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.

spun

I made the obvious with you. Everything that I wanted. Is here. With me. For me. Near me.
Yes... hate me for making you hate me. I don't know what the fortune would bring. But haven't I been trying to live for the future for far too long, that I have missed out the present. And that's what you are. Bringing out the best and worse of me. I looked back on certain pictures. And there you were in every photograph of theirs. All pieced into one. Imperfect yes. But so very beautiful. Still. You are.
Recently, I have been tired and exhausted at the speed of living. But all that means I am living at the fullest. Simplicity. We are. There's no the one. You become the one. You make the one, the one.

Just like that.

It's September already.

Just the way i'm feeling. Shuffled.

anathema

Everything seems much easier now with this walk and pace. Unlike those whom tarnish and use, with the kind of lines drawn and scripted. Those figures in character, in words, in songs, in memory, and in all to come, is despised. How ever far, how ever great, now or later, will fall through. Their glory shall be brief and never knowing all that was lost. I look upon that name, not in pride. Even if it were to rise, I shutter at those phony. Chase all that is nothing but the wind. And when the wind dies down, so will they die.

Wild horses couldn't drag me away.
The Rolling Stones - Wild Horses

I didn't realize how unreasonably angry we could be. Not in a sane logical mind. Despite the many restraints we instill upon ourselves. How we bind our hands, heart and mind silently away from the watching eyes of the world and from evil itself. And all humanity can do is let it burn till nothing but remains, remains. Like I said, it is all nothing. But the wind. And all this too, shall pass.

____________________________________________________

On a side note... BayBeats'08 anyone?
Put on some shoes, throw your hair back, kick some sand around, and bring on the live.
Some sticks and stones would be good too.
I'll see you there.