Going in, Alone
Maybe some like boys like girls
Maybe some like girls like boys
And maybe some going into life need to unlearn Loneliness
In a world that cannot match them to a similar passion.
If everything were arbitrary,
Let's assume that life equals happiness
And then invent the theories that can help us make
What's left right.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Another weekend
spent.
The nights filled with endless laughter
And conversations that do not add up.
You down the drinks as if you're trying to fill
The Emptiness that'll come the day after;
Let the drinks keep on coming
So Tomorrow would delay
To bring on you his fierce daylight -
Lonely nights, shredded and remolded, now new, shining and empty -
Oh bother,
Another brand new day.
spent.
The nights filled with endless laughter
And conversations that do not add up.
You down the drinks as if you're trying to fill
The Emptiness that'll come the day after;
Let the drinks keep on coming
So Tomorrow would delay
To bring on you his fierce daylight -
Lonely nights, shredded and remolded, now new, shining and empty -
Oh bother,
Another brand new day.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Monday, August 10, 2009
Tonight the moon is neither full
Nor wearing her crescent smile
But she shines, bright like a star, at mid-height
Against a starless sky, layered with
Watercolored clouds, each layer fading into another.
But the winds are so strong
The clouds that frame the moon into a picture
Do not stay still long enough for you to figure out
What's on her mind.
Nor wearing her crescent smile
But she shines, bright like a star, at mid-height
Against a starless sky, layered with
Watercolored clouds, each layer fading into another.
But the winds are so strong
The clouds that frame the moon into a picture
Do not stay still long enough for you to figure out
What's on her mind.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
between breezes
everything is still
and a little warm, even,
just warm enough for mum to walk through the streets
feeling cooled by the air
familiar, yet strange.
this is her forth trip, i think -
it's been so many years since i started going on my own trips and
we stopped traveling together.
the last trip we went on together must have been China.
Five of us. That was before sister got married
and we were still living in the same house.
Eighteen years I was in the house,
(we moved there when I was twelve,)
now that I've moved out,
I learnt that it's called the "Real House" over here -
the house of one's parents. Indeed, life back then
seemed so real, yet,
here,
now,
"Real" seems like a passing breeze
A motion, even just an idea
that i trade
for something similarly transient, until
I have nothing left and trade myself in, I guess.
It's strange, how it feels to be living so far away -
But this is what most of my relatives do -
I see it as a rite of passage, though
nothing now seems "right" or "wrong".
Everything just seems so far away -
The breeze that used to cool me in the tropical sun,
And the breeze that i hope will come and cool me through the grilling summer
but for now,
between breezes,
everything is still.
The world outside must still be running.
The new flu, must be causing quite a stir,
but for now,
just let me let everything be a little far away
while i hide for a little while
and pull myself together.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Thursday, April 09, 2009
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
the nights are long
when you lie alone in bed
with a sore throat
and there's nothing really interesting on TV
on nights when all your friends seem far away
and you cannot remember what made the other day so fun
you can't sleep
but that's what you tell yourself when
you can't get yourself to turn the tv off
afraid that once the last lights go out
whatever presence you are left with might also disappear just like that
as if the remote control would switch the whole world off
and leave nobody to switch it back on
in the morning
when you lie alone in bed
with a sore throat
and there's nothing really interesting on TV
on nights when all your friends seem far away
and you cannot remember what made the other day so fun
you can't sleep
but that's what you tell yourself when
you can't get yourself to turn the tv off
afraid that once the last lights go out
whatever presence you are left with might also disappear just like that
as if the remote control would switch the whole world off
and leave nobody to switch it back on
in the morning
Saturday, October 18, 2008
columns of wood planks
lined up into a beige wall
stand tall, unmoving,
and the smell of sawdust
fills the air in front of the wood dealer.
every time i pass by i would stop
and try to fit this image of the wood dealer
into my memory of the smell of sawdust
balming the cool air in the Old House
that i cannot anymore recall in detail.
but this smell of raw wood
calls to me to go in and sit
at its feet, like your cat would,
curled up beside you while you stroke her fur
promising to protect her from storms of the world;
but no, the walls of wood themselves do not speak
and this is private property -
but i would always steal one breathful of the fragrant air,
breathing it in deep,
and cycle on.
lined up into a beige wall
stand tall, unmoving,
and the smell of sawdust
fills the air in front of the wood dealer.
every time i pass by i would stop
and try to fit this image of the wood dealer
into my memory of the smell of sawdust
balming the cool air in the Old House
that i cannot anymore recall in detail.
but this smell of raw wood
calls to me to go in and sit
at its feet, like your cat would,
curled up beside you while you stroke her fur
promising to protect her from storms of the world;
but no, the walls of wood themselves do not speak
and this is private property -
but i would always steal one breathful of the fragrant air,
breathing it in deep,
and cycle on.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Thursday, September 11, 2008
tired eyes
and ears that want to hear again
the songs that make my mind wander the distances
and make the repetitive calls of cicadas suddenly quiet;
songs that remind me there's a sky and a sea farther than the horizon
and worlds that spin each with a different pulse, waiting to be discovered again -
if, and only if,
the child within is still capable of curiosity -
songs that remind me why i so struggle to keep alive
that child; songs that
breathe life into moments
and make it seems that
the past and the future have come together again.
and ears that want to hear again
the songs that make my mind wander the distances
and make the repetitive calls of cicadas suddenly quiet;
songs that remind me there's a sky and a sea farther than the horizon
and worlds that spin each with a different pulse, waiting to be discovered again -
if, and only if,
the child within is still capable of curiosity -
songs that remind me why i so struggle to keep alive
that child; songs that
breathe life into moments
and make it seems that
the past and the future have come together again.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Walk,
When the walls on your left, and your right are cold,
When you're not sure if there's a hand in front reaching out to hold yours,
When the only place you still hear the song is in your head.
Walk,
Even when you seem to be going in circles,
Even when you don't see a light in miles,
Even when you're not sure if you're going to make it.
Walk,
And recall the song that warmed you and sing it,
And let your voice reach out like hands into a darkness feeling just as lost
And remember the light that bathed you, is inside you waiting to be born.
When the walls on your left, and your right are cold,
When you're not sure if there's a hand in front reaching out to hold yours,
When the only place you still hear the song is in your head.
Walk,
Even when you seem to be going in circles,
Even when you don't see a light in miles,
Even when you're not sure if you're going to make it.
Walk,
And recall the song that warmed you and sing it,
And let your voice reach out like hands into a darkness feeling just as lost
And remember the light that bathed you, is inside you waiting to be born.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Black walls, under a black ceiling,
Not like the four walls of a room
But like a maze
Just a little too tall for one to see what's on the other side.
The windows covered with opaque paper,
Black too, but now full of holes;
And in the morning these tiny holes light up
With a light that seems to be the only thing that belongs
To a world where time still moves.
Not like the four walls of a room
But like a maze
Just a little too tall for one to see what's on the other side.
The windows covered with opaque paper,
Black too, but now full of holes;
And in the morning these tiny holes light up
With a light that seems to be the only thing that belongs
To a world where time still moves.
Black Box
Black walls, under a black ceiling,
Not like the four walls of a room
But like a maze
Just a little too tall for one to see what's on the other side.
The windows covered with opaque paper,
Black too, but now full of holes;
And in the morning these tiny holes light up
With a light that seems to be the only thing that belongs
To a world where time still moves.
Not like the four walls of a room
But like a maze
Just a little too tall for one to see what's on the other side.
The windows covered with opaque paper,
Black too, but now full of holes;
And in the morning these tiny holes light up
With a light that seems to be the only thing that belongs
To a world where time still moves.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
in the end, we're really all just information. very evolved information. if we let digital version of "genes" evolve, they'll end up just as evolved, someday. but in between all the things that what genes do, the resulting chemistry makes us feel this thing called "emotions". I wonder what kind of "emotions" digital genes can end up feeling.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
I find it difficult to finish the day
Because the hustle of the day leaves me
With little change, but i still dig hard
To find that one-cent coin I don't have
So that tomorrow's change won't come in all sorts of odd shapes
That do not stack up properly in my world.
So i let the minutes run by
My eyes open, neither asleep nor awake
Tired from navigating, having brought home
The rest of the body, now collected in a pile
Until some strange courage tucks me into bed and whispers in my ear
That it's alright to leave the rest of everything left undone,
That Tomorrow will come to me as generously as today had -
And the thing is,
I already know that
From the countless nights I had watched
The nights deepen into mornings that do not
Leave me any more comforted.
Because the hustle of the day leaves me
With little change, but i still dig hard
To find that one-cent coin I don't have
So that tomorrow's change won't come in all sorts of odd shapes
That do not stack up properly in my world.
So i let the minutes run by
My eyes open, neither asleep nor awake
Tired from navigating, having brought home
The rest of the body, now collected in a pile
Until some strange courage tucks me into bed and whispers in my ear
That it's alright to leave the rest of everything left undone,
That Tomorrow will come to me as generously as today had -
And the thing is,
I already know that
From the countless nights I had watched
The nights deepen into mornings that do not
Leave me any more comforted.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
saw/heard the most inspiring piece of art/thought about art in years.
Arthur Ganson: Sculpture that's truly moving
"...all of these pieces start off in my own mind in my heart and I do my best at finding ways to express them with materials and it always feel very crude, and it's always a struggle, but somehow I manage to get the thought out into an object and then it's there; it means nothing at all - the object itself just means nothing - (but) once its perceived and someone brings it into their own mind then there's a cycle that has been completed and to me that's the most important thing... and that is the complete cycle, coming from inside, out to the physical, to someone perceiving it." - Arthur Gansor
To me, that's a beautiful way of saying something that seems to hint at the the most fundamental difference in approach between the engineering and the arts - to engineering, the object, or the thought behind the object is everything, but to art, the object is nothing - it's the thought after the object that counts. And it's really inspiring how the language of engineering can similarly be used to say that sweet nothing that means everything.
Arthur Ganson: Sculpture that's truly moving
"...all of these pieces start off in my own mind in my heart and I do my best at finding ways to express them with materials and it always feel very crude, and it's always a struggle, but somehow I manage to get the thought out into an object and then it's there; it means nothing at all - the object itself just means nothing - (but) once its perceived and someone brings it into their own mind then there's a cycle that has been completed and to me that's the most important thing... and that is the complete cycle, coming from inside, out to the physical, to someone perceiving it." - Arthur Gansor
To me, that's a beautiful way of saying something that seems to hint at the the most fundamental difference in approach between the engineering and the arts - to engineering, the object, or the thought behind the object is everything, but to art, the object is nothing - it's the thought after the object that counts. And it's really inspiring how the language of engineering can similarly be used to say that sweet nothing that means everything.
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