scarecrow

bleeding. out.

when the day has come
but i've lost my way around

and the seasons stop, and hide beneath the ground
when the sky turns gray and everything is screaming

i will reach inside
just to find my heart is bleeding

when the hour is night
and hopelessness is sinking in

and the wolves all cry
to fill the night with hollering

when your eyes are red
and emptiness is all you know

with the darkness fed
i will be your scarecrow

oh you tell me to hold on
oh you tell me to hold on
but innocence is gone
and what was right is wrong

cos i'm bleeding out
said if the last thing that i do
is to bring you down
i'll bleed it out for you

for you.

 

orchestra.

symphony,
harmony,
deep resonance.

those notes, they float!
there was nothing,
save a series of coordinated, intentional vibrations.

they lure you into the invisible world,
left you marvelling at the composer's brilliance,
makes you wonder aloud -
the universality of music.

it could have,
it may not,
it happened?

what's left after the ensemble of musicians,
what's the state after the delirious performance?

silence, contemplative silence.
all these, a figment?

for no pictures could convey,
no recordings could conjure,
the lingering atmosphere, and memories were all there were -
fragments of resounding waves.

all there were...

now.

come, follow me into the abyss.

no, i don't know its depth.

once the sea swallows the sun and dusk settles,

the wonders come alive.

 

let's share a dance in the waters,

for we don't know what tomorrow holds,

no... won't promise.

but come,

swim with me.

for all you know, i am a siren.

the daughters of the sea,

they're calling me.

you only have now.

ender's game.

brilliant minds,
one against another.
wished not, did not.
ability, intentions, means, end.

ender.
game.

pretend.

let us play, a game of pretence!
it's fun!
there - i've just done it.
your turn.
just remember to like us after that game ends.
sure!
there - i think i've done it again!

pursuit

drops of golden ichor,
tears of wisp.
i float,
i spirited.
fumes, vapors.
dust, ashes.
immortality.
witnessing heartaches and losses,
the accursed statue stood,
robed in melancholy and regalia,
for eternity.
watching mortals in their blind pursue;
"if only they knew."

wisp

swift winds; they rise and fall.
changing tides, seasons - the insignificance of man.

ever so patiently, fate lies in wait for the planned chance-meeting with time;
for, with time on his side, decision had just won the wager with wisdom.

life, welding definitions, margins and contradictions all into one,
is both long-spent and short-lived.

in the municipal array of it all, the soul of the philosopher just got older.
she sighs.

penrose stairs.

you seek not to impress, so you would not disappoint.
you seek not to give false hope, so you can minimise casualty.

you run,
afraid of the illusion and audacity of your own dreams.

you hide,
longing to be found only by the right one.

you are,
but a flight of penrose stairs.

one that can't co-exist with reality,
yet whose concept exists for eternity.

seek.

i trudged through the thick snow,
i turned,
snowflakes began filling the hollow footprints.
where... are you?

"remember the good, and never the bad."

"but what if there's nothing good that's left to remember?"

"forget. forget everything."

well-concealed behind the thorn bush, she listened. no one had the slightest idea she was there. despite the fine gashes on both her arms and the multiple slash wounds on her thigh and lower right calf, she made no whimper. streaks of blood dyed her pants red as she barely managed to suppress a smirk; a rush of euphoria and ache swelled within her.

"this is it."

"this is it."

row.

in a humble boat sat she.
gently, she rowed.

she loved the boundless sea, the unparalleled sunrise and sunset, the dazzling night sky.
at the edge of the forest, the cicada calls, the scent of pine lingers, the morning dew renews.
each day, she thought she could be here forever.

yet forever is a long time.

for like calypso, she was cursed.
the very moment she fell in love with where she was,
she will be thrown into the freezing waters and made to swim back to her little boat.

countless times she swam,
with every gulp of air; she struggled to remember all the beauty around her.

countless times she fell,
with every prickle on her skin; she struggled to hold onto all the memories, and what's left in her.

gradually, her perseverance ebbed away.
time, after all, is indeed a scary thing.

as her little boat came into view, 
her hands tightened around its rim. 

yet her worn-out soul is already beginning to lose its shimmer.
her tired mind whispers...
"how many more times? how much longer?"

lost in tears mingled with nostalgia and exhaustion, she slowly loosens her grip...

minimizing the casualties...

her lips, they never parted;
they bear the weight of the unspoken words,
the words she dared not utter.

the hidden expectations... the differences.
she kept telling herself perhaps its just her,
that she don't even know what's in your mind.

"... slowly all the faces turn to yours
like no one else exists anymore
i'd talk to you if only i could speak
and i'd dream of you if i could fall asleep..."

she dreamt, when she fell asleep.
is this... only happening in her mind?

"... i'll find an area more remote than Bavaria
i'll still get in the hair of you, in Bavaria or Bombay
and you'll find that love won't let you get away..."

she liked going out to sea with you.
she liked taking a stroll around the zoo with you.
she liked catching the sunsets with you.
she liked the impromptu pingpong game in the middle of some random street.
she liked playing the piano for you.
she liked the mini 'traffic police' adventure.

the fault in our stars, sky thief, perhaps is this:
“i'm a grenade and at some point i'm going to blow up and i would like to minimize the casualties.”

Ecclesiastes 4:9-12

"Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor: If either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up. Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone? Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken."

a hidden assumption... a footnote perhaps: provided the fella who accompanied you on the journey possesses a certain degree of altruism, and his or her presence tolerable, or even enjoyable maybe?

on the larger scale, life is but a series of expectations, disappointments, hope, joy, grief and pain. one simply cannot escape any of these phases unscathed. yet each of us deal with these phases in different ways.

the environment which one grows up in determines the preparedness and tenacity of one to accept each of these various phases - rightly so. nevertheless, one still has the option of choosing which phase to linger longer in, thereby ultimately predisposing oneself to the perception of life as either a 'purposeful' or a 'meaningless' one.

perhaps by filling one's life with transient events constantly, one's commitment to any of these phases would be expect-ably fleeting; if one simply does not linger too long, one is less likely to get hurt.

pride.

pride,
one's strength, as well as one's ultimate weakness.

to live a truly carefree life,
have absolutely zero expectation.

just as one's destiny may be fulfilled without the realisation of one's purpose,
one may also live out one's purpose, with utter disbelief in destiny.

in the gutter lay thee,
thy motionless arms, cold.
thy eyes, they behold the heavens,
the angels, engulfed by pure myrrh,
looked down upon thee,
thy secret, safe, sound.

my depth, concealed.

persistence, strength, perspective.

"a river cuts through a rock, not because of its power, but because of its persistence."

an inspiration, when told through the eyes of the river.
but for the rock, however it persisted, the river still managed to cut through it.

perspective.

what if the river had never wanted to cut through the rock in the first place? what if it had no control over its power as to where it is to flow? what if it were all mere motion? what if it had felt sorry for the rock, but is helpless about stopping its flow?

what if the rock just happens to be there? what if it had wished it was on some other place far away from the waters? what if mere serenity was all it had wanted, but unfortunately gets stuck and have to go through the ordeal of water constantly running through it over and over again? what if it were constantly screaming "get me out of here, please somebody, anybody!" but was never heard?

part of a bigger play.

perhaps one day, when the rock eventually becomes sediment grains and nothingness, it will be able to ride far far away with the river, and finally, be free.

but would it still be the same rock it used to be?

one would be blind to think the world to be perfect.
yet, the world is bound to remain imperfect if everyone simply does nothing about it, convinced that whatever they do is insignificant.

the more-than-fine balance.

assume.
"suppose to be the case, without proof."
... the reason why things never happened.

appreciate.
"being grateful for (something)."
... the lack of this,
the reason why things happen,
and why certain people feel lost and worthless.

"well you only need the light when it's burning low,
only miss the sun when it starts to snow.
only know you love her when you let her go."

dream.
"a condition or achievement that is longed for; an aspiration."
... powers believe,
and drives the passion for pursuit. 

hope.
the reason for pain,
also the reason why people hold on despite the pain.

"staring at the bottom of your glass,
hoping one day you'll make a dream last....
... maybe one day you'll understand why
everything you touch surely die."

and you let her go.

toy.

on a thin fine thread the young lady saunters,
her wandering mind, sharp, albeit shrouded.
her agility unexpected, her move surprises.
the entwining, lifeless thread in her hand she fonders,
her sleeves hissed.

入战曲伴我无悔的狂妄，我所憧憬的爱情。

《兰陵王》

左手掌握着空心，

右手掌握着痴心，

一心一意捧在手掌心 。

偏偏我越抱越緊，

偏偏我越愛越貪心，

偏偏要爱到万剑穿了心才死心。

我属于你的注定，不属于我的命运。

 

我手心的温度。

moringa turtledove

black dove, white crow perched on snow,
if you could a dove, would you rather a crow?

white as snow, black as coal,
dark ebony, blinding white.

roles, life, contrast, mosaic.
the night circus invites.

play, live, blend, collage.
the daybreak beckons.

the still stirred,
eyes open.

wednesday the fifteenth.

1. fell off a bicycle
2. hit my head against metal bar
3. slipped and hit my right elbow against a branch
4. got thrown into a little risky situation
5. almost slipped in the bathroom (again)

alive feels great. phew.

so much for 'friday the thirteenth', here's my plan for the next and final hour of wednesday the fifteenth - drift into dreamland and wake up to a safer tomorrow.