Friday, December 18, 2009

"We are but older children, dear, who fret to find our bedtime near." -Lewis Carroll



Cats and rabbits
Would reside in fancy little houses
And be dressed in shoes and hats and trousers
In a world of my own

All the flowers
Would have very extra special powers
They would sit and talk to me for hours
When I'm lonely in a world of my own

There'd be new birds
Lots of nice and friendly howdy-do birds
Everyone would have a dozen bluebirds
Within that world of my own

I could listen to a babbling brook
And hear a song that I could understand
I keep wishing it could be that way
Because my world would be a Wonderland

(In A World of My Own - Alice in Wonderland)


Friday, November 20, 2009

pique.

They nag and they mourn soon after they get what they have predicted. They think they're the risk-takers and great and strong that this is mere obstacle, the avoidable part of life they're training themselves to get use to. They do whatever to make them look normal and think that the worst they may get is experience. Gah. It really is a life. You get some, you lose some. Now that we know, let us agree that there may be one or two things in life we are able to recall as a free lunch, but experience is totally not for free. Look at those so-called risk-takers whose hearts are scratched and fragmented. There was one time in their life when they're given a chance to think and to choose yet some of them were dreaming for a luck instead of telling their hearts not to overrun their brains. Have I told you that even a child, a very dreamer one, realize that life doesn't always work like their storybooks where the brave, swordless one outlives the fire-breathing dragon. Seriously, one of us has to reinvent a smarter way to define the true meaning of a risk-taker.

To put the matter in a nutshell, what’s the point of dealing with the whole risks when you can find a chance to reduce them?

Here in the marketplace, surely you’re permitted to bargain before purchase, right?

Saturday, October 3, 2009

the Ifs and the Only-Ifs


When we're in the middle of the Deflation of Pride,

will people forgive the invaders?


Will people let drop the tense?


Will people cease the war?


If so,

will world become any peacer?



Wednesday, September 23, 2009

touché

I feel sad yet I suppose I must not cry. I am a grown-up and grown-ups do not cry anymore. They are too old and content to do so, but grandpa says I am his grandchild that I am too young to keep secrets.

“You’re still a tiny baby for me,” says he.

So I cry.

Thursday, September 10, 2009

word |wərd|

noun
a single distinct meaningful element of speech or writing, used with others (or sometimes alone) to form a sentence and typically shown with a space on either side when written or printed.



I have a thing for words. I like them when they happen to be
cryptic,
bipolar,
and
ambiguous
as they perplexingly and halfheartedly inform you of a thing one's kept in secret.

Realm of Thought


In your realm of thought where anything can happen

In your realm of thought where anything doesn’t have to be something

Please beware,

who are you to know what you want?

who are you to want what you know?

Your spasm of brain ended by a heavy gasp

Fuck the doom

Go hail a cab

Sunday, August 30, 2009

Dang. I'm such a poor synthetical definer.


Puissance is

The whatsit you have when you drive like a man and I say I could never drive like you then you coldly say I couldn’t.

Puissance is

The whatsit you have when you teasingly ask me whether I’ve ever known anything about muffler and I feel like a downward stupid.

Puissance is

The whatsit you have when we start to philosophize everything that we both stay up all night ruminating on our not-so-profound theory.

Puissance is

The whatsit you have when you’re always beyond my expectation and I give up predicting you.

Puissance is

The whatsit you have when you’ve always been quite close for me to reach but then you suddenly turn into someone out of reach.

Puissance is

The whatsit you have that makes me think of bargaining as an effing waste of time.

Puissance is

The whatsit resulted by the mixture of my dad, Brian O’Conner, John Constantine, Batman, Jack Sparrow

and

ah, what's your name again?

Friday, August 28, 2009

short.

I like the way I let my self immersed in my thoughts as my stereos are humming smooth jazz. Smoother than the frailest breeze, flawless it goes through my veins. Oh, how can I transpose the deep serene into words?

I like the way I move my figure, dancing through the beat as the hip-hop blasting inside ‘their’ mundane world. Piercing another holes in my stoical ears, enkindling the bliss in my every cells of my brain.

I just can’t decide which music my ears are into.

It takes one hell of a time to decide on and we all know

Life

is

too

short.

Monday, August 24, 2009

's Outré

“Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.”

- Neil Gaiman.

Kindly seal your lips. I know you might think I was trying to make you read a theatrical post. I know it would felt tacky for most of you to read any kind of paragraphs which have the overmelancholic word "Love" in them. I know you might think this blog has stupidly started to romanticized things. This time, however, I'm not expecting any kind of cacophony when you're reading, nor am I expecting any kind of "Yuck!" or "Eww!" hubbub. This quote is positively outré, methinks. Isn't it? If you have the contrathought, please read it again. You'll find at least Neil only mentioned the L-thingy three times which isn’t legion.

"The moon, methinks, looks with a wat'ry eye; And when she weeps, weeps every little flower." - William Shakespeare

I'm a man coming from Mercury and I’m a tourist who's currently undergoing the effing jet lag. On the planet where I came from, we have culture and society, just like the earth. But I've never thought that earth is so... Human. Very endearing by the look yet pretty difficult that I can't even figure what they are doing, and when I do, none of my sense will lead me to the answer of why they're doing this. This creature I saw a couple of hours ago whose look has been sort of haunting me in a good way, emblazoning the good dreams of me, was once doing a thing I couldn't get. I was innocent, sitting across her in the lounge of their, uhm, rocket station (I supposed they called it an airport or something like that) when this girl whose look seemed like a moon, bright and pale, starting to look at the wide window with a watery eyes. There was this liquid and I suppose that was water, just like the liquid they always drink here. She stared at nothing as of course there's nothing interesting outside the window through a pair of eyes of someone who doesn't come from a different planet like me. This moony creature looked so burdened. I assumed it was kind of hard to have her eyes turning into a dam like that. She seemed struggling to hold the liquid in her eyes as it would have caused a disaster if the liquid had dropped. I'd never seen a creature like her. Bright and pale and endearing at the same time, she went touching the surface of my heart. I guessed this was what humans call a, uhm, fling or something like that. The girl's eyes started to dancing in a very wicked way and she bit her lower lip, forcing her eyes to focus on something she'd been staring through the window when it seemed to turn blurry on her. Suddenly, she let loose her lower lip and closed her eyes very slowly. This was when a drop or two of the liquid fell gently, streaming down her moony face. The liquid was salty by the smell, like something she'd carried as a souvenir from the shore she'd visited before. She'd just got off sailing, I supposed. She was in the room but she seemed pretty far from the circumstances, somehow like she knew that she didn't belong there, like she belong elsewhere colder that it would help her freezing that liquid she'd been managed not to fall. In a minute, I was pretty sure that I'd have given whatever I had for her to fly somewhere else she wanted if she'd asked me to, somewhere fitted her fair figure, somewhere magnificent. But she didn't ask me, nor did she realized that I was staring at her by the time. I'd never seen a creature like her. Bright and pale and endearing at the same time, she flew elegantly to the night, placing her self on such a wonderful way among the twinkling stars.

Sunday, August 2, 2009

A, uhm, Poem ?



Babies do whisper

Birds revere silence


To live beneath the thunder

To drench in the sufferance


We speak the unspoken

and steal the unstolen


Merde.


I'd rather die on pill

or get lost on the hill

till my vein has no thrill



Tuesday, July 28, 2009

...


I am no fair who dress in flair

I am a traitor of my own despair

I am no fair with the blondest hair

I am a fixation of my own affair

P o p u l u s

Some people are proud of acting based on their multiple personalities. Some are not quite complex that they imitate the well-knowns. Some, which I assume to be incapable of managing what they are gifted, are too scared stiff to show people their pieces of soul. They're great, though. They're a group of individuals who are well-skilled to hide their accent without lessen their frequencies of socializing. The phonies, I may call. Some of this group aren't capable enough that they are wrongfully accused as the shallows and being reclassified to the second group, which is... the Shallows. Some are spurn to define their selves as they are too busy sweating the macrocosms. I call them the Valorous, the Shallows, the Phonies, the Soi-disant Shallows, and the, uhm, Self-heedlesses. And now, let's meet 'em! In association of the universe, here they are... in LIFE.

Monday, July 27, 2009

Overemotional, Brainless Lyrics of the Day

"And if a double-decker bus

Crashes into us

To die by your side

Is such a heavenly way to die

And if a ten-ton truck

Kills the both of us

To die by your side

Well, the pleasure - the privilege is mine."

THERE IS A LIGHT THAT NEVER GOES OUT - THE SMITHS

We-Go-Round

I've never cried in the amusement park. I won't. I'll pinch my tongue to bleed if I do. If someone bludgeons me to choose, I'd rather die phlebotomizing, staining the merry-go-round with my blood than shedding a single tear on a Ferris wheel. It's so mal à propos. You're supposed to be happy in the amusement park or puke up your lunch on the merry-go-round or conquering acrophobia on the Ferris wheel or whatsoever. Anything but crying. You must show the kiddos how untroubled you are. That's the rule.

Sometimes

Sometimes, I live too overmannered that my sole desire is to curse unmannerly.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.