i have a few minutes to write a post before the song ends and i have to leave. still don't understand why i'm so busy all the time but it effaces the emptiness within me, to put it in an artistic way. life has been great. it's been hectic and exhausting but amazing. i've been slacking on my writing, firstly because i've been too busy to properly sit down and mull and wait for inspiration to arrive, and secondly and more importantly... i've been happy. happiness is annoying. it feels good, of course, but it's like the panacea to inspiration and writing, especially in my case since my theme tends to revolve around the grotesque, macabre, melancholic, depressing, and dark stuff. been trying to branch out into the happier themes like love at first sight or pure love or people in love rather than people out of love and dying or on the floor on their own pool of blood. trying.

i guess that is all to my life lately, having fun whilst trying to write. all will change when national service comes.

this song is beautiful:

i have given up documenting my life on a daily basis because i can't remember what i do during specific days; days no longer matter to me because they all represent free-time before i enlist into the army. so instead i will put pictures and for stuff that lacks pictures i would probably slip in at the end:

teng and ball at chillin' area plus secret brick wall.

meet Mask, tuls' amazingly cute husky.

catching up with the ivy with fatteh.

and yesterday, where i had one of my bad days in lazy clothes.

and here is larmy reading a book about life (seriously).

---

somewhere along the week(s) i went to:

Town and Chinatown with the michenator and then cut clothes up at my place.

Mdm Wong's, Tantric, dymk, Play, Taboo, Avalon (on Sunday); gay pubs and clubs. the gay nightlife is a hundred times better than the straight nightlife. seriously, once you visit gay clubs you'll never want to go back to straight clubs again. friendlier (much more) people with the same if not more energy.

a christmas party and the Aladdin cast (musical) house party (that moved to Avalon thereafter).

that is probably all.

day 17 poetry:

the dust settled but the storm continues to rage --
apart, they are a part,
and they continue to remain broken,
like the sharp edges of window shards.

they try to hold one another
they cut each other
they try to hold on
they hurt each other.

the dust disperses but the storm has calmed;
they stand apart, no longer a part.

they cannot.

can--
not.

---

okay, i don't really consider this a good piece but i've sort of injected a lot of myself into this. didn't know how to properly pen my emotions into a proper piece so being the lazy lit-student all i did was employ the use of form. actually the entire poem relies solely on form: incredibly fragmented sentences and stanzas. i don't know, i quite like it. if i divulge the meaning it would probably make more sense but then that would ruin the fun. so.

oh, the first two sentences can be read in three different ways. just saying.

day 16 poetry:

is (here)

---

i feel like i shouldn't be trying to write both a prose and poetry everyday. like if it comes naturally then that's awesome but if it doesn't then i shouldn't be trying because i feel like when i force myself to write something then the meaning behind it wouldn't be as genuine as inspiration would. so yeah, i'll only do either prose or poetry a day from now on and if it's a good day then there'll be both (or more, or two of the same styles).

as of late:

day 15 prose:

his heart cried and wrenched to the aching emptiness inside. there was nothing he could do now but regret. regret. it was raining outside but in his heart was the storm of the century. he felt the gale tearing him apart from side to side and the deluge threatening to drown him, but he knew it was only his heart that had the power to make him feel like death should take him away tonight; he knew that it was only her who could make his heart feel this way: skip a beat, pulsate, race, and now pause, stop, and ache with despair. there was nothing he could do but regret.

she was gone with the pliers to his heart.

---

poetry (here)

day 14 prose:

i thought i knew you, just a little bit, i thought i knew what you were thinking, just a little bit. i thought... you and i -- i thought we'd be together for a really long time, and i was banking all my hopes on that, i really was. ... but i was wrong, i thought wrong. just like that; sucks, doesn't it? one misstep and everything crashes, one misstep and all the steps behind crumbles. you can neither move forward nor return to the safe place you came from. you're just -- stuck.

i thought i love you, but now i know i loved you, because i thought i knew you, but i now i know i never did. you were like a stranger -- no, you were like the illusionary havens the dying sees in the midst of a desert, they crawl towards it, but all they get is nothing; nothing and disillusion.

---

poetry (here)

day 13 poetry:

tender
was the night as he
fell from his bed.

he cried
but realised
he was alone;
alone in his room
and alone in this house.

he got up
and wiped his eyes
like a child who's lost
its fight,
and went back to bed,

alone in his room,
and alone in this house --
his home that he had bought.

---

prose (here)

day 12 prose:

contractors, contraction, contracted -- the woods started closing around her. she wasn't breathing, she couldn't. she wasn't moving, she couldn't. she wasn't doing anything, she couldn't. they ignored her as they carried on with their lives, doing exactly what they were told -- the architecture's mad wishes. strangely, what surrounded her had no leaves -- or no branches for a matter of fact, and the geometry was too perfect for it to be natural. it was man-made.

it wasn't the woods that were surrounding her, it was wood. it was wood that was being placed in a rectangular shape around her.
she was in a coffin.

oh right! she was dead.
she wasn't doing anything, she couldn't.

---

poem (here)

prom:

prom was incredibly lame. this isn't a very promising first sentence but yeah, prom was lame. though i mean the event, not the day itself. it was so lame that more than half the time our table was empty. like the food was just placed there for flies while we were outside the hall or in our rooms having our own fun. but then again, everyone inside was cheering and shouting and screaming like it was the best day of their lives, and i mean everyone. so it's probably just us luh, we're a problematic, dysfunctional group of people. but really, i thought prom would be super classy and everything but it turned out to be a failed party instead. host with bad grammar and pronunciation (and enunciation), bad music, and bad everything luh generally. i guess the easiest way to sum up our lack of interest is how he's always 'has every table came up to get the paper?', 'uhhh, i don't think every group is up here', 'i think a table didn't write their names and numbers', and 'okay never-mind, i think we got an extra piece'. we were that uninterested.

still, prom was freaking amazing. best night of my 18 years thus far! pictures plus captions:

day 11 prose:

two hour has passed but the woman still remains rooted to that exact spot she had been in upon her entrance. what is different, however, is how she no longer wears that look of excitement and felicity she did as he saw her entering, almost prancing, through the entrance -- two hours ago. instead, her face has become sort of a mixture of anxiety, worry, and melancholy. he does not know why, he does not think that it is in his place to ask why either.

he rotates his chair to follow her eyes and sees her staring at a man in a jet-black suit approaching her, strangely wishing that it was the person she was waiting for. regardless, he would not know even if it was him since he is a distance away and it is not in his place to know anyway. he sees the man leaning towards the woman and whispering in a way he thought was too professional while her countenance with overflowed with eagerness.

and as soon as he leaned back to walk away from her swiftly, he saw her face contort into an expression he has never quite seen before yet knew what it was: despair and grief. he saw tears trickling -- then pouring from her eyes as her knees gave way and she collapsed onto the marble. he got up to walk towards her but stopped, thinking that it was none of his business, and not in his place either. biting his lip he shuffled through the idea of leaving the scene or going up to help her. he swore under his breath and went up to her.

"hey ma'm," he awkwardly asked, "what's wrong?"

---

PLAYING WITH POINTS OF VIEW SO YEAH. IT'S PRETTY BAD ACTUALLY, not in a humble way but in a seriously-it's-quite-bad way. too many adjectives and tautology. but i don't know how to inject expression into a stranger observing an emotional situation! gah, hopefully i'll get better.

anyway,

poetry (here)

day 10 prose:

her eyes flickered open: pupils dilated and glistening beneath the street lamps; street lamps which fail in their occupation as all they did was shroud the area with a depressing yellow and cast grim, menacing shadows. she sighs and watches her breath condense into a gloomy fog before dissipating into darkness... just like the rest, she thought, flicking her fingers and drawing a deep breath. she could feel the nicotine glue to her lungs and take effect: a mild euphoria billowing from her chest, of which died almost instantaneously-- she had done this too much and too long for it to have a lasting effect. forget it, she thought as she released the stick and watch it fall to the ground before crushing it with her foot.

---

poetry (here)

day 9 prose:

we paint ourselves in such demeaning ways just to vie for the attention of inattentive people; inattentive people we fall for, that is. jump through hoops (hoops on fire!), scale mountains (without a harness!), swim across oceans (sharks, oh sharks!), and everything else that risks our lives. we humiliate ourselves (rather willingly, i must say) doing the strangest, most hilarious things we never thought we would ever do (perform). and funnily enough, we continue doing these things even when our attention-seeking ways come to naught! such fervent perseverance (more like foolish pursuit) displaying our passionate (naive) character. even if this relentless race reaches nowhere we'll still continue to run (i'm sure we would!).

and for what? for love of course!

---

poetry (here)

crease:

okay i've been trying to iron my shirt for the past hour and a half and it still looks wrinkly. Z says cotton's difficult to iron and creases easily. ugh. so fuck it, i'm just gonna iron the visible parts through the blazer. HAHAHA. even then those parts still look wrinkly. i don't get it. i pass the iron through it and i look at it and there are still creases everywhere.

now i feel like writing a poem about creases.

2 days and creeping thoughts;

weekends are much more relaxing. still didn't get my 12 hour sleep because for some reason my body's attuned to wake up at 8.30 or latest 9.30.

day 8 poetry:

puff:
fire
ablaze near
her fingers, the stick burns
brilliantly. her mouth closes;
chest heaving greedily while
her pupils dilate.

in the moment
at that moment
she felt complete --
completion,
and desertion:
puff,
the smoke billows
and clouds
everything.

--

prose (here)

day 7 poetry:

her memory
ripped --
her like gale
to a blade of grass.

she swam in despair
but it was too much
for her. it pulled her
down like the tentacles
of an octopus.
she was dro--
drowning.

the thunderstorm
hit her -- a face
full of glass...
more like the tip of
a blade to a shaking wrist.

---

prose (here)

day 6 poetry:

how she had been waiting
so wholeheartedly and excited
at the airport,

that you should have seen her
when it was someone else instead of him
that arrived
with news of tragedy

that you should have seen her
face evolve from one of disbelief
into an incoherent mess
as she fell to her knees.

---

prose (here)

past 3 days;

today has been a day of complete inertia. i've had a 10-hour sleep (not 12-hour yet but that's good enough), woke up, ate, read, read some more, wrote, wrote a lot, game a little and then got bored, finally browsed my abandoned August magazines (which i tragically have yet to master reading it rather than skimming through for pictures), and now i am here blogging. i meant to go to the gym but my helper's still here after a really long time, not that i'm complaining (of course not) since the house is now spotless. so anyway, i guess i'll just talk about my past 3 days:

day 5 poetry:

the view
no one could truly appreciate
that view she had left us with --
the flowers she had so painstakingly
planted, which were set against the beaming
sun, or the perfectly groomed
house with everything
in place and nothing
you could find fault
in.

no one could truly appreciate
the view she had left us with --
that beautiful box, so wonderfully carved
with its intricacy and perfection,
which she now sleeps in forever.

---

prose (here)

life as of late:

i'm about to head to amore but i don't wanna leave just yet because my coffee isn't finished yet and i'm too lazy to move (or even put on clothes). so i'll just ramble as usual:

day 4 poetry:

that unspeakable moment that left
us

heart --

wrenched
and riddled with grief;
overwhelmed in
paralysing melancholy.

we swore never to speak
of it again but little
did we know how
it only became stronger;
that insidious pain with a grip
on our entire being that sucks
the breath, and binds
our bones.

we are broken --
silent sufferers.

---

prose (here)