the carpathians sinks ships

so you see, they all die.

*

handful of cheerios and a mug of inspiration that smells of cider and mothballs. no milk to quench your thirst, old friend! i am walking the cobbled streets with candled street lamps. why are you all so tiny when i need someone to climb over? where are the footstools and blackhorsed coach when i need to be travelling?
i am the soothsayer you once said will be born. i am the mystic that crawled out from beneath the thorny shrubs. i hold the sword that slays the dragon. i am the dragon i will slay. were is my knight in rusted armor who claims to be a hero but dies a villain? you are the one whose heart i tread upon with a smile on my lips. yours is the blood i will lick off my fingers and wipe from my cheeks. i am the legend everyone fears. i am the stained glass window; the oxidizing bronze statue - imposing and grand. mine is a war i will not fight without dragging all of you by your feet. feel the peat seep into your shoes as it swallows you whole like you are jonah. without the tinder you will never be able to light the fire on its tongue. you are all ghosts before you were even born. and i bless each of your forehead when you were.
all you ever know is your selves. and i? i am the shadow that slipped into your ears at night and haunted you in sunlight. i am the secret you keep from everyone with a smile upon your faces. i am the song you whisper to your children and their children who will sing them long after you are dead. i am the ash that stains your skin as you stand before the fire; the smoke that weaves amongst your hair and clothes and lingers long after you bathed. i am the empty space between you and your lover and you feel me wider than any valley or mountain. how simple your minds; your journey. a bending path that leads back to the start. and you follow your own footsteps thinking they are someone else's and we sit and laugh at your personal caucus race. your futile attempts at running away is hidden from  your view. a bobbing mirage at the horizon, swallowed by waves each time you catch a glimpse of it. you are a speck, a grain of sand, a plankton, a spore, a fleck of dust. the wind and time will devour you over and over and you will not even realise it.
and i?
i will die with you. your secret. your story. your friend. your enemy. your mother. your lover. your flesh. your poison. your death.

strangerer and strangerer

strangerer and strangerer
17 weeks and counting. i should be sleeping. still there. still the same. still empty. i've stopped writing when you stopped reading. or maybe i stopped when you started. i don't know. i don't remember. somehow, when i start, i know i won't stop. it feels like i'm seconds away from barfing. you know that feeling? but somehow i know that it'll just be lastweek's dinner i'll be vomiting out. absolutely nothing meaningful at all. perhaps i'm hiding too much from myself. since when have i been such a coy and silent stranger?
i miss you. i miss someone. i miss something. yet it bears a faceless, broken-in head. one that sits at the bottom of a balinese temple garden. could have been anyone with a boy-cut hairdo of the 40's. any takers?
i don't suppose... if i did scoop it all up and pile it on and rearrange bits and pieces of burger, i'd find something useful and perhaps even... poetic? i give up on prose. i give up on structure and content. there's no point trying to construct something with the main purpose of hoping that someone would take it apart. i wouldn't know how to put it back.
i think i can go on for a while here. it's always right before i NEED to sleep. the boyfriend calls it hamster-mode. more precisely, staying up and busying myself til the wee hours of the morning doing absolutely nothing of importance. oh i DO stuff... just not something that deserves staying up that late for. that's what he thinks anyway. what IS important in life anyway? cept for eating, i dare say i can't think of anything else. okay maybe sex too?
suddenly everything looks prettier. is that healthy?
penelope is a rotting mound of bat guano. just for today though. of black umbrellas and broken matchsticks and chewed up bubblegum paper; i think she's just sick and tired of me wasting away too. perhaps she's found another friend to bother with her flighty laughter and her precocious mind. i do miss her star-rides.
i saw adam. poor little caged-up bird. bio-luminescent feathers faded and tattered. yet his eyes still sparkle brightly whenever he giggles and hiccups pink and purple bubbles.
i want cake. cupcake. yellow flowers and all.
i want a home with bakelite kitchen and paper bathrooms.
i want penelope and lil j and adam in a box. with a ribbon!
i want the voice next to my ear to shutup about how life is really just a loaf of bread. wholemeal if you're an interesting person. 7 grain if you're a genius. I AM NOT!!!!!
i want money. i want bed. i want quite a few people dead.
is that too many wants?
then i'll just settle for a notebook and a pencil. i hear they make excellent pillows when you're feeling dreamy. and smell like sage.
i wonder at times.... just how honest and open i really am. i think i weasel my way out of things better than i really intend to. probably just big on denial like everyone else. yeah. that one.
it feels as though i haven't spoken in years and only now am i able to utter words that actually mean something to someone somewhere who's stoned on orange crayons.
i don't like the color orange but someone once told me that colors should not be hated. and i'm slowly realising that maybe orange isn't so bad after all. it's definitely starting to look happier than yellow. maybe one day i'll paint my room orange to match my disposition. you know, the one that i am pretending to have by pretending not to have? yeah. how can anyone even feel bad for being happy? what's wrong with you?
i think, i'll start the year 6 days late with a personality test that somewhat speaks of my true self.


I am Blue/Black
Take The Magic Dual Colour Test - Beta today!
Created with Rum and Monkey's Personality Test Generator.

I'm both selfish and rational. I'm scheming, secretive and manipulative; I use knowledge as a tool for personal gain, and in turn obtaining more knowledge. At best, I am mysterious and stealthy; at worst, I am distrustful and opportunistic.

i concur. i AM scheming secretive and manipulative. distrustful, maybe. opportunistic... who isn't? using knowledge as a tool... only because there are so many stupid people out there. stealthy makes me think of scrawny french men in slinky black leotards and i'm nothing like that. i think i'd look like a dung beetle in a leotard.
so yes. they forgot pretentious and utterly lazy. perhaps, if i was on hamster-mode for the right reasons, i would have taken over the world by now.

i watched 'Wild Child' and i liked it. I don't care what anyone else says, i think Emma Roberts is utterly cute. perhaps i just secretly wish that i was more like her when i was 13.

i think i'm in love. there is this boy who spews peas at people and it makes me laugh so much. oh. only on the inside though. cos it's rude to laugh at people with peashaped bruises. i love you!!!!! yet i think i only love him because i can't spew peas at people and i want to do so.

did i tell you, penelope, that i've become a connoisseur of gossip? the words glide oh so effortlessly out of my nudelipsticked lips that mind you, smells like orange and bergamot at times and vanilla at other times. and on the rare occasion, should it arise, like french toast and sardines. :P but yes. i'm afraid i have stumbled down the dark and dank well to find a tea party set out for only the best of the lot- the NORMAL people. i'm afraid i fear being normal more than i fear being fat or old or dead. is that wrong? everyone has their vices right? mine are fear of being normal and shoes. and green. and boys.

is it okay, penelope, if i fell in love with another girl? maybe she'll look just like you and speak just like you. but i seriously doubt it. but what if she's more you than you are? will you be jealous? were you jealous when i kissed that sleeping boy? or did you slap me just because you thought it was fun? did you cry? i hope you did.

right now, i can fall in love with anyone. just smile or be orange and i'll love you. then i'll wake up and wonder what the hangover is for and i'll see you in your normal human form and scream bloody murder and wonder why i drank so much peasoup last night. who held my hair back while i puked into the swimming pool? who picked up my shoes when i staggered down the stairs and left them lying on the steps like foo dogs? please leave your number and address and i'll send you a thankyou card.

i hate you all. good night.

can you say "i am lost"?

a grey mouse runs across the driveway into the shrubbery. hides amongst its brown feet. becomes an invisible rock. its rapid heartbeat and bright onyx eyes its only giveaway. above it, skinny fingers hold up white scented clouds that occasionally rain yellow dusty ashes over the grey mouserock.

a pale girl sits on a curb with shiny shellacked surface. hides in a forest of smoke. becomes a petrified tree. ants crawl around her, unseen amongst the bumpy curb surface. a milipede runs its infinitesmal feet over her shoes; a long pilgrim over an empty plane. sand dunes. exodus. above her thinning fluorescent light fight thumbbattles with the night and occasionally rain sparks over the pale tree.

i am hoping that pictures speak a thousand words...

because i certainly haven't been able to speak any of late




more @ http://www.flickr.com/photos/95436238@N00/

supposed sightings

early saturday morning [6am] a colleague asked me along for a smoke outside the office building. what started off as a conversation about wild chickens in the oil palm plantation around us ended up about spirits and ghosts. he told me that there have been more sightings lately - an old man in the control room [he asked the guy who works in there why he's hiding up in our department when he could ask the old man for help with his work] and a little kid playing in the office on the second floor where apparently one of the managers stayed back late to work and he heard a kid playing outside his office about 1 am and called the security room asking who the heck brought their kids up to the office and that they should get the kid back home now. ah but another colleague comes up to us and told us the story of the month. our colleague, the resident clown was in the prayer room at the far end of the building that looks out on to the highway. one early morning, after he was done with his prayers, he heard a car honking. thinking it odd that there would be cars around much less hoking at that time of day, he decided to open the windows to look out. and lo and behold, he saw something white in the middle of the highway. he started to panic because it looked like a hantu pochong [Hantu Pochong or Pochong– this is a Malay ghost, which is commonly seen wrapped up in its ‘kain kapan’ or white burial cloth. When a Malay dies he or she is wrapped up in three layers of white sheet, the end being tied in a knot.] a car approaches the alleged ghost and slows down to start honking since it's blocking up the road. and according to the clown, the ghost started to moo. turned out it was a white cow that wandered onto the highway. -_- pfft

perhaps they don't tell you things anymore because you don't deserve to know anything.

the sky looks bigger and trees, blacker when i am on a swing with my feet scraping the sand each time i fall back to the earth. rusted wood look like corinthian pillars holding up the space between the ground and the sky. i swing in that space between; back and forth, back and forth as if my life would wither away if istopped - teasingly at the trees that spread out their charcoal fingers as if to grab me and eat me up into its shadows. my toes are ashened - dipped in pompeiian volcanic dust that have bubbled its way onto the dry surface of makeshift frogponds beneath my swing. i trail footprints back to Dream with a song whispering around my lips like cigarette smoke escaping in hopes that someone would find them one day and track them like they would tiger footprints.

i put wishes in the coinslots of washing machines

... and i watch them tumbledry until they're soft and fluffy and static-y

if phonecalls did not cost so much, i would narrate my thoughts to you in utter monotony through the receiver so that you could hear them while i tangle my fingers around the cords. then you can cast your own net of emotions and expressions over my thoughts so that you could ake them yours. and that would save me a million years of writing nonstop over everything i own and my fingers wouldn't be inkstained and weeping from all the heaviness of words walking through them. you would be able to see my eyes and recite the exact color of it in perfect latin and everything would momentarily seem ok.
if telephones were still tied to wires and telephone poles, there will not be enough wires to tie around us and let our voices travel eventhough we are standing next to each other.

sometimes standing over the edge of a curb with the tip of my feet peeking over it feels like standing a thousand storeys above the ground and everything seems so small it looks as if there's nothing below. sometimes you are one and part of everyone down below - almost invisible, moving amongst the gravel cracks and i wouldn't be able to reach out to touch you. and if i jumped i would fall so far down so quickly that it would feel as if i've never fallen at all. and i will fall forever with the base of my shoes firmly on the gravel.

ancient teacups, antique scones

entries reread seem ancient now. they seem as if written by someone else; barely evoking faint memories of what they really mean - all the fancy caterwauling words that seem like intricate henna tattoos on the palms of indian brides. i had so much to let out. my alphabet soup was thick and gravylike. and now, when faced with something new, i am utterly speechless. yet i have been shown such an array of things that sometimes it feels as if i am walking down the street markets in Morocco. With vendors throwing their ware right at my face, my senses are smothered with the spice and music that abounds.

like how shadows are bright

i don't remember the last time i posted on this. *checks* early august. and in these two months, i've lived and died and woken up to find myself in an array of possitions, some not humanly possible. [get your head out of the gutter]
most of which by now, without the help of cryptic journal entries on livejournal, i have forgotten.
i'm starting to feel like i should start packing up to leave. doesn't matter where. or trashing everything in sight at random. and pray that they don't take out the trash too soon.

sometimes Change is a sneaky little bastard. comes up to you from the back and wraps you in clingwrap before you can even say "stay away from me you fucking sneaky bastard!". yeah... but sometimes you're kind of thankful that it is.

chewing gum scrap

smoke hung on her skin like a wet veil. her eyes were wide with awe. with wonderment. with fear. can nobody see her stumbling through the thickets? can they not see the tall reeds trembling like a body hanging from the gallows as she touched them? can they not smell her? her movements seemed to her to reverberate across the marsh. she felt like she was a walking elephant parade, stomping down trees with loud booming steps to rich carnival music. she thought she reeked. the smell of rotting and smoke stung her nose. she rubbed it absentmindedly, sniffling each time like a four year old with the chills as she pushed through the dense leaves. she waited for the jolt. the sudden punch in the stomach when one falls. she waited to step on air... the anticipation. the eagerness. she wanted it. she wanted to fall through the foliage. off the cliff. no bungee cord. no safety net. she wanted to fall. she stopped in her tracks with the sudden realisation that she wanted it so badly it ate at her like acid. her insides were hollow. empty. an enormous void that she's been trying so hard to fill with smoke and broken glass. and she couldn't remember how she got this way. how she got there in the shrubery. she was lost, just like she had always wanted to be. no qualms. no fear. she was there on her own accord. she palced herself there. the sky was a million shards of colored glass seen from under the flowers and weeds. she felt like alice in the daisy bed right before she found her white rabbit and fellin into the rabbit hole. she had a feeling her wonderland wouldn't be as cheery and pleasantly offbeat as alice's if she ever found it. she could hear liam's voice calling her from somewhere. she wasn't sure if he was there to find her of it was her white rabbit there to lead her down the cliff. either way, she had nothing to lose and it only made her more curious. she stood up and moved towards where she thought liam's voice was coming from.

prettified slob

i have it all - the junk food. the coffee. the cigarettes. the DVDs. the gameboy. the bed. the airconditioned room. everything i need to be a certifiable slob for the day.

i need a hole in the wall that i can scream into. where are you when i need you to make me laugh?

OMG... hahahahahahahahahahhahahaha..... nothing, really. i just needed to find something to laugh at and failing to do so, i guess laughing at nothing works just as well... sort of. i hope there are good movies on cable tonight. they had pretty good ones on star movies the whole day through. Comic Book Villains is funny. somehow i can't bring myself to laugh at it right now... i've been taking deep breaths eversince 3 pm. and my mind's on the packet of cheese pretzels i have upstairs. oooh yum.

myeh. decisions decisions. what should i splurge on tomorrow now that i've bombed 650 bucks on shoes, clothes, trip to penang and just food and movies? blah. can you believe it? food and movies take up most of the 650 bucks. lunch with liz... i think i definitely need to be around living people. anyone. it doesn't matter as long as they keep me busy. books perhaps... the rest of the sandman collection maybe? or more clothes? boy, hedonism sure has me suckered in so deep into it i'm getting pale from the lack of exposure to sunlight. that was lame. sorry.

oooh... going for dinner now. i think i deserve to pig out right now.