April 2012
5 posts
Distant Horizons
I’m dreaming of distant horizons. To climb snow-capped mountains and descend upon dales of lustrous green. To walk down orchards, and stand on the shore, watching the siege of the sea upon the breakers.
I want to saunter down city streets, and kill time in a quaint cafe by the plaza. To pay tribute to churches and cathedrals of old, and then pass through sweet-smelling gardens. To have a...
I stood on the shore, my ankles bound and caressed by warm waters, the rhythmic sighs bearing a lover’s promise. But my eyes beheld only the setting sun as it passed over the horizon, bathing the sealine in bloody tones. And then at the last a final defiant flare, the visual echoes of a dying day with no one to bear witness but the gulls, their cry a lamentation for the end of the world.
Martyr syndrome
March 2012
14 posts
Perplexed and Silenced
Today was… strange. Words fail me, because I have nothing can that adequately describe what happened. And so it is I close this entry, breaking the ritual before even a month has passed. I must collect my thoughts first, before I can lend pen to parchment. The confession will have to wait.
The sunset bathes the tenements in tangerine tones. Yellow lights flicker slowly into existence, and the clay and brick become arcane foci that conjure the spirits of the past. Then dusk settles, colours darken, and night beckons. The day is already dying.
I wish I took a picture.
Confessions, Part Three: Nox
Nightfall.
I sit here within the concrete jungle, surrounded by a hundred other nocturnal creatures slaved to their polycarbonate machines, a congregation of open cells in this prison of wood, steel and plastic. The pungent aroma of brewing kahve permeates the locale, its fragrance earthy and nutty and caustic and wretched, all at once. I gag, and a flash takes me back to the day where we sat in...
Confessions, Part Two: Dusk
I am writing this in the honours room on another Friday evening. This could turn into a weekly ritual, but I might run out of things to write about soon enough.
A close friend called on Monday to ask me how our date went. In my head, I thought, “Well, if I didn’t contact you for a week and a half, it must have been bad, right?” If visible silences were possible in real life, this one would have...
Dream letter
Once I had a dream of you and I. We wandered ‘cross the city streets and danced under the starry night sky. Alas, it was not meant to be; the stars faded and you gave a letter, addressed to me. Within the burgundy ink and cursive script, there were two painful words:
“I’m sorry.”
melancholia
5 tags
“A drowning man knows not the ocean’s vastness, only its depth.”
Confessions, Part One: A Light in Dark Places
It has been a week since you reached out your hand, snuffing out the flame in my heart with a single gesture. For a few, but crucial and devastating days, I floundered in the darkness, cursing anyone and anything: God, Fate, myself, but not you.
Against good reason, I have decided to rekindle that flame. It is but one candle of hope within the vast, empty expanse that is my mind. It flickers...
5 tags
“part of me had suspected something like this, but it’s hard to hear a secret thought finally spoken aloud.”
February 2012
5 posts
status quo
Technically nothing’s changed. Things are still the same now as back then.
So why is it so fucking hard for me to believe that?
Obs/Confession: A Letter to You
“I have loved to the point of madness; that which is called madness, that which to me, is the only sensible way to love.” - Françoise Sagan
I thought I was done writing about you. Within 3 days, I wrote a blog reply, two discarded facebook notes, 5 deleted tweets, 3 tumblr posts, and a letter I intend to read to you when we next meet, for closure. I spoke about this to a close friend,...
vanity
i’ve always been proud of myself for being somewhat detached from events that happen to me.
now, i’ve been stung and shown to be capable of nothing. paralysis.
not so arrogant now, are we?
when food turns to ash in your mouth
January 2012
5 posts
take me to the movies
take me anywhere
i won’t cause a scene
i’ll behave, i swear
3 tags
“Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver...”
– William Butler Yeats
self-schadenfreude
I’m quite certain that 5, 10 years from now, I will look back on this and laugh at how (not quite) young and foolish I was.
I’m also quite certain that 5, 10 years from now, I wouldn’t be as young, but I would still be as foolish.
3 tags
“Cowardice… is almost always simply a lack of ability to suspend...”
– Ernest Hemingway
2012: sealed letters, never opened
Within which I regurgitate my angst, so that I won’t burden people around me. How conceited, then, that I do this only to maintain some mythical, fragile facade. Oh, look, I’m rambling again.
Like diarrhea flowing into a pit…