amour amour

Sunday, September 05, 2004

- 4:46 pm

id do it again
if i had the chance
go through it again
though i know in advance

this particular post was hand written some hours ago, on a wad of fullscap bearing my name, and here i write it out fully, although two pages have been burnt and will never be heard of again due to the nature of their content.

and the sweet silver song of a lark

all i get from you are

and some things are better left unsaid. teen angst is a load of non existent crap, its just the worlds way of saying that teenagers are naturally angry and emotional, when in truth its the way were being raised, the environment, this sweet example of continuous variation.

i couldnt sleep last night, it was too hot, so i got up and wrote to sleep and eventually, the dreams came, and i feared wakefulness because dreams are, in truth, our hopes and fears (thank you keane!) of a person and wakefulness is too harsh, too jarringly different from the sweet surreal reality of your mind to the plain old staten of consciousness when you realise everythings wrong, everythings a mess, its all wrecked up, and only you can save yourself instead of standing there lowing piteously like a dying cow. and we can save ourselves through the banishment of certain emotions from the mind during some hours of the day, because otherwise itll all come back, itll all come pouring down like rain hearken to the thirsty ground (wouldka look at that-it rhymes! lets all dance about in fits of glee now) and here as i lie on bed writing, i feel it all returning to i shall proceed at length to provide suitable discourse on another topic of a more pleasant variety, brownies procured by the Valhalla Cooking Maiden herself, Ramya Vodka Jaidev.

and then again i should halt here, for why should i go on about Ramyas sinfully delightful brownies when the only result of such a discourse would cause anybody reading to die lusting after the multilayered chocolate goodness of Ramyas Divine Worshippable Brownies whose creator will be leaving singapore for a long time to come, and so plunge us into a deep state of despair, devastation and withdrawal syptoms galore, although it is hard to imagine things getting worse than they already are; but sometimes i surprise myself, a passage sure to open up untrodden mental paths to be taken although it is consolatory to note that they veer away from suicide, im not suicidal, this life is mine to live.

just as i start to think my cousin cant get any more retarded than he already is, he turns around and surprises me.

i fell into a burning ring of fire,
i went down, down, down
and the flames went higher

does methylene blue have Cu2+ in it?
do i care?

its my fault the way things are now, after all, who else can you blame for the state of your own mind. i have told most of it in full to hulin, and it takes away some of the weight, whilst the rest shall be borne. in fact, weight is the wrong expression, ya know when your mind feels dense and your chest, heavy? perhaps creative expression is the best form of alleviation, although i remain barred from my remaining passion of drama, kept away from the thrill which doth reveal itself as my driving force. and another form of passion which always, ultimately brings with it sorrow, hurt and grief, a price too high to pay for too long, but worth every second of it.

please, please, please, dont rain,
and although were loth to do so; come back.
let the skies hold back today,
let this storm end,
i want to see the golden sky.

what has branded us deservant of such sufferances, to live conformist zombie like lives devoid of most joy, since what little there is escapes our grasp, slips through fingers like water from a man dying of thirst, and once again we are steeped in a world of sorrow, and the light fades from the stars, and the star, it is gone, so what do you look up to at night?

and youll never walk alone
liar.

forgive me father for being an unbeliever, anything you ever gave me to believe in, you took away.

[my mother my dog and clowns]

tells the story of a boy trying to find his inner soul in dealing with reality and surreality, his life, and here i place the last paragraph of the last play for the year.
the main character goes by no name, and i shall use ***** to represent him.
it is mainly a monologue, with another 4 actors playing all the side characters.

*****: for now that mine purpose is discovered, what future is there for me? for i have been through sorrow and pain and suffered such ravages as the broken shards of my soul can endure. (lights dim) What lies ahead? Pray tell for now i understand the meaning of my existence, and that meaning is to love, to live and let die. i will move on, devoid of it, and so maintain a facade of inhumanity to fade away into obscurity. for i understand that there is a fine line in the complex web of life entailing and connecting love and death, and the latter is beginning to cast its charms about the empty chasm that hath opened itself up upon my chest, to a torn place which used to be so rich and full of emotion....but it matters not now. the blood, it doth trickle slowly down these wrists (lights dim to near black out, NESSUN DORMA plays), and the light, it is fading. I have outlived my worth, and proved nothing in a lonely world, except that I am as lonely as the world, and have let it all come crashing down; it was my fault, i was never strong enough. my hours spent are gone, it is but failure in clever guise, for emotion was allowed to rule my life, and i experienced devotion to a cause not mine, but to a greater cause, to a person - not this individual self, though i regret it not, it was such folly to tie myself down, and i was.....wrong. Death claim me, for i can never be understood now, i am the chosen one, and now he comes to claim me. (rising crescendo, light blasts brilliantly to stun the audience as ***** raises arms up 90 degrees, and collapses to a snap blackout after shouting 'all is lost!') in the dark of the blackout, a voice calls out saying thou art mine and ***** says i am but mine own

the curtains close, followed by the curtain call, as nessun dorma ends.

forgive me