Anonymous said (12/26/2009 at 10:29 PM):

i think i fell in love with your blogs

and your writings.

your emotions

i guess i am just another victim, of your powerful architect in words.

every words seems so fine, yet it's immersed in meanings, that sets me thinking.

with the background music so strongly aiding every word that you wrote.

i can't help it, but read on, til the end of the archives...

as i read, i started to hate you, ... but i realised, you're just a lady with an emotional mind, yet, a somewhat optimistic way of placing words and alphabets into a proper light of truth.

hmm...

merry christmas. i know you are somewhere out there.

enjoying life's every single moment

no matter who you are.

no matter who i am.

we have met.

in words.

in minds of another world... through words. simple... alphabets.

Thank you for your kind words... Yes... we've met. In words.
~

This post is dedicated to eyes that have graced my words.

Thank you for passing by.

I told my heart to hate you. But the truth is. I wanted you so badly that I am still sore about it.

You embraced me in your sweet suffocation or lack of, that my pride could not ingest. I was gasping the moment you left and still am. I thought you should know. You flutter and left me stripped and delicate for you.

It was the first time I felt the initial human turmoil of regret and hurt; the whole impingement of it was excruciating. I would be happier if the world called me crazy. At least I would have all the right and protection to do wrong and be wrong. It will be perfectly lucid to be crazy.

Everyone prefers someone independent so that they can shake off their responsibility. We have become irresponsible in our actions so that things will be easier for us to walk away and not follow through.

Things are simple. It wasn't wrong to be simple but everyone else just isn't.

I cannot keep you. Therefore I am feeling the initial stages of genuine damage in small, insignificant and brutal dosage.

Without frames. You became one.

Hold me and break me again.

I have been intensely curious by the little things in life lately. Silly as it may seem, but I believe in memory's eyes, it will amplify these details in the future. You were like an orange streak in that dark crowded room. I will not forget turning around. It was a lucid instant; I was in your arms. Drawing you in like a predator, your tangibility was delicate and endearing. I swear it was more than the alcohol and cigarettes that got to my head. I was on a high in your presence. Like a current your hands around me, leading the way, away.... felt safe. Nasty little cigarettes that made my head spin faster...

I surprised myself by the probability of that night. I was cruel. I made you lead the way. Standing there. The same scent. The slight awkwardness and silence. Cigarettes and us in a car. You showed me three meanings imprinted on you. None of this makes any sense as I break out into a smile.

Quick get on with the separation already. Stop your preaching about men, or women, or financial issues, of what you are going to do/where you are going to go, without giving a flying fuck about the souls you brought into hell with you.

I feel like moving out.

Maybe just saying things would bring about some form of comfort? Even if it was not real. Myself misses myself being alone. Makes sense?

I am not proud of what I have. I dislike it when I feel just a little, used. Because I prefer to be the one using. Don't we all fancy the upper hand? Unashamedly I do.

Morning started out a little hectic. When I finally settled in for breakfast, I just blocked her out, the ramblings. Too much of a good thing is just... too much. I know where she is coming from, but just, not today or this week or the days to come. I'm not receptive.

I genuinely want to believe again. Foolish. Yes. But better than where I am or have been all this while. The truth is. It is harder, to not be. So at least when I do an actual free fall, I would feel the full extend of damage and destruction of the impending impact. Face to ground, flesh to tear, wounds to bleed, spilled to dry.

Akin to the life cycle of a butterfly. At least it would be worth while. Even if it was all so very fleeting. At least it flew, right?

I can't imagine hitting the restart button. I don't even feel like trying. Give it to me on a platter now and I find it repulsive.

I miss you love.

Begin the begin.

If I die give my body to the sun

Please don't cry

This fear of tears let me run

The echo sparsely tells me where to go

Yet I'm stuck between the rain and the snow

I didn't think dying would be so hard

I didn't think living would be so hard

Waking up in the turning tide

Was easier

Than living in your eyes

Bye love

And the paper let me use it's face

To tell you all of my disgrace

And I'm sorry if you didn't say goodbye

Yes, I'm sorry if I ever made you cry

But none of this time was wasted on you

I thought it was fun walking in these shoes

but the water was just too cold

and your words were just too bold

and the summer came at early spring

and my lines are out of breath

and it screams

as I lie here dying

you haven't lost a thing

Slowly eyes

Are letting go of pain

So if i die

Let my blood leave a stain.

What is wrong then? Taking pleasure in watching someone's agony and death on screen? We are repressed. Pent up. Explosive. Yet we do our best to detonate that outburst, unknowingly, everyday, in any and every possible outlet that we can find. Taking pleasure in distractions to ease the urges of destruction. We are just a knife away from deadly mistakes.

At the point of vulnerability, we scream and shout, kicking, internally, for sympathy, attention, an applaud, to be understood. Appreciated. Of our weakness bear forth in front of another human being. It is like a naked dance of weakness.

I should be paid to write poetry perhaps. Something that I can immerse myself in. Like a beautiful tragic role play, for once, in which I am not the main character; I enter a trance. I am you for that instant. As easy as slipping on a pair of shoes or sliding my hands into your coat, to feel and taste your warmth, and the raw intense emotions you were overwhelmed in yet unable to seal into words. You feel like the tragic hero in your story. And I... can simply close my eyes and let my fingers take over to string your story into beautiful words.

I posses you in that short... dulcet...trance. You are mine. Owned in that instant. It felt like a sweet intoxicated intercourse, without the actual physical body itself. What a magnificent art, while being worlds apart. So you wait in anticipation for my beautiful master piece to be presented to you, a transaction in which we walk away from, feeling so deeply satisfied.

Eccentric?

Yes I am, unashamedly enjoying every moment of it. It was not you that I was interested in. It is the art and power I get from your well of misery. I take pleasure in that, that's all.

Evidence?

In my archives.

"Could you help me write a poem? Regarding the situation of her and me now." He said.

"I charge per alphabet." I said.

"I'll pay." He replied.

"Like a breath of life, you breathed into me. Sweet endearing thing hanging by a string. I'm everything wrong and imperfect drawn by beauty and light. I took the step to fall again, I chose, not you. Not by your grace but by mine, in which you shall not want." I wrote.

The truth is, I find my freedom... in words.

Life is fleeting. Every moment is. Everyone is. So keep it casual, mean it, enjoy it and be firm on every decision. No matter how small or redundant, or how great and revolutionary it is.

Fate, destiny, “the one”, love, quote me on this, “Fuck it”. It does not exist. I am not sorry to burst your imaginary bubbles of fairy tales and happy endings. A whole load of bullshit was instilled into our young minds creating an unrealistic picture of reality. What was the consequence? Unrealistic expectations versus reality. Who died? You did. Don’t say you didn’t. Because all those heartbreaks, used and abused, play and are played, loved and lost, loving from afar, infatuation in the chase, a change of heart, love and never loved, thrill of a fling, never lovers more than friends; You must had fall in at least one of these categories I have listed. What did you learn?

Decisions that you have made in life so far, has brought you to where you are now.

You can never promise (anyone or even yourself) that you would wake up every day in your life feeling the same way.

Everything was set in motion before you even took your first breath. You are the continuation of someone else’s story.

I saw you again. Yes, you. You didn't have to do anything spectacular. You did nothing. Just the outline of your shadow, and the sudden intensity in the air; I can't breathe. I stop, I loose my appetite, my eyes fixate where your hands are. I will always be standing at the sidelines watching in.

- Counting the Seconds -

It sounded like the last line. It sounded like I didn’t try. Perhaps it is time for the progression of wear and tear to commence. A sting and a cut to my left cheek. Nothing resounded nor an alarm bell going off to remind me of the call should I make. I ask myself why. Weary of the social etiquette, human?

Shot by L.A / D.C - Cross Heart Anchor

But what about the men themselves? What about the pilot who returns from the moon and knows with a mortal certainty that he has already done the most noteworthy thing he'll ever do and now must keep himself busy for the next half-centrury? What about the existential whiplash that comes from being on the moon one week and in your living room the next-and having to find your own way to process the vast gulf between those two worlds?

"Remember where you're standing when the spotlight goes off, you'll have to find your own way off the stage."

- Jeffrey Kluger -

Numerous times in a day, I feel out of breath; suffocated. An acute paroxysm to my left, it must be my heart; and no matter how I hit at it the pain refuses to go away. It lingers. So I gasp for air despite being surrounded by it. I fear to breathe, but I need to. It is excruciating to breathe, but I need to. With each episode I concede this is how I will go. Out of air.

I got out of the car, and sat by the sidewalks and waited. I trace the windows to your floor and watched your light. This too feels familiar. If I had called, the night might have ended with a different scene.

I withdraw those hallucinations from my head and lit my cigarette. It is that allure and this sentence which summarizes the predicament: “They want me. I want you. And you want someone else. But none of us want to turn around.” - Iain Thomas

Then I thought about that instant, when I held your eyes, and I knew… I was not orthodox.

I saved a draft to write again later. So you won't know the actual moment and place that I wrote this to leave behind in time for you to read. I have learn to do that recently. To fake control of time. Your the feeling that never goes away. The only answer to my question that makes the most sense to me.

I wrote the last sentence, placed the last full stop. I knew what was coming. The pen slipped from my hand and I closed my eyes. 'So', I heard her say, or perhaps it was me, 'it's just the two of us now.' I argued with her for a bit.

'It will never work, I've forgotten.'.

'But I haven't forgotten.' She says.

Shot by Jefinski - Su Le Pave

This is the last time, this is the last line,
Sunset to sunrise morning to midnight
This is my goodbye
Blow out the candle, The bottle is dry
And if pages learned to think
You're not even worth my black ink revenge
I guarantee you'll miss me.

-J.S-

There is a distinction between knowing what we want and what we don't. We can be so sure with either choices. But still, there will be something lacking. A tint maybe?

It's been years. And I find myself still here. I am still here. The evidence is clearly displayed in the list of archives. I am still here, I am still writing. Why?

- Shot by Freja Beha -

My body seeks tranquility. Doesn't matter what state I am in. I need rest. I want to be absent from technology, yet I find myself so drawn to it. I fear change, yet I embrace it ironically. Those intangible pages casts an invisible heavy weight to envelope, to suffocate me, always, silently. The one that got away. Always will be.

Something will always be missing and we learn, to just live with it, to delicately put dirt into that hole in the ground to seal it up briefly; so that the rain won't get in, and we won't fall in. All that energy to break free is slipping. We understand the chase very well, and it will not end well. At least now, we get to revisit the grave every once in awhile to run our hands on the surface, to trace the circumference of it. To feel our breath get sucked out from under us and the feeling of lost replay each time we kneel to the ground.

They had formed unspoken bridges to lost days by making it familiar to us alone. Yet their ghost in our heads haunts us more beautifully than in real time. A certain charm gets extinguished, all that we presumed becomes repulsive to approach like an awkward vibration in the air creating a discomfort and an urge to evacuate. So I chose not in reality.

Shot by Aiae - Brown Butterfly

I find my eyes lingering at a certain direction and my foot steps slowing down at certain intervals. As I catch my breath I know, this isn't the same girl, despite the unchanged surroundings. If we didn't had these devices to determine time and space, and just maybe if all these hadn't had their definition in place for mankind; I could still be at the same place. Unmoved. Unchanged. Yes. Trapped.

I feel unwell. I am not too sure if it is the lingering smell of thinner. Or the fact that I am annoyed with this constant frequency of a certain piercing pitch ringing in my ears. Hush. Really. It would be nice to dissolve into any form of nothingness available.

The boy has been on my mind lately. Tell me the truth. And lately I felt again that strange inner stirring. There is something growing inside me, dividing and multiplying. I can feel it, in my stomach, round and hard, about the size of a grapefruit. It sucks the air out of my lungs and gnaws the marrow from my bones. The long dormancy has changed it. From being a meek and biddable thing, it has become a bully. It refuses all negotiation, blocks discussion, insists on its rights. It won't take no for an answer. The truth is, it echoes, calling after the boy, watching his departing back. And then it turns to me, tightens its grip on my innards, gives a twist.

I cannot hear you. I cannot see you. I am in another world, and you are just a ghost.

-Shot by D.C- Beyond The Fog-

Valedictory

Today I grasp the first lesson of saying goodbye in this realm. The last task I will ever do for you was to decipher the scribbles on your paper and signing you into technology. You told me, you chose me. Whether it was true, it does not matter, I was glad, awkward but still, glad. So I will never know the secrets behind those tall, bright lit, misted doors, or that pat on the back and the squeeze on your shoulder. We did not speak much, just the usual smile and a nod; it seemed like the only way we ever conversed. Strangely, I will miss that. You saw me came, I saw you left. Isn't that ironic.

If I could pick one song to sum up my predicament / life... this would be it.

An old man, turned 98
He won the lottery, and died the next day
It's a black fly in your chardonnay
It's a death row pardon, two minutes too late
And isn't it ironic?
Don't you think?

It's like rain, on your wedding day
It's a free ride, when you've already paid
It's the good advice, that you just didn't take
And who would've thought? It figures

Mr. Play-It-Safe, was afraid to fly
He packed his suitcase, and kissed his kids goodbye
He waited his whole damn life, to take that flight
And as the plane crashed down he thought, "Well isn't this nice?"
And isn't it ironic?
Don't you think?

Well life has a funny way of sneaking up on you
When you think everything's okay and everything's going right
And life has a funny way of helping you out
When you think everything's gone wrong and everything blows up in your face

A traffic jam, when you're already late
A "No smoking" sign, on your cigarette break
It's like ten thousand spoons, when all you need is a knife
It's meeting the man of my dreams, and then meeting his beautiful wife
And isn't it ironic?
Don't you think?
A little too ironic?
Yeah I really do think

Life has a funny way of sneaking up on you
And life has a funny, funny way, of helping you out
Helping you out


Ironic - Alanis Morissette

Shot by Matricaria - Lamb

I read the archives and noticed that the name is hardly mentioned. It is intricate to co-exist and converse under these circumstances. Maybe when I am on the road alone again we would be in better positions to extend solace. Eminently the ache to break out of this cocoon, this invisible entanglement and possession, to cry out quits, to step out of this comfort zone and into the wild and frenzy unsettled world so that I am not moving in a constant anymore - is desperate; A retreat within the cryptic realm. Everyone is on the same search to plummet deep into the arms of this conspiracy that we are all in the knowing of. My rationale is simple; To write. To get out. To push. To venture. To embrace the unknown and risk. Fidelity should have an expiry.

A tendency to self destruct. Am.

We remember. Because that moment, that point of contact, that image, does not exist anymore. As we are unable to rewind and play it back in reality, consequently we resolve it in our heads. Reminiscence. The mental impression retained and revived. It is only then we can control each fatal frame.

- Shot by INCX - The Epic Dream

I like the feeling of running my fingers through the soft pages of books, especially those newly displayed ones. It must be the tangibility of it that draws me in. Like a child I become, wondering through the book store, subconsciously listening to the muffled voices of strangers whilst lost in my world of thoughts and endless choices of stories to immense myself in. Safe. I feel safe there. In that zone of no explanation.

You gave up on sensitivity yesterday. Enough. Enough of protecting, sugar coating and suppressing all of the pent up frustration and angst of the living. It should not be. We should not do this to ourselves. To exist in this manner, having to abide in a constant world of self abuse. Tactful, yes. But what about honesty? Or maybe we simply have this intrinsic compulsion to inflict hurt onto others to ease our repressed mind.

- Shot by Leenik - Falling Down

The site has changed its name, when did that happened? Now it feels like a complete stranger to me. I can't even remember when was the last time I visited and left my input. Only the simple icon remains. I type my name to see my past library, list, titles and stories. And it hit. Each and every face behind each stringed up sentences. How long have I left those characters in those individual sad story, chapter and pain. Continuously. Reborn to death. I wish I was like the sky. Just there and watching.

And every story will have it's clear blue skies and open fields of green. The trees would be clean for you to climb on, lean on, and sleep on. And I would be there... watching.

I will not judge, I will not comment, I will not speak, I will not frown, I will not cry, I will not love, I will not hate, I will not remember. For I am only passing by.

-Shot by Apipro-

I need another holiday.
That's what my body says.

Before Sunrise

Daydream delusion, limousine eyelash
Oh baby with your pretty face
Drop a tear in my wineglass
Look at those big eyes
See what you mean to me
Sweet-cakes and milkshakes
I'm a delusion angel
I'm a fantasy parade
I want you to know what I think
Don't want you to guess anymore
You have no idea where I came from
We have no idea where we're going
Lodged in life
Like branches in a river
Flowing downstream
Caught in the current
I carry you
You'll carry me
That's how it could be
Don't you know me?
Don't you know me by now?

With all that we gain, there will be a loss along the line. It is just when. And how much it would hurt. I can't breathe. Sitting on this chair. Painfully resuming this life of mine again. I did not realize how empty and lonely it is. I don't know how to comfort myself now.

Getaway

My getaway.

Away from reality.
To discard my identity.

And when there is nothing left. But pictures to speak of fleeting moments.

It is beautiful to watch the colours and shadows paint their own portrait to tell their own story.

Silly... how the lights and moon compete in their brightness.

My favourite shade of red in a glass... by the vineyard where we would meet.


This feels like home...

Aren't we similar to bottles and glasses.
Beautiful, clear and solid on the outside.
But when we break, we shatter, we loose it all within that significant moment, and all that is left are scars.
Fragile in beauty. We are.

I thought of you as I walked along these streets.
And I wondered; how we would be ghosts of each others past in time to come.
How often would we then, revisit these streets?
Will you still remember me?
Would the signs have helped?
To lead you back to me...


And then I saw these pretty things I wish I could bring them back with me...

We all should open up a little... paint our own portraits to see what have become of us over the years. What happened along the way? Who have you woken up to? Who have you woken up with?

I encountered my great perhaps on this trip... and it left me with this...

Credits to Kristine for this trip to Australia, Perth.
Photographs - RENJ

The voices in my head are getting too loud. My mind is speaking too much; I am distracted. I can't seem to pay attention to the real voices on the outside. So pardon me, if I don't seem to be 'here'. I'm packing to leave tomorrow.

I go to seek a great perhaps.

Everything that comes together falls apart. Everything. It was built, and so it will fall apart. I'm gonna fall apart. The cells and organs and systems that make you - they came together, grew together, and so must fall apart. Entropy increases. Things fall apart.

senses

I only have these words written for today.
And I'll see you soon.

"When you left, I saw the first glimmer of tears in your eyes; for me.
And my last vivid image of you, was you standing there at the center of the passageway saying goodbye. "

And all I could do, was walk away.