how much can one pay for the words one’s unable to speak? i have so much on the tip of my tongue, but they’re quite simply chronically stuck. on my part, i suffer from the pathological inability to extricate them from all the corners in which they hide.

…i do. i still do. if not more than ever. pray do rein me in, and hide me. just once in a while.

yonder goes the nightingale, rescued,
out of Tereus’ flailing demonic grasp.
unflinchingly i hold out hope and
a rose, a light, to me they lead it back.

regale everyone with your sweet sweet song,
entertain, and be entertained by, the merry women and men.
serve up a storm, paint the town red,
out where you love to be, always ahead.

but my hand which holds out the rose remains
enduring in its adulation and poise.
and back in my open arms the nightingale can
unfurl its splendour and its silentmost stance.
take my hand, curl up in my arms,
in the aftermath of its tribulations and dance.
from the endless flights of boundless fancies,
uninspiring cacophonies of bad songs and schmancies.

lying in the ancient tomes from Persia is
a tale which elucidates the nightingale’s love. in
never wanting to be out of communion, the rose
denotes the object of the blessed creature’s desire.

it is i who holds out the rose for the fledgling as it
lives its faraway fantasies and freedoms.
on its wings it has to realise that
verily, the rose is patient, the rose my love reaffirms.
ever-ready to receive you with open arms of glee,
you will be free, your cage is none, to come freely to me.
on your exalted wings you fly as i go forth with my labours,
under the bridge we’ll meet, beside the raging, peaceful waters.
some days you’ll be with me, and some days you’ll fly,
over land, air and sea my rose will lead you home and dry.

protect you from all lizards and assorted reptiles. :)

i could expand a million words, but it’d all come back to the same thing. :)

ordinarily i hate going at length, any length, about my day, and i’m pretty sure nobody finds that sort of shit tolerable. but then you do get days that are so incredibly bad that it just has to be chronicled, for posterity, to satisfy the sadists that lurk in all who read this page, or is that just myself maybe, but oh boy do i know that sort of day too well.

today:
vaguely understanding crabwalk – :)
book shopping – :):)
arsenal and liverpool drop points – :):):)
a quite perfect chelsea win – :):):):):):):)
spent the best part of half a day with my HREO – :):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):)

then of course sometimes you have the really good kind of day, which even less people want to read about because it then reminds us all of our normal lives. how’s your day? shrug okay lor. well at least i’ve been as forgiving as i can with the details.

—————————

if only you’d see the part you play in all i try to be.
you’d begin to comprehend how much you mean to me.

Hello it is me hoho
hahahahha roar oj
ohohohohohohoho oh oh

this is the pat yime
Gibr im ot ght
Ar the anges ar debils
vrawling im
Osee
See the pain in youB
Oh yrah
De,omsd will talke ti,e
Will rakw
Amgls they nrum gor us
Arr w ever
Ar wr fly
Nurm imside of us
Dpwmwwwwmnnn
All

Tje yihms

If we give it up tOmihjy
Lasxt omeast
Vo

Cooooo(oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh gonae voooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

—————–

:):)

“this is perfect.” and his voice had a finality in it. his gruff voice resounded against the lonely walls, his vision unquestionably inspired. he lay down his blueprint, in determined mood. he will start tomorrow, for it is sunday today, and thus he has declared today a day of rest. and tomorrow, he will build, ex nihilo, a most stately pleasure-dome that will be for himself and his love.

i glance at the blueprint. he has had everything covered. the porch. the vast verandah. the elaborate balustrades. even the glittering night sky that will perpetually eclipse it.

all he has is a pack of cards.

my cave is deep,
but your light keeps shining through.
i close my eyes,
but all i see is you.

hey boy, try not to despair.

i finally gave up the fight. and let the words that were causing pandemonium out. words that were circling around the tip of my tongue for what definitely felt like longest time, and which i had drawn strength from various false sources to suppress. till now. and in perhaps the most uncryptic words ever to appear upon the face of my blog, “yes, i love you”.

big implications of those small words aside, i beg you don’t run away from me. i know it’s not easy. nothing ever to do with love is. ‘love’ is a difficult concept, not unlike modernism. it’s flaky. it’s fragmented. and so are people. put people in love and you have a doubly complicated mass of unspeakable ideas.

but i will be here till you bid me gone. and i will walk only at your pace. as far as you’re concerned i’ll never run out of time, patience or a sweet gesture. i hang on a diamond tether. may nothing change between us, for i am before anything else still your friend.

as we are now, as we have always been, you light up my life.

:)

i promise you, metaphysically.
i’ll be around when you think you need me.
lash at me, spit in my face,
and may i still love thee.

i swim increasingly furiously, but the ferocious and pitiless tides get all the more relentless. i want to give up, but i can’t, and all i can manage to do is to pedal faster, just to stay right where i am.

sometimes, something that is nothing can be more real that all the things that are something.

being naturally attracted to pain is not exactly the smartest thing ever. right about now, i just want to keel over and die. but i have no casket. i have, though, a handful of well-rusted nails, each one hammered into my inexistent coffin with much euphoria. i scream under my breath as each nail penetrates lovingly through my brittle, comminuted bones.

this imaginary sarcophagus is proving difficult to escape. i can’t break free. i must break free.

Deadlines left:

5 Nov – Tennyson Presentation
6 Nov – Euro Lit Essay 2
11 Nov – 19c Test #2
12 Nov – Asian-American Lit Essay 2
13 Nov – Film and History Essay 5
13 Nov – School Ends

Time till school ends: 24 days
Things to do: 6
Average: 4 days each, assuming a non-stop work rate, cessation of all life and repression of all human desire for rest and relaxation.

Yay.

i’ve had enough. enough of these topsy-turvy nights, and yes, i want out. but then again that begs the questions, “out from where?”, and “what next?”

and these are questions that i am fatally unable to answer. because one, it is not logically possible to get out of nowhere; and two, if ‘next’ is necessarily defined as being ‘in relation to’ whatever comes before, and what comes before is nothing, the concept of ‘next’ is therefore untenable.

i turn and hide behind thought, in thinking and overanalysing, when the heart ceases to feel correctly. and i can find no answers to the questions i do not have and am silenced, what by i do not know, or maybe i do but cannot say, into not having a voice to ask you the questions i do.

this poem took me through the first few weeks of army. :)

Drummer Hodge

They throw in Drummer Hodge, to rest
Uncoffined – just as found:
His landmark is a kopje-crest
That breaks the veldt around;
And foreign constellations west
Each night above his mound.

Young Hodge the Drummer never knew -
Fresh from his Wessex home -
The meaning of the broad Karoo,
The Bush, the dusty loam,
And why uprose to nightly view
Strange stars amid the gloam.

Yet portion of that unknown plain
Will Hodge forever be;
His homely Northern breast and brain
Grow to some Southern tree,
And strange-eyed constellation reign
His stars eternally.

- Thomas Hardy

as if connected by some metaphysical force, chelsea lose. first game in a fortnight, and it just about sums up my two weeks. plenty of opportunities created without much success. trying, trying, only to be knocked back. to be denied. it started out with a search for three points. then one. then having nothing left, just some pride.

i would love to be able to say, that like the great boxers always do, i will get right back up, like the cockroach that would not die, everytime i get knocked down. but i think i might lie here a little longer. to the chorus of jeers that ring in my ear.

the next game, the next conquest, it goes on. chelsea will go on. for me, i will go on, even if i don’t.

Sounds, and sweet airs that give delight and hurt not.
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices
That, if I then had waked after long sleep,
Will make me sleep again. And then, in dreaming,
The clouds methought would open and show riches
Ready to drop upon me,
that when I waked, I cried to dream again
- Caliban, The Tempest, III.ii.130-137

it was just about the most cheesy scene. you were running away from me. and i was desperately calling out your name, my 20-year-old self barely managing to keep up. then you turned and came running back to me, and hugged me so tight it was as if you never left. there was a chapel. a cottage. very 18th century.

the frame of reference then switched then to where there was modern day architecture. the 21st century. myself, having now only aged minimally and without comprehension of anything from that earlier scene, compared paintings of the now with that of the previous scene. everything had changed, but the chapel had remained. and there was you and me. the movie’s great revelation at this point was how i discovered, cue oohs and awws, that we have been lovers all along.

yeah i know doesn’t make sense. but then dreams rarely do.

but for all that’s unreal and ridiculous, you really never did leave.

a little encouragement goes a long way. in school, at home, from a friend, from a stranger. have you encouraged someone today? say a kind word, will you?

my days are bleeding into one another. my nights run into the days, my days, still days. it seems as if night never comes for me, insofar as night is darkness, and darkness is rest, and rest is the absence of work, movement and thought. how critical to us is rest? and how grossly inappropriate then, for us then to define rest not in its own intrinsic right, but only in relation to another concept?

i dig my heels in, hoping and praying that my pain redeems me. but my unreligious throat remains slaked, my tongue can say no prayer. pain is the means to an end, and unwittingly the end in itself. i have distractions, and i have either had, or found, great friends for whom i am endlessly thankful for. but at the very end it seems like i love chasing that which has no end, that which has is elusive and intangible. because that which is elusive and intangible purports, by its very definition, no rest, no finish line, and no goodbyes.

i would bear all the pain in the world anew.
because pain will pass, but so will you.

picture by nicole, who does it better than i can ever introspectively do.

Grant me the courage to change the things I cannot accept, and the serenity to accept the things I cannot change. Grant me the wisdom to hide the bodies of those people that I had to kill today because they pissed me off, and help me to be careful of the toes I step on today as they may well be connected to the ass that I will have to kiss tomorrow.

- from Dr. Pan’s office wall