Saturday, July 28, 2007
November Rain
It's only July, but what the hell.This song is universal, and timeless.
When I look into your eyes
I can see a love restrained
But darlin' when I hold you
Don't you know I feel the same
'Cause nothin' lasts forever
And we both know hearts can change
And it's hard to hold a candle
In the cold November rain
We've been through this such a long long time
Just tryin' to kill the pain
But lovers always come and lovers always go
An no one's really sure who's lettin' go today
Walking away
If we could take the time to lay it on the line
I could rest my head
Just knowin' that you were mine
All mine
So if you want to love me
then darlin' don't refrain
Or I'll just end up walkin'
In the cold November rain
Do you need some time...on your own
Do you need some time...all alone
Everybody needs some time...on their own
Don't you know you need some time...all alone
I know it's hard to keep an open heart
When even friends seem out to harm you
But if you could heal a broken heart
Wouldn't time be out to charm you
Sometimes I need some time...on my
own Sometimes I need some time...all alone
Everybody needs some time...on their own
Don't you know you need some time...all alone
And when your fears subside
And shadows still remain, ohhh yeahhh
I know that you can love me
When there's no one left to blame
So never mind the darkness
We still can find a way
'Cause nothin' lasts forever
Even cold November rain
Don't ya think that you need somebody
Don't ya think that you need someone
Everybody needs somebody
You're not the only one
You're not the only one
posted@1:41 PM
Monday, June 25, 2007
Untitled
"Because somewhere, just somewhere out in that small island, someone is thinking of you."Never knew how much of me you constituted of till I saw you go. A part of me died, when I let you go.
But always remember:
"Maybe if we think of how there's purpose in what we do, we might find the strength to move on."
Yeah, move on till I find you in my arms again.
posted@6:20 AM
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Journey
Yesterday was a peaceful day.Château Marquis de Terme, Gnarly Head Zin, Pork Ribs and Corona aside, yesterday was still a peaceful day.
I treaded that usual path we always walked on, but alone this time. I could literally feel those nimble fingers of yours in mine, smell your subtle scent, hear those high-frequency footsteps providing the backdrop for our conversations that seem so trivial, but had actually been imprinted deep inside my heart.
To think I used to think finding my way around was a matter of possessing an acute 'sense of direction'. This time, I felt that I was merely instinctively finding my way to you. I smiled, yes I smiled so much as I recalled with great vivacity the small talks we had.
The bimbo/blonde bimbo moments that last forever, police post, the Scott joke, the cockroaches, the orange lights, the cat food, the evil-looking cat and finally the staircase leading to your door.
It was there and then I realised how much times we spent together were memorable to the very last detail, so much so that you don't even realise it's hiding at that particular corner of your memory bank.
But it was also there and then that I realised how I don't just crave and hunger for these nice moments with you.
Because it was there and then that I realised how, Château Marquis de Terme, Gnarly Head Zin, Pork Ribs and Corona aside but the tear-tinged Fish & Co experience included, yesterday was still a peaceful day.
Simply because truth to be told, I find myself helplessly not only willing, but also wanting to spend every moment, good or bad with you.
There has never been a better feeling when you find yourself at ease with your loved one whether you're with her or not.
Peace out.
posted@10:07 AM
Thursday, April 12, 2007
With all my heart...
I know not of anyone else whose hands I want to hold so much.I know not of anyone else that can make me smile at ease so much.
I know not of anyone else who makes my heart beat so fast, so fast, so fast.
I know not of anyone else who shed tears I can't wait to wipe off.
I know not of anyone else that makes me remind myself to be careful when we touch; for she is so delicate.
I know not of anyone else I want to be with now, tomorrow and the days that follow.
I know not of anyone else that I wished would tread this strenuous path with me.
I know not of anyone else whose lips fit mine like a jigsaw puzzle.
I know not of anyone else who embraces, kisses and touches me at the perfect places.
I know not of anyone else whom I'd travel all over the island and remain sleepless for.
I know not of anyone else I'd give up the world for.
I know not of anyone else that makes me go on and on with this list because the sheer thought of leaving her causes the syndrome: tears they fall down like rain.
I know not of anyone else who would share my Vanilla Latte with me and still have me smelling the edges of the paper cup, trying to recapture her breath in every inhale I take.
I know not of anyone else who always feeds me the best parts of each meal we take together.
I know not of anyone else who remembers every single word that exits my mouth.
I know not of anyone else who makes me feel so special, who makes me rethink about my philosophy of life.
I know not of anyone else whom I'd rather have as a 'lucky girl' you once spoke so fondly of.
I know not of anyone else who can make me so jealous in a matter of seconds.
I know not of anyone else who can make me blog while listening to music; because the music is 'Run', because the music is our music, because the music has become me.
I know not of anyone else who makes my heart ache so much as I reminisce of the times we had together.
I know not of anyone else who makes me so determined to be optimistic about everything.
Because I know not of anyone else I'd rather give all my trust, faith and heart to.
Because all I wanted to say was I love you.
With all my heart baby,
I love you.
Yours truly,
10.09pm
xoxoxo
posted@9:42 PM
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Lies, truths and a piece of thread.
I saw her eyes swell up as they conjured up feelings of a worn, beaten little kitten. They were painted with shades of jealousy, of resentment and of pain. You could almost see how each and every word pricked her hapless heart as she recounted past experiences that seemed to slap her right in her face; experiences that grew from little germs of insensitivity. I didn’t just see. I felt it. I felt, as I’ve spoken elsewhere, ‘the twisting sinews of thy heart’. There was seemingly so little, yet so much internal bleeding going on. No, maybe it wasn’t bleeding. Maybe her heart was just dripping with blood as she reminded herself what the words friendship, unintention and stereotype meant.Truth to be told, we are all a bunch of absurd jokers walking on thin threads. Just like the ones we see in circuses. Threads that create the fine divisions and partitions in life which, when crossed, hurt others. It is with much contempt as I witnessed others crossing the fine thread differentiating stereotyping and being sensitive. And it is with most contempt as I saw, with my very own eyes, a seemingly untouchable girl being stabbed unwittingly by the careless wielding daggers of others. And this girl we speak of is my girl.
I am neither thirsting for vengeance nor tasting anger in my mouth. I merely saw the power of perspectives and how it is so contemptuous that we always fail to see other angles from where we are standing. It is like a few men standing around a statue before them. Each one of them will tell you with so much conviction about what they can see from where they stand, but no two claims will be the same - for no two men will bother to unroot themself to explore other perspectives. We are just like one of these few men. We only stand at our respective positions and see what we want to see, think what we want to think, although we go on claiming that we see what we saw, and think what we thought. Sorry girlfriend, that’s just not gonna work out.
Because until we are able to step out of that position and take a walk around the statue, we do not pass off judgements as conclusions. And more importantly, we do not hurt people closest to our hearts unknowingly. But the upsetting fact of life is that we rarely take that step; for we are too afraid to venture beyond the piece of thread we're stepping on.
Because simply, you might as well go and die if you fail to exit planet Oblivion.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Enough of angsty talk. It's high time we discussed a topic I really enjoy discussing – Art.
Because I've always prided myself as an artist of some sorts:
An artist, to me, has a distinct philosophy of life that is very much humane and alive, far from the passivity that the masses have so paid their dues to. He is true to his audience, for he paints not with his paintbrush, but with his heart. The brush is but the medium through which this heart manoeuvres and whispers its private thoughts and feelings to. And feelings we speak of here command a life and vibrancy of a tyger, yes, a tyger. The tyger with a soul that puts flaming gorges to shame. He is oblivious to the whinings and little musings of the masses, albeit being mocked, teased, or even condemned at some point of another. But this is the price he pays for the gem he truly values. A gem known as Individuality. A gem synonomous with Uniqueness. A gem synonymous with the Infinite Beauty of Life. A gem that has been unwittingly become You.
But I fervently believe I'm more than just the above.
First, we speak of Lies; lies conjured by incessant and untimely phone calls of pseudo-jealousy. A seemingly powerful jealousy that could turn altar wine sour. Then we speak of cookies, warm drinks and a good music album. Lastly we speak of everything else till we tired the sun with talking and sent him down the sky.
Second, we speak of the other end of the spectrum, the other side of the polarity - Truth. And the truth is simple: I've been thinking about the uncertain future and being uncertain about everything. I'm not sure of anything. We're not sure of anything.
But there's one thing I'm sure of.
I'm sure of the fact that I will do anything within my means to bring a smile on your face, keep you warmer than warm, and bring that 'light amidst the darkness' you spoke so fondly of. Even if it means traveling half the island or losing some sleep.
Cause baby, I'm loving this insomnia.
And did I mention that I'm more than just an artist of gems and paintbrushes?
I'm an artist who uses lies to tell the truth.
posted@8:01 PM
Monday, March 26, 2007
Blue eyes blue
A great man once said,'Every man's memory is his private literature'.
I'd retort that statement with enough conviction to shake this ol' earth.
My private literature is more than just that. No, she hasn't got blue eyes, but I promise you, there are the most beautiful pair of eyes I've seen in a long time. It is not the eyes per se; for to lay down a judgement based merely on size or looks is severely depthless. Or even severely insulting if I may suggest. Truth to be told, it is everything but the eyes when one looks back in hindsight. It probably is the sheer and utter power of the gaze, the gaze that pierces me so deeply you just hunger for more, more, and even more. A gaze that speaks words, phrases, sentences, even letters I so long to hear.
On a note more than just a side one, yesterday was a good day. Been long, so long Ivan. But it was a good day.
And then she asked me why he was willing to spend this precious ammo on her but he just smiled to himself coyly, and said nothing. But he was just being another Leonidas, cause all he wanted to say was, "Sugar, that's cause you're my precious".
And then another great man once said,
"When I am with you, I stay up all night.
When you're not here, I can't get to sleep.
Praise God for these two insomnias!
And the difference between them."
What the fuck, how am I supposed to retort this one?
posted@9:24 AM
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
But is that alright?
Be forewarned: By reading beyond this line, you are engaging yourself in mind-numbing, aethist, emotionally unstable writings that calls for a mind that is more than just resilient, but also one that possesses strong DISCERNING POWER. For truth or lie, fact or fiction, literal or hyperbole, the artist leaves you to judge. The artist also sincerely hopes that, just like most his works of words painted on electronic media than on canvas, you will enjoy them as much as you always did. Lastly, it has to be strongly emphasised that this artist does not require any form of sympathy, empathy of any sorts with regards to his writings. There should be no questions asked in real or virtual life with regards to anything written in this post, and this blog in extension. It his private space, and by respecting it, you will find nothing else but peace at the end of the road. Hopefully.Leave me out with the waste,
This is not what I do.
It's the wrong kind of place
To be thinking of you.
It's the wrong time,
For somebody new.
It's a small crime,
But I've got no excuse.
Tuesday. Early day. Bad day. Last day.
Sat on the bus, thought about you, and tasted tears that have yet to fall since more than half a dozen months back.
I used to tell myself that life was just a 4 letter word. Like everything else, everything loses its value the minute you look into it hard enough. Life in itself, is intrinsically meaningless. And in this God-less world where we are left to fend for ourselves, life is more than meaningless. Life becomes absurd. And how tragic have man become (myself included), that we can only look back at our fragmented past that probably never was, and laugh to ourselves, thinking, "I don't even know why the fuck I cried for!"
Maybe you did then, but you probably didn't. You only cried because you thought there was some spark of light waiting to be ignited. You only cried because you thought there might be something waiting for you to respond to. There has to be no doubt about the absurdity of the human conditon and Man in general in the light of the aforementioned.
But who the fuck is to say that there is any doubt in that genuine, flawless, taintless sense of pain you felt when you shed your tears. I remember, I remember. I remember how it felt like divine punishment, for the pain was more than just existing. The iron fist twisted the sinews of my heart, loosening it only at the ebb of my heartbeat and the occasional hint of a mental breakdown.
Such, dear reader, is the highly understated, yet power, of the human capacity to feel, or even to love. While I've been a master of the former, I'll lament and lick my salt-tinged wounds till I see the latter at the end of the road.
posted@9:52 AM