the sign

i don't like or dislike him

but i can't get him out of my mind

it is a strange feeling

i was drinking my strawberry smoothie and he sat on his black couch staring at me

i hadn't realize he was around

i couldn't concentrate on the conversation at my table

there was something to be deciphered in his eyes

torn between the conversation and his eyes

at that moment, i believed he has carried some secret message to me from somewhere

yet i wanted to look away cause i would be looking at his soul, it was too clear, something very stark and human

i can't explain, i tried to recall those who have bore secret messages before

they were never resolved



i have to figure it out

the comeback kid

for a long long time, her blog stops at dreamlessness
everytime i went back to check, it seemed more and more like an epitaph
was m not to blog again...

you don't have to miss her writing, her askewed views anymore
m is back
the world of blogging seems brighter again

i only started to blog after i saw you (looking as pretty as a korean actress)

all my pretty ones

all my pretty ones?
did you say all?

macduff in macbeth did not name them all
as i attempt

m who writes a lot took time off to pass off as an korean actress while not lamenting on dreams or the lack of, no., it wasn't a statement or an epitaph, computer crashed
k who came in a distracting tube, you can say that again, a distracting tube
angeline who taught me how to smile- 'you just look at your friends and smile from your heart', very beauty pagent like advice delivered in a heartfelt manner
jamieko with an exceptional sparkle in her eyes who declared 'i'm a present' in her black tube dress with a bow on the bust
sze lee, gorgeous in a sea of calm, peace and decorum, take it slow kid, make your own choices, not what others make of you
weizhen, jetaime, the other angeline- the devil, aishah...

you see, i can't name you all
and the boys

before the prom, a few of them followed me in the morning to collect their courseworks, one guy from technical studies that i hardly know
after moving the works to the 4th level, we just sat down and chatted
kr said she's missed the artroom
they didn't really want to go at once
we were talking about what to wear and stuff
i wasn't that keen to go at first but i wanted to see them

at the prom, when i remarked to kr that i actually got past the psychogical hurdle of facing the camera and... smile, she said i should give myself a round of applause
thanks to kr and subsequent people who asked me to take pictures
'as long as you don't post it on friendster or myspace'
the one i took with jinlong was most natural by the time
something about them, the realness and sincerity, put me at ease and make me want to try for them
they must be a gift
to allow me another perspective of life
most of the times, they are more matured and down-to-earth than me
thank you, guys, for your friendship
it was so good to see everyone again

the lower notes of the recital

the lows are getting lower
how long can this go on?
i am going to be 30 next year
time to go
high time to go

we stood watching disturbing pictures in silence
what disturbs me is a very private thing
that i cannot share with you
so standing with you
i am irrevocably alone
listening to a private recital

' what's on your mind?'
if i look into your eyes will you see through me
if you hold me close enough will the light go out
in my private hell
in the consultation room
i believed for a while i would be well again
perhaps it was my doctor's voice or eyes
that we would work together for me to get well
perhaps the hospital is true to their vision, mission

perhaps you could knock the breath out of me
shovelling the sand on me later on
i read about this man whose cat died
he put it in a kinokuniya bag
drove to somewhere quiet and buried it
shovelling, the sound of sand, or mud, hitting the plastic bag
above ground, birds were chirping

kipper in the bag, that was the cat's name,
body stiff as a starched collar, as a cold turkey
what was kipper thinking about
when the sand hit the bag
what was i thinking about
can kipper hear the birds chirping

he began to cry driving his way back

to society

another pair of star-crossed lovers

no matter how much they feel for each other
circumstamces prevail and play them like a game
no matter how much they try in spite of themselves
the game precedes and plays them
they can only be... this true
the game continues
yes, everyone has fears, it is true
how true can we get,
not true enough to renounce the connection we've 'forged' with reality
' through some clever juggling..........a life based on token values.
was i now supposed to give it up?'

she can't
she cannot be sure she truely want it

if we've viewed the world without holding our heads out of true
we would never be able to view the world again holding our heads out of true
that slant-
ed view

the monogulist continues his monologue
tells his mute girl stories, sitting on his bar stool,
he is solitary, he is himself a planet
he has given up on the notion of conversation
and come to realize that the girl of his affections is deaf and dumb
he doesn't say things like 'talk to me' or 'what's the matter? Tell me'
cause he has said enough of that for the last 3 years
ironically, the mute girl wants to be talked to by the monogulist
despite her physical impairments and emotional handicap
she thought he would be silence-literate and understand
when words fail
she thought of a communication that exists without conversation that neither addresses either of them directly
in this way, they could preserve their connections to reality, their planetary alignments, they cannot shift, they cannot meet
and in this way, every story could be the last

take a seat

She no longer dared go into society because often, on the very chair that was being politely indicated to her, she could see an elderly gentleman sitting.

She was quite sure that either the gesture of invitation or the presence of the elderly gentleman, was a hallucination, for they would not have been showing her to a chair that was already occupied.

Her doctor, in order to cure her, forced her to return to a reception whereby she experienced a moment of painful hesitation wondering whether the hospitable sign they made to her was the real thing, or she was about to sit down in public on the knees of a flesh and blood gentleman, the humiliation.

Her uncertainty was cruel. Her eyes blinked and her hand went to her face. The long fingers on her temple moved downwards in an attempt to cover her expressionless mouth and her horror.

She made up her mind. She sat down.

haiku for you

they are almost always seventeen syllables long and they don't rhyme

someone is waiting
for me. someone i cannot
see. and my pain is.

or

and my pain is, some
one is waiting for me. some
one i cannot see.

i won't see you again
means i want to see you too
and that is pain,

which ever way i
write. you don't even need to
count the syllables

gross indeed

i was stoning on the couch, sulking
horrors of all horrors, the baker did not make blueberry cheese muffin that day
and brunch was becoming a nightmare
when mum emerged from her room, face twisted into an expression of pain

there was a dead lizard under the mattress and ants were feasting on it
she had been changing her bedsheets

i looked at the insecticide in her hand

"you tried to kill it with that?"

"no, i had to kill the ants"

yes, i understood i am to dispose it
as mum is terribly afraid of lizards. who isn't?
a chance to be the good daughter

so mum sat on the couch, stoning from fear
as i inspected the carcass
not a pretty sight, some dried up shrivelled stuff
mum 's bed is really too big, bed fellows, too strange

" can you imagine you have been sleeping with a dead lizard?"

" luckily, i was facing the tv last night"

remembering cheryl's reptilian ordeal with chopsticks
(she was very traumatized; threw everything out the window)
i found a pair of disposable chopsticks
i stopped before mum and pretended to be eating
she advised me to use the kitchen paper and cover it up first

bad idea, i had to uncover the lizard to target my chopsticks
in my 2 failed attempts, i was able to observe the lizard in different angles
it was sap-greenish with a trace of yellow orche
i must admit mum's fear had affected me
i assured myself that i was insulated
there was no actual physical contact
got the lizard between my chopsticks
dumped everything into the plastic bag

bingo

i thought about cheryl's mum who thinks that the lizards residing behind her cupboard are her pets
and she talks about them, according to aston, like they are her grandchildren who have learnt their first steps. never mind that she could have been so sure that they are the same lizards which come back each night. she talks to them and swears they respond through their eyes. what if they jump on her face? never mind that too. by the way, she has named them lili and liza

the book of folly

he was driving
when i showed him the book i was wearing

" it's a dictionary, this is the magnifying glass."

he regarded it seriously, turned to the steering wheel and smiled

today, mr folly looks tired and he's impatient with other drivers
for a moment, when i thought i lost the clasp

he said, " careful, don't ruin your nails "

i am going to wear the book everyday, adel dear.

too late

( for the cat-loving girl who thinks too much

this is from man or mango, a lament

someone has lost my book again

the protagonist's name is eloise

she had a good fuck before she died

the other interesting thing is a writing student's notebook

she died in an accident while running away from her writing teacher)

My favourite cat has died and my house has been burglared. A speeding car ran over the cat and broke her back, just outside on the lane. She was still breathing, so i took her to the vet, yelling at her all the way to live.

Returned, minus cat, to find a police car outside my house. The neighbours had called them when they noticed a window had been broken. But not only had i been burglared, i'd been incompletely burglared. My parents' papers were strewn everywhere- a sea of papers- and my clock and my cello were gone. Eventually, the police found the clock beside the broken window: the burglar must have been disturbed as he was leaving ( perhaps by the neighbours), panicked, and left the clock behind. But he took the clock key, so now i can't wind it. But why do i need to know what time it is? I know all too well it's too late, too late.

The neighbours are thrilled- their every new D.I.Y window lock has been vindicated. While i lay here in a pool of my parents' papers, papers designed to overwhelm the soul.

Why couldn't the world just leave me alone, me and my little clock and my little cat?

( i am going to find the book online now )

Silence and Monologue

silence is about the things people think and feel but do not say

silence can be read in the negative space rachel whiteread cast
under the staircase
the exterior of bookshelves
the interior of an entire
house

or the six good friends in the waves that the reader knows the intimacy of their innermost thoughts, desires and fears, throughout their lives, yet never knowing what they look like for the author has presented the reader, in beauiful prose, 6 interior monologues

what i refer to as what barthes refer to as death of the author

on what defines tangible
what defines not, the irreversibility
of signs

this is about your monologue and my silence

"J. An indian wedding in a chinese restaurant. A stranger sits beside me and she's already drunk."

something is always absent in everything present
when you are just getting on with your life
being with friends and family
and nothing to worry you
and you try to reach the person that has nothing to do with everything before your eyes
you know what that means
you recognize that you could be happier

and you know what that recgonition entails
in the course of our lives
we are bound to experience that recgonition
and we are bound to carry on with life pretending it's not a lie
until we believe our pretensions
and read what boundaries and desires look like wielded by winterson
like reading about it might offer some clues out of the maze

the price of that recgonition is resignation
you don't know what yearning is until you begin to yearn
henceforth, herve joncour said nothing
he became the silent observer of his life

continue the story
you are writing prose
it sounds like something i would have told you
don't ever give up on my silence
if you could see
this is what my silence looks like
- a monologue
mono locked
in silence

we make each other lonely
but

it might be lonelier without the loneliness