beads and stones, stickers and frayed strings.
what we find in our cabinets, hidden away for so long.
remnants of who we used to be.
little children who found pleasure in marbles,
little girls who loved the shimmer of their so-called gems.

and then there's all the dust,
that makes you sneeze, irritates your eyes.

yet it's time they go.

you've hung on to them for far too long.
you no longer feel attached to those things, foreign and obscure,
as soon as that cabinet door is closed.

yes, i've lost that enthusiasm.
yes, i've lost the ability to look at people without placing a
sort-of-definite judgement on them.

our faces are show those marks of
pain, sadness, happiness, insomnia, adolescence.

and the whole process goes on and on.
we dump, we throw, we filter.
we repack, dump the past, store the present, embrace the future.

i thought life will not be the same after A's.
i thought i would feel, different, happier, less burdened.

yet that anticipation has let me down again, seemingly.
what did i expect?

now we have new worries, new fears, new pressures.
new nightmares.

six buckets i've dumped.
all the baggage, the attachment.
dump them all, so as to be able to soar once more.

then comes the closing of the year, just around the corner.
new hopes, new dreams, new pains.

what happened in these past two years, the me of 16 would never have expected.
so what's to come in the next two years?
i really have no idea.

sometimes the best plans fail,
the best men fall.
don't they?

away from raffles i feel like i'm leaving a part of my identity,
what i've been branded by others for the past 6 years.
is that a good thing? i really don't know.

all i can say is that, we think we're free from the hierarchy,
the gossips in the canteen,
but i don't think it'll be over.

yet, i have hope.

I am not talking to you now through the medium of
custom, conventionalities, nor even of mortal flesh.

It is my spirit that addresses your spirit;
just as if both passed through the grave,
and we stood at God's feet,
equal - as we are!

yes. equal, as we are.
yen, please keep that in mind.

of course i want to soar,
of course i want to be able to achieve what
even I daren't dream about.

but right now,
i wish to be cleansed.
soaked to the bone with water,
pure as the morning dew.

i feel tarnished, marred by
pride, prejudices, indolence.
i am mortified.

i seek ________.
yes i finally acknowledge it.

so please give me the strength to carry it through.

__________________________________________________

being able to bask in that moonlight was the
best thing i've ever experienced.

and so it is,
back to spring-cleaning.

I've got some troubles but they won't last,
I'm gonna lay down right here in the grass.

And pretty soon
all my troubles will pass cause I'm in

(shooshooshoo
shooshooshoo
shooshooshoo
shooshooshoo)

Sugartown. :D

____________________________________________


Three more weeks.
Let's hope for the best.

We'll be alright. :)

"there is special providence in the fall of a sparrow"
- William Shakespeare, Hamlet


________________________________________________________



But why now?
Why now? When you were going to make a come-back?
Why now? When I was going to see you perform
one last time by whatever means possible?

I don't understand.

Why you?




Rest, rest perturbed soul.
May you rest in peace.

And you'll live forever in your music,
we'll hum your melodies,
we'll mouth your words.
we'll sing your songs.

And once more you'll come alive.
We'll complete what you started,
yet didn't get a chance to end.



 

I love you Michael Jackson.
You were and always will be my inspiration.


Michael Jackson
1958–2009


_____________________________________________________

"I'll never let you part, for you're always in  my heart."
- Michael Jackson, Will You Be There
 

That drop of blood that's calm proclaims me bastard.

I stare, hoping a miracle will happen.

I am a wave.

Avoiding this was close to avoiding a part of me,
ignoring its existence.
Trying to be something I'm not, never will be.

This sense of inferiority makes my insides tumble.
I'm tired of all this.
I want to fall, fall, fall.

I am what I'm not.

This throbbing, numbing sensation has been there for too long.
This is the end of the road,
the road with you in it.

Am I Alice?

Through the looking-glass,
do you see something I don't?

I wished I knew.
I wished I knew more.
I wished I was worthy.

Fall, fell, fallen.

This has to stop
here.

Here I go again on another journey.

One more time,
the pendulum never stops.

Swing, swing, swing.

Get up.
Stand up.
Resist.

Back where I started,
once more,
it's been once more too many.

Shut your eyes and think of somewhere.

Go.


I'm on overdrive.

Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you,
relive the pictures that have come to pass.


For now we stand alone.


The World is lost and blown, and we are

flesh and blood disintegrate
with no more to hate.



Is it bright where you are?
Have the people changed?
Does it make you happy you're so strange?


And in your darkest hour I hold Secrets' flame.

We can watch the World
devoured in its pain.



Delivered from the blast - the last of a line of lasts.

The pale princess of a palace,
cracked.

And now the kingdom comes crashing down,
undone.

And I am a master of a nothing-place of
recoil and grace.



Time has stopped before us,
the sky cannot ignore us.
No one can separate us
for we are all that is left.

The echo bounces off me,
the shadow lost beside me.

There's no more need to pretend
because now I can begin again.



Strange,
strange,
strange.


___________________________________________

When King Lear dies in Act V, do you know what
Shakespeare has written?

He's written


"He dies."



That's all,
nothing more.


No fanfare, no metaphor, no brilliant
last words.


The culmination of the most
influential work of dramatic literature is


"He dies."


It takes Shakespeare, a genius, to come up with


"He dies."

And yet, every time I read those two words, I find myself
overwhelmed with dysphoria.


And I know it's only natural to be sad, but not because of the words


"He dies."


but because of the life we saw
prior to the words.


________________________________________________________



If anyone asks what became of me,
you relate my life in all its

wonder, and end it with a simple and modest


"He died."


________________________________________________________



Your life is an occasion.
Rise to it.

RORSCHACH'S JOURNAL.
October 12th, 1985:

Dog carcass in alley this morning, tire tread on
burst stomach.
This city is afraid of me.
I have seen its
true face.

The streets are extended gutters and the gutters are full of
blood and when the drains finally scab over, all the
vermin will drown.

The accumulated filth of all their sex and murder will foam up about their waists
and all the whores and politicians will look up and shout



"SAVE US!"



And I'll look down, and whisper



"no."



They had a choice, all of them.
They could have followed in the footsteps of good men like my father,
or President Truman.

Decent men, who believed in a day's work for a
day's pay.

Instead they followed the droppings of
lechers and communists and didn't realise that the trail led
over a precipice until


it was too late.


Don't tell me they didn't have a choice.

Now the whole world stands on the brink, staring down into bloody hell, all those
liberals and intellectuals and smooth-talkers....





And all of a sudden,
Nobody can think of anything to say.

I have of late—but wherefore I know not—

lost all my mirth,
forgone all custom of exercises;

and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame,
the earth, seems to me a

sterile promontory,

this most excellent canopy, the air,
look you,

this brave o'erhanging firmament, 
this majestical roof fretted with golden fire,


why,


it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapors.


What a piece of work is a man!


How noble in reason, how infinite in faculties,
in form and moving how express and admirable,
in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like



a god!




The beauty of the world, the paragon of animals!
And yet, to me,


what is this quintessence of dust?



- Hamlet, William Shakespeare

________________________________________________




tomorrow's a new day.

fight on.

I'm really tired.
Of working.
Of running.
Of controlling.
Of all the aching.

Sometimes I want something so bad it hurts and I want to rip something apart
just see how it falls apart in shreds does it know how I feel how I feel how I feel.

I want to sleep, and wake up in a different place different time different me.

What would it take for just a break.
A day by the seaside.
A day, a day, just one day.

I'm really tired, of pain, of gaucheness, of wishing to be someone I am not, never I will be.

I'm tired.
Of feeling sorry for what I've done, of feeling horrible, of feeling unworthy.
For feeling like utter rubbish.
Shit.

Take me to the wasteland, please.


I'm so tired.

____________________________________________


So,

Here it is.

9:28 at night.
4th March 2009.

This is my new starting point.

I fell,
I'm up.

Here I go again.


Come on girl.

I live to dream, dream to live.
You'll never get me so just let me be.



I'm moving on without you.