruised and raw. Twilight hours that flowed with such spirit now crank in mechanical labour. Marching on through the communism of events management offered me a reward at dawn-break. Fleeting as a promise, I was offered a peek at the phantom glory of an impending golden hope.
The Sunday that followed was much like an youthful party: a continuous flurry of mindless activities for the sole purpose of fulfilling your mental massage quota. I didn't want to stop moving, knowing that chasing a high from all that activity was at any time better than clawing my way through douldrums of sober fatigue.
Just as I began falling later in the day, the chatter of excited preoccupation and excited clatter of steel on ceremics ceased my waning attention in a slingshot sweep. With a palate of green, orange, black and white, an artist and her apprentice presented a selection of simple tates and well-bodied goodness. They made me miss my mother's cooking; they made me miss home too.
On the note of food and drink, my vagabond imagination teased me of the chatter and clatter with an old friend. An old friend who wore her spaghetti on her head, her heart on her face, and her soul in her eyes. Through her, a cocktail flowed; from her, a heart-aches were grown and bestowed; with her, a mind was opened.
Wordsmith, welcome back. Few things can move us like your words: some move me close to tears while others move us all closer to you. We missed you.
Despite the lyrical puzzle that I find so intriguing, the patchwork of autumn style still offer a home for my stirred-up heart. For your colours are still the ones that paint my horizon, and the bricks my bare-feet follow. Where to? To tomorrow, my dear; to tomorrow, starting from yesterday and today.
JKLM
Saturday, March 11, 2006
Puzzle
Isn't it neat
When you find
That there's a fit
Unlike any kind
A nook
For a chin
A neck
To hide in
Wraggly knuckles
A lock and key
A natural buckle
Between you and me
Two feet apair
One size apart
Vanity fair
Of a beating hearts
JKLM
When you find
That there's a fit
Unlike any kind
A nook
For a chin
A neck
To hide in
Wraggly knuckles
A lock and key
A natural buckle
Between you and me
Two feet apair
One size apart
Vanity fair
Of a beating hearts
JKLM
Saturday, February 25, 2006
While You Were Away
I flipped rummaged through our collection of plastic bags, I found myself on a time trip. As the bags parted without resistance to my clumsy plundering fingers, one by one, each of them crackled for me to stop. And I did so rather often, considering our escapades with each retro red, blue and white.
What a trip it was, with flashing images of the things we bought and places we combed filling my MTV mind. It must have been this feeling of cluttered excitement that ignited the Closet Auntie bomb in me.
Ah well, here goes another whirlwind of hair and dust.
JKLM
What a trip it was, with flashing images of the things we bought and places we combed filling my MTV mind. It must have been this feeling of cluttered excitement that ignited the Closet Auntie bomb in me.
Ah well, here goes another whirlwind of hair and dust.
JKLM
Friday, February 24, 2006
Procrastination (Note: Tentative Title)
I'll tell you guys some other time about that time I got into trouble when I procras....
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Strange Rhyme
A leo's grey
An aquarius ray
Upon a vivd silk we tread.
Earthly showers
Bring moonface craters
Like butter with daily bread.
While in our head
Within lush beds
Lie a benign state between the stones.
Electric fever
From vinyl dream weaver
A dance that echoes from our bones.
Still we sleep
In turn to reach
A state of peace before we're done
As our tide rises with the sun.
JKLM
An aquarius ray
Upon a vivd silk we tread.
Earthly showers
Bring moonface craters
Like butter with daily bread.
While in our head
Within lush beds
Lie a benign state between the stones.
Electric fever
From vinyl dream weaver
A dance that echoes from our bones.
Still we sleep
In turn to reach
A state of peace before we're done
As our tide rises with the sun.
JKLM
Sunday, February 19, 2006
Concept of Two Creations
The Concept of Two Creations, as I understand it, states that most phenomenon have two points of creation -- the mental (or metaphysical) and the physical. With respect to our thoughts, actions, resultant consequences and personalities, this concept probably tries to explain that these things don't just 'happen'. At at least two distince points, we have all had some influence and choice over their development.
A very useful insight, but also a very solemn revelation.
Believing in this concept means believing in the existence of choice and self-awareness, and of course, placing yourself in a position where you are responsible for just about everything that is you. That's basically suggesting that I was (and still am) responsible as well as irresponsible. That's a really tough pill to swallow sometimes.
So many times before, I had taken the easier way out, rationalising to myself that it wasn't my fault. It was always easier to put the blame on environmental factors, on things and people I had no direct control over. Anger seemed justifiable and practical, because it was frequently used as a means in my environment. Even now, as I am older and have my opened my eyes a little more, anger seems convenient and can at times even be desirable. It seems as if a man with peace and without external emotion is a rather strange and undesirable human being.
This might seem like a rather extreme view. I beg to differ; recall the last time you were upset about something, and simply ask yourself this -- what were you upset about? Recall the other times when you were upset about something else -- what were you upset about? Now think about this: how many times, amongst those answers, did you use the words "I", "somebody was unreasonable/stupid/silly", "it wasn't my fault", "why didn't...", "if only...", "I wish..." etc...
I have come to believe that if we were truely as proactive and as good as we hoped/wanted to be, surely each problematic situation encountered is no more than an anormally in the function of things. What instigates our vivd reactions is frequently not the problem itself, but rather the flood of thougths that accompany it. Taking each problem on its own, we will easily see that they are nothing more than a sequence of events set against a preferred sequence. There's not much point piling problems together, because it's not only easy to confuse them with things that are normal, they frequently seem to suggest that we are far less capable than what we are!
And so, I've followed some good advice on a yellowed paperback to take a moment to stop and think ever so often. I've learnt not to ignore the voices in my head, not to suppress my stubborn will, but to accept them instead and to question their purpose and origin. Because they have these qualities, they would sooner be understood and broken down and away. It a little like how you don't chase after the snake that has bitten you, you find a way to remove the poison instead.
JKLM
A very useful insight, but also a very solemn revelation.
Believing in this concept means believing in the existence of choice and self-awareness, and of course, placing yourself in a position where you are responsible for just about everything that is you. That's basically suggesting that I was (and still am) responsible as well as irresponsible. That's a really tough pill to swallow sometimes.
So many times before, I had taken the easier way out, rationalising to myself that it wasn't my fault. It was always easier to put the blame on environmental factors, on things and people I had no direct control over. Anger seemed justifiable and practical, because it was frequently used as a means in my environment. Even now, as I am older and have my opened my eyes a little more, anger seems convenient and can at times even be desirable. It seems as if a man with peace and without external emotion is a rather strange and undesirable human being.
This might seem like a rather extreme view. I beg to differ; recall the last time you were upset about something, and simply ask yourself this -- what were you upset about? Recall the other times when you were upset about something else -- what were you upset about? Now think about this: how many times, amongst those answers, did you use the words "I", "somebody was unreasonable/stupid/silly", "it wasn't my fault", "why didn't...", "if only...", "I wish..." etc...
I have come to believe that if we were truely as proactive and as good as we hoped/wanted to be, surely each problematic situation encountered is no more than an anormally in the function of things. What instigates our vivd reactions is frequently not the problem itself, but rather the flood of thougths that accompany it. Taking each problem on its own, we will easily see that they are nothing more than a sequence of events set against a preferred sequence. There's not much point piling problems together, because it's not only easy to confuse them with things that are normal, they frequently seem to suggest that we are far less capable than what we are!
And so, I've followed some good advice on a yellowed paperback to take a moment to stop and think ever so often. I've learnt not to ignore the voices in my head, not to suppress my stubborn will, but to accept them instead and to question their purpose and origin. Because they have these qualities, they would sooner be understood and broken down and away. It a little like how you don't chase after the snake that has bitten you, you find a way to remove the poison instead.
JKLM
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