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.

Trauma messes with all of us. So that we could step up.
My whole body refused work today. Hates the whole cycle of it. And it welcomed the sickness with open arms.
We are all messed up. We cause trauma we suffer trauma.

I have no direction in my life and I've never been happier. Weekends are suppose to be like these. Curled up in bed a little longer with you. It is hard to forget I said, when there is such an empty space when you are gone. I won't deny the fool I was as a scientist. Experimenting theories and fascinations. There was nothing to discover. I am back. Here. With you. "I'll be back so soon you won't have time to miss me. Look after my heart - I've left it with you."

bliss

Is lying gently in your loving arms,
feeling your soft breathing beside my ear,
Where two bodies touch in tender embrace.
I breathe you in deeply and quietly,
running my fingers through your luscious hair,
wondering how long this moment shall linger,
a moment where I am one with the world,
shaded under your parasol of love.
Your chaste gentle kisses upon my cheeks,
is latent with playful wanting passion.
I close my eyes shivering silently,
overwhelmed as you press your lips to mine.
In that moment no words ever mattered,
as your heart whispers deep into my soul,
telling me that I am yours forever.

for 25th March 2009

I write a lot.
To the point where I am always out of paper and I have to rely on my cellphone and (certain) recipients who are willing to read the words that I pen down. I am neither a student nor a professor in English & Literature. But I just like putting words together to form sentences to ponder about. Reflective phrases. I do not like to leave words unwritten.
In photography, photographs are ought to be taken/shot to capture or to seal that moment in time, similarly, words should be written just as they were thought of.
So I think a lot.

Because I write a lot.
Because I can't wait to see you again.
So I'll see you soon, love.

Bed philosophy

You aren't missing out on anything in the day. Because nothing happens. So don't feel like you are missing out on a lot when you are stuck at work. Being at home the past few days, has been a blessing and a realization too. I got plentiful of rest. I am recovering from the virus. Being able to drift off to sleep as and when I like. Having no concern with the speed of time. It was all good. I look younger actually. The power of sleep is amazing. Restores strength and youth. Home is a lonely place during the day. Because no one is at home. Everyone is busy with their own work and lives during the day. So home is an empty place during the day.

I am not too sure if I am able to hop back into the whole hectic routine of work tomorrow. But we will see. Five solid days at home has really been so so good. Just what the body needed. You do not realize the impact society, work and life has done to you unless you are made to stay in bed to see for yourself. How tired and exhausted every inch of your body is. And it feels like sleep is never enough. I look a whole lot younger now. I feel at peace with my body and my soul. I feel at ease and relaxed.

So stay in bed people.

twenty three fifty nine

I wonder what the eagle saw today as it flew into the sun, and all it became was a specter of white light. I do not know if it is true that after a downpour a new sun would appear; fresh and bright, as if nothing has ever happened. Everyday is a Dark Night. Accepting has been an easier route to take. No use fighting the system of things. We never win.

Distance does strange things to us - me. It makes the moments that aren't there anymore, scream the loudest. Made you not being around - amplified. One minute a day of you is just not enough. Twenty three fifty nine, without you, unbearable. I miss the little details of things like holding you in crowded places. Imagine how crowded yet empty I feel at the train station or inside a train? How close, bodies to bodies, skin on skin, everyone is, yet are such strangers at the same time.

See you soon... sounds so endearing now.

I miss you love.

to Joyner

I know its been hard on you my love.. its a first for the both of us.. lets just keep in mind that we shall handle a day at a time, and leave the worries of tomorrow for tomorrow.. we haven't got much time for ourselves.. lets cherish these times and leave the worrying for later.. similar in the ways we are, I do understand what its like, when thoughts gets flooded into your mind.. lets just phase out these cacophony of the surroundings.. fall into the arms of each other, be what we are.. I think I heard these from a part of a song, and I find it meaningful..

Strangers in the night..
exchanging glances,
wondering what would be their chances..
two lovely people of the world..

Somehow, its speaks a lot about us.. the way we met, the flow we progressed, till what we are now.. I cherish every moment we have together, restricted in ways we are.. slowly, but surely, we shall break free from these shackles and binds.. and be free to be who and what we are.. I will be looking forward to this day.. ever so anxious..

veer

This weekend has been a revelation all over again to my life. I grasped this lesson a long time before but it just had been a really long while since it hit again. Yes, my experiment was a little sadistic and painful but it was exactly what I need to smack the right senses into me.

Brida was right when she said: "Disappointment, defeat and despair are the tools God uses to show us the way." Strange tools. But I must say they are rather much more effective. For someone like me; I administer unto self.

So I rented a car. And drove like an insane being. I enjoyed the speed, the skids, the thrills of driving through red lights and the pouring rain, fantastic U-turns that slams everyone in the same direction, the compliments of my awesome driving and not crashing, to save a friend from being evicted, seizing every waking possible moment not sleeping just driving. Picture perfect; my guitar in the boot, a radio-tumbler (of ice, coke, wine, beer, mocha), candles, giant party poppers, a change of clothes, a book.

3rd March: I will live life as though I am driving with blindfolds on; without releasing the gas paddle.

I just did. Everything on impulse. At the edge of the knife, I filtered the things and people that mattered. Truly. Madly. So. What you planned, are just your flights of fancy (which ceases to happen). The unplanned, is your only entity; reality.

8 March: Forgive me for the fool that I am. They don't hear my screams like you do.

I drive, you ride, and I love you.

let the right one in

The only time that I will ever own you and call you mine. Is here and now. And when all this has passed, I will never again be able to put up our picture, or call your name, or watch a movie with you, or hold your hand, or sink into your arms to hear your heart beat before you depart. Of all this, I will never be able to do, when I loose you. We are slipping through time together now. It does not matter how we end. Here and now is crucial, despite everything not making any sense.


Here's my favourite screen shot of the week:-

Under water, seconds are slipping, breaths are getting shorter...
A ripple, a struggle on the surface of the water on the other side.. Silently a head falls in... followed by a quick shudder of the arm holding Oskar's head, detached, and descends gently by his side.. But all this, he does not see.

He opens his eyes to see her perfectly round glistening eyes... tinted with blood.

Priceless. Let the right one in.

farther

I'm thinking again. I won't flood you with my messages today. I shall write here while I can. It must be the weather and this song on repeat. Step into my head for awhile now, I'm thinking; How different we love. How our characteristics and personalities form the base and skeleton of a relationship, the birth and the end of it. If you really look deep beyond our flesh and bones, skin and clothes, you realize that our upbringing, beliefs, influences, habits, hobbies, likings & dislikes, intervals of life changing decisions, silently molds the style of our relationships with others. It is fascinating, maybe we all thought about it, but just did not get a chance to put it down in words.

On 22nd February I wrote: "I guess everyone loves very differently. Some needs to be controlled. Some enjoys wearing the pants. Some craves power and respect. Some needs to be free. Some love more than they should."

So how do you love.

People walk in and out of our lives, but it is us, who controls whether they are allowed to stay or go. It was never their decision, it was ours - all along.

billet

To own this in time I have to write it.

I flew a kite today. Really high. I thought about something while flying the kite. In time to come. We don't need them to come back anymore. Their shadows that we would cling on will see us through. And just like that, moving on crept in, without knowledge, without you. Not accepting felt easier and safe. But now to acknowledge that you did, finally after years of chasing the wind, felt just like running with the wind, in the direction of the wind, while the kite soars. Or running and feeling that it is done. It is finally over. Straight and fast out of the labyrinth. I choose it. We choose it. Being in the same room didn't matter. Seeing clearly happened whilst history did not repeat. Out the window I saw for myself what was out there, that you did not see, and I knew that you will never see. Never mind that you won't see. But thank you for leading me back to the start where I fell. The fall was so beautiful that I allowed your blinding light. It is not you, it was me that made you beautiful.

labyrinth

How will I get out of this labyrinth. I just did. Today is an epiphany. I like that word. Along with, "extremist". They said I could explore those options. I am wide awake without sleep. I am sober yet not quite. All that is resounding in my head is, what is next? So I will do anything to feel alive again. But. Nothing. I am and was and still surprised by nothing. Fascinated by nothing even. Annihilation. I just did. I knew.

All along.

I did.

Alright...

"Vulnerable" to end the day.

valentine

I get it now.

What it means to believe in love. It is to accept how vulnerable and unreliable it is. Just to live and believe in that fleeting moment, that love exist.

My first valentine.

replay

Silently, I find myself archiving all that you left behind. In simple notes and those words in those files, it is only then you are there. As the music plays my mind pulls out selectively all that has your name on it which is signed and enclosed with your invisible hands. I did put them away just long enough for the dust to settle, just enough for me to believe the reminders I put in place. I would test minutes and time again, and then I'll pack and sleep. But I already know this reality too well. Too familiar with the aftertaste. It is not what we have that makes the most sense, it is what we don't. I know you would say I am crazy, I already know the whole script of how the shoutings would be. I cannot keep you. Still. I smile to believe it. I will even lie to believe it. So I will play this one more time just to hear those imprints on lyrics, just to hear your ghost; speak to me. You didn't matter enough to hurt me, but you did. I will turn off the lights in defeat and lie in my bed to wait. I know I should sleep as I will have to pay the price of today, tomorrow. I slipped up.

They said, don't give up. Keep writing. Because when words fail so will I die. How else do I reach out invisible hands to eyes and mind of this reality. Now that we are safely separated by walls, space and cement, this is the only way. Each step I take bring shots of pain, piercing, sharply through every nerves in my lower body, which is actually nothing compared to the other lingering ones that would had done greater damage.

I couldn't write the story. How do I continue an end?

antithesis

There are just too many things I cannot put a finger on. I understand damage. But when I look at you, your eyes, your actions, your words just do not telly. What sides do you expect me to take when I do not even know which side you are on. I cannot do what you expect me to do with that contradicting look on your face, you left me with no choice but to walk away. Are we like that? Am I like that? Knowing that we would be damaged further beyond any sort of repair, hurt beyond any form of repair, do we still let ourselves be cut up into shreds. Was I like that in your eyes too? Disgustingly damaged, that you are finally going through what I had to. But are you taking this a little too far? And they would say, what if every deed was done out of love, would damage still face the same penalty? Same criticism? Same judgment? Do you think they would call us Romeo or even Shakespeare?

So when you reach the same level of senselessness in life as I am, what are you going to do next? I would like to know.

9 Hours Later...
I did not know when I mentioned the word senseless, meant that I needed to witness a fight, with blood and someone unconscious on the floor. But it did woke me up, sadistically, felt alive, like an emotion finally passed through me, to end the night.

recognition

How often, we do that. Clinging onto ghosts of things, memories, and people. When we refuse to accept and acknowledge the fact that the moment has passed, our internal turmoil begins. It grows along with time, it does not fade, it does not die, it does not allow itself to be forgotten, it stays, it linger, it remains. Convincing or accepting wholeheartedly are two separate truths to ourselves. One of which sets you free, the other lies. So it was not so bad after all. Everything was less scripted, less manipulative, less awkward. The same wit made things just a little familiar. It is not a tragedy anymore, rather an awakening. Because I refused, I forfeited. I get that now. It is time to put certain things into the grave. The living must go on. I do not blame the fairy tales anymore. It was not their fault, to neglect the loopholes and thresholds. It was us. Weren't they labelled as fiction from the start? Our reality was just not so prominently classified to us.

The past was nothing to her; offered no lesson which she was willing to heed. The future was a mystery which she never attempted to penetrate. The present alone was significant...
- Kate Chopin -

impression

It is hard to narrate when the beginning was not even clear in the first place. So I will try my best to recover the start...

I do have this impression that maybe if it wasn't this heart, I would not be the one writing.

Till now I do not comprehend the screaming amidst the music and poetry blaring from my ear phones, but I am thankful that it creates a beautiful distraction, an attempt to steal a little part of me away. I am the master of distance, loving and never loved, waiting and never waited, the author that will never be understood. The replica is the price I pay to retain your ghost. Every anger and frustration is a constant reminder of why I am still here. Then I recalled that you have been dead for awhile. You, who had held me, would never return to hold me again. You, who had kissed me, would never grace my lips again. What I see are just shadows, lingering at the corner of my eyes, showing me the things that I desire to see. I cannot tell the difference between reality and fantasy anymore. Because accepting either possibility is harsh and brutal; you will never come back again. These words are constant reminders of your death. A time that I have missed and I would never relive again. Unless the gods decide to persecute me in an exquisite, psychotic manner that would make me submit willingly. The poignant predicament is that I know exactly how.

You did not come back for me, to tell me that I am already dead.

Silence

From Silence, Not At All

experimental story : Preface

Preface

So I grief, letting my eyes fill to the capacity that it can hold. "Wait for it" my mind whispered. So I obediently wait for the gasps to come; this is significant for it marks the release and birth of the unseen turmoil that battles to break out. I fumble around this limited space I have thinking, how do I let this flow through any easier or faster in fact. Would the lights matter, should I be standing now? Unknowingly my hand reaches for my heart, did it matter that it didn't do much to stop the splitting pain? Or maybe this act reassures me that by doing so I won't snap, or break into two; holding my heart and torso in place, and what ever that connects this useless, fragile shell of a body.

Now I can't tell if it was real. For I lie to myself too many times that you don't exist. I could sketch this image but what if it was all a lie again? It was picture perfect; fading lights of these colours, yellow, orange and black to reenact your swift departure. The outlines, wrong, too vivid, too focus. It screams your name.

echo

As easy as breathing...

The last time we slept together
There was something that was not there
You never wanted to alarm me
But I'm the one that's drowning now

I could sleep forever these days
'Cause in my dreams I see you again
But this time fleshed out fuller faced

It was so like you to visit me
To let me know you were OK
It was so like you to visit me
Always worried about someone else

At your funeral, I was so upset
So, so upset
In your life you were larger than this
Statuesque

I see signs now all the time
That you're not dead, you're sleeping
I believe in anything that brings you back home to me

- Signs -

aurora

Covet

The scene plays itself out, so simple yet intense. Watch his eyes, watching her. Constant replays on that one emotion. For the thrill or the ride or price. He only sees her. Her every move hurts him. She glances at him, but he tilts her head back, away. Looks of an angel, but her touch could kill. It is not the chess game that he can't escape. It is the knowing, that he will never own her in this life. And all that he can do is watch. So walk away.

Dusk

A piano riff starts the scene... He lies there under the sheets, contented, satisfied, and peaceful. It is a rare state for anyone to be in. Knowing that just this moment in life was enough. But a pull and a shudder was all it took, to take him away. She waits, pacing around that small space, not knowing that was all it took to loose him. The scenes would have changed, wouldn't it? If she had changed a little faster, moved a little quicker. But this isn't it.

That one moment, where his spirit, and her conscious connected. That instant. That light. That whisper of her name. That pathway. That only interconnecting point. That twilight zone. Gone.
It's ain't over till it's over.

Separated my heart from my head, to feel what's inside.
I don't like what I see, so I say goodnight.
Don't wake me cause I'm dreaming colours.
I've never been so deep inside a shadow.
Gotta figure it out. I need a story to tell. Where's the feeling I long for. Before I loose you love.
Listen to my shaky heart.
I want to make it right.
It won't be alright.

What the eyes can't see... won't hurt.

[Epic Scene III: Characters in a Scene]

Just words.

Just like how we would destroy ourselves inside out. Leave me. Get out. Go. Run in the opposite direction, away from the route that I would follow. Flame your foot prints as you depart. I am the ghost of you. Seeking you out, in every shadow, in every picture, in every site, in every regret. Please. Go before I kill you. What will they be saying? We can't exist now. Do you know that? Or am I the only one who doesn’t know it? We won't be holding hands, we won't catch a movie, we won't be taking a stroll in the park, we won't do all that now. We won't. And you won't be there. As I won't be here. Because it is the end when that happens. In this reality, it will always be. It is the end when we walk out into the light together. There is no fairy tales. There are no happy endings here. The darkness and the unknown is the only future for our being. Do you fathom? Just like how you never existed or be seen in this pane, be gone just as you were. I am begging you. Clawing the walls and floors of the unseen. It will always be incomplete. And I will always be clamping my hands to my mouth to shut myself from weeping out loud. So that you won't hear. And I won't make a sound.

under the cut

[Epic Scene II : A little more this time]

She's not here today. I found myself walking under the shadow of trees, fixated at the thought that you might appear again, with that familiar slouch and shield eyes. There's nothing for me to work on today, so sleep I shall.

But I was wrong, was I? She was here, just away in a form of way. And there I go, like the cat. Mesmerize by the shimmering purple glow. Same colour again? What significance does it have to you? Would it be incense to be clothed in that body near you? Amazing isn't it? How all this is writing itself out. It's not you this time, I'm sure. But still, why here and now? Damn those obligations which I can't leave behind to answer all these questions.

This thrill and anticipation, have I taken this too far that I may actually start to hurt from watching. Since when did watching inflicted invisible paper cuts? So fast, quick and clean, that the blood comes faster then the pain.

Now let the chased start chasing.

Alright?

Under The Skin

[Epic Scene: As the mind writes itself out]

I keep seeing this splitting image of you in her. As she walks into the cabin, the air freezes slightly to make an entrance, to let me know it is her. A part of you, in her. Or the fact that your blood runs through her. Those minute details causes a stir to my instincts, but then again there is no point is there? It will always be my imagination. There are two different distances from my door, but which is it, is real? You take her features very well, the contours of her eyes, and the thickness of her lips. Do you talk to her? Or know where she is heading today? Funny, I have this sudden urge to head in her direction or destination. Now I sound like a sick pervert do I? Maybe one day I can be completely honest about my writings and what a sick twisted mind I have. Would you even call me romantic?

Now I can't see her. But just know that she is sitting across with eyes closed; is she dreaming or thinking about what is next to come? Why does she feel purple today? Cold perhaps? I know the fall of her hair and colour have changed, but why? To cut and live; or anew?

This is the moment where I depart. Goodbye sweet image of you. But she opens her eyes as I leave, and I slow down to watch her pass. Sick satisfaction I get in just watching and knowing. Maybe they don't call it fate in this part of our world, or country for a matter of fact. Then tell me, what should I call it?

As I fall behind, please don't tell me she is seeing you? Are you the visit or a job?

This is as far as I can go, or my eyes can see.

This is not right.

Knowing creates a comfort.

Not knowing brings about a fascination.

But we all know, that curiosity have always killed the cat.

passing

Can I give you back a song, in return for all of yours that you have given? Will you read what I have to say, and understand the words beneath the song. Everything. Is still undecided. So turn. Turn my grief into grace. Take everything away. As I face my demons again. I have nothing. But a run down half torn screen, still connecting my world, somehow. I don't know when it will die. Have I destroyed myself too far this time round? How do I come back now. God, save my soul. Because this is the final dance to my story. I can't remain a constant. I can't stay here. Help me take flight. I will die. I am dying.


What is the point? Feeling horrible and knowing that we are not going die from those feelings, that is the point. Sew the flesh, repair the damage, ease the pain. When life breaks down, when we break down, there is no signs, no hard and fast rules, we just have to feel our way through.

Wake

What if I said, that every time when I wake I have to forgive myself for it?

Out

[Epic Story - Out]

If you destroy me now, I won't forgive you. I don't know what other other words are left in the dictionary of my head or humanity or poetry to explain the depth of tiredness my soul is shackled with. I can't hold up anymore this time, I need to lean and fall, not down and out and off. And if I have to keep my hands on the knife to my heart again, I don't know how far in - it would go this time. Because right now I can't breathe, I can't think. Your words can't seep, what you are doesn't seem. So back off. Let me take my breath again. She shot a question where the mind can't help but put it on replay; that the warp up thing is knowing how the answer will write itself out.

script

Epic Story - Hush

Wake up she said, don't go there, you can't and you shouldn't. I felt her grasp, her breath against my skin. Was it me that shook or was it her. You can't slip this way. So stay. How many twisted ends and walls have we ran to be back here again. Isn't it time yet? No? When will it be enough for you. Don't strum these chords or sing these words if you are coming back here again. It is not fair. It is not right. So twisted and morbid we are, that it is all so very cruelly seductive at the same time. She clung onto me helplessly, pulling me in, shutting the lights, slipping off my skin and clothes... rendered me helpless to her touch. Hold me now, or break me forever. Hush... You are... my unfinished business.

- expiscate -

[Short Epic Story : expiscate]

With disbelief I walked in and out of each glass house. What was I searching for exactly? Something that was listened to? Something that graced our ears? I can't tell. How do they come to like the same taste and flavour of things in life. It is amazing that the only medium between time and space is a simple note. She sang all that I've sang. I can't help but choke at her words. I can't stop. I doubt I would fancy things as much as it is now. Because anything within reach isn't forbidden. What are we all searching in between these gaps and holes, it all just seems like clues intentionally left behind in time. Waiting, just waiting to be found. Have you found it yet? Listen.

smeared no more

What if I said that breaking up is the sweetest thing. It's a tear, a cut, a forced separation between two bodies, two souls that came together. Oh did they know that the coming was as hard? I think they didn't. Why is it sweet when simple things that remains kills. As tender as a scent, as soft as a breath is enough to destroy. And I know that when it ends, the writing comes as easy. I was in that place before where every song I wrote was for you. But I won't walk there now cause I've shut that door before. When it ends the memory begins. I heard that before. I lived that before. Have you? I know I won't be okay without you to keep me sane. Because I haven't been in a long while. Your the drug that I take now, and I suffer the consequence without you in my system. I'm not like those girls, those pretty little things, I'm none of that. But thank you, for seeing what you see. Or what you saw. Do you still see? How do one manage one, as one like that. I'll sing again.