Tuesday, December 16, 2008
- 11:16 pm
and heres to times gone by; of times past, fast and free. when every weekend was a sunset weekend, and every day broke to cool breezes and the sussurus of leaves in aforementioned breeze. they were golden days.
two weeks ago, we drove down to old changi hospital. i drove, picking up haresh, wilson and pam along the way. haresh and i went in ourselves, denouncing the presence of all that would be (and what symmetrical forms reality takes! for now we denounce the absence of what might have been.), right to the top and down. and then, to changi beach, till 3, to swing and watch the planes (and speak of a certain tiger mauled sod). the previous week it was clubbing with the boys (maverick, shah, james. dinesh x 2, yogesh, dipak, wilson) and then out with james before a 4 a side at AMK on sunday. and then two weeks later, it was maverick and i at clarke quay, saturday night. (denounciation, for the apparent end to what began on the first. twelve days, and a reflection.)
and today? today is for shifting sands. for each day you make up, you find yourself in a different world, in a different home, with different people walking in and out from the check in/out counter. for every time you close your eyes, the world turns a bit more, and you lose the earth beneath your feet. which is why i fly.
fin
- 10:53 pm
the greatest inspiration is often found in hours of deepest grief and closest solitude; for when there is satisfaction, when there is enough; there is no need to think, no need to reconsider the nature of being because being is all that remains important. but in a world where everything eventually ceases to be - there are ends. and there are ends.
in an open field of nothingness, there is a point; a black singularity containing all the possibilities of the world. there is no sound, there is no light; until now. it is coming from the singularity.
from within the expansive confines of the point emanates a silver light; and a line extends from within its mass, engulfing, devouring, becoming- it. it that is no-longer-a-point, but not quite yet a fully grown line. it stretches outwards, on to infinity, terminating at the horizon. and creation is born.
i am writing against the lines. my words do not follow their ordered structure but break through the rigidity to what is beyond. but if the lines are creation, then surely what is beyond must be of our own creation? i am going solo from here. there remains precious little choice after all, unless you turn back, mend your walls and try to stay within.
no.
sometimes you gotta wonder how different things coulda been. what if i hadn't/what if i hads are time consuming and onerous, especially since time only allows for i wills and i will nots whilst death only leaves space for the wills because the I is gone. where to remains the subject of much debate but lets all hope its either sugarcandy mountain or that place in baywatch. theyre both good places to be since anyways after a few weeks of high living and rich food temptation islands probably gonna have to reinvent itself as 'nudist-colony-for-the-morbidly-obese island'. these things, i see in the future.
the line branches out in several directions; but some of them terminate in a silvery haze of unanswered questions. the rest stretch on to the horizon, always just out of sight but not quite out of mind. questions that come with the rainclouds in hours of solitude are never actually looked for. what if we'd met 8 years ago? what if we weren't so alike/different? what if we'd never spoken?
what if?
to live with a large degree of raw sincerity and purity is the highest tribute one can offer to the soul. to recognise what is that is and not to force change or put up shows where none are needed. to be.
its almost evening. the leaden sky casts a dull gray pallor about the land; it is unlike the brilliantly glorious sunsets i have grown used to. a fine rain drizzles down, drops of water rushing down to meet the earths embrace as if upset at having been parted for so long. for there are partings and returns, but they are the separations that linger longest in the memory. for the inability to understand or comprehend the circumstances surrounding our current situation is what makes us all too fallibly human; but human we are, and in humanity's name we suffer.
there is a part of the person hidden away carefully in each of us to prevent the simulmacrums we project in our illusory world from tripping up over our selves. it is what is unknown, what is not found, what we seek.
no more.
time to burn.
fin
Friday, December 05, 2008
- 7:18 pm
and to one and all, the unreality of being. an ode to newness and similarities; to fresh beginnings and unbegun ends. to the pale purple darkness outside punctuated by the soft, steady amber glow of streetlights and the surprisingly comforting sounds of traffic passing by beneath. i am moving out, and onwards from this chamber of my heart to another; tossed about by the powers that be (unless there be no powers in which case...nevermind.).
stories. with each end of the line starting a new thread of conversation; hovering, glimmering silver in the darkness.
an end to ends and all ends to begin with a renewal of sorts. running through history, they call it and we cram it into two days of the weekend but i am one week late in writing and the weekend has passed. with james dipak wilson haresh maverick and shah; clarke quay clubbing and four-a-side football to bring things back into perspective and balance back into the life.
and of pam, and similarities, and wonder.
fin
hit the stars
