Chalky, Smokey and Forever Friends

--

There I was,
In uniform,
Looking at the subway curves,
My vows,
Like a girls hand,
Will never ever touch again,
Down the forever and ever love system.

He was not as bold as I thought,
He had tickets down to the metropolitan museum,
He asked us what our favourite,
Work of art was,
And never could I tell him,
It was him.

I looked at the ruins and crabgrass,
I liked the drums sinking softly,
She told me she liked summer,
And never have I seen the sun,
As bright as her.

Oh never will I hold another hand.

Honest it hasn't been said,
How heaven's an executive company ad,
Oh, it's never been dark,
A touch of grey,
And a,
"I wish I had once..."

And there he was,
In his uniform,
And that other stuff in his hand,
Thinking about creatures of his heart,
I was just a girl then,
And never have I learned,
His trend,
But I'll never ever love any other friend.

The Man Who Vowed To Catch The Sky

...and never touch the ground.

It's an inevitable feeling when you step on a radon floor as you watch the crowd of libertines minding their own business.

You wonder how one could be in the commotion of anthropoids and feel unease.

The uneasiness of isolation in a grayscale mosaic of plastic inextricable.

But when a pagan closes his eyes and sleep under the trees as the sun washes his overalls on his own.

You don't call that loneliness, you call that tranquility.

When one loses touch with God he loses touch with everything. Right?

Is God the word I'm looking for? Or is nature a more fitting nomenclature for the generic population of voters and dominions?

I dreamt about Vittoria again. As forever I should.

She proved God in a tunnel of atomic acceleration.

I could prove God in an easier way really, by the sense of nothingness.

It's exactly that.

"Sometimes I don't know how much I love my home, until I've been somewhere really different for a while"

Been remembering things again.

Like that time I crossed the bridge from one wooden platform to another.

You've been there.

There were birds everywhere, chirping to get your attention, but most of the time you long to get to the other side before you enjoy the view.

But when you get there, your mother tells you that it's time for lunch and that the birds "dah bosan dah"

Life's an aviary.

Take time to notice the plumes of parakeets, and the planks that you step on.

I can't promise you it'd be faeces-free. No one can.

All I can tell you is that sometimes you're just not looking up. And that you have to try to do so.

Occasionally the planks are brittle, and you fall through to your end.

So what?

Honestly, so what?

Vitamin Nothing

Sometimes we're just unsure of what we're looking at and we overcome that by the power of naming.

Beats "furry thing-a-majig" everytime

Sometimes when I look at the plain parquet of a mosque I see footprints of people sauntering their marking all over the house of God. Makes you wonder "siapalar yang pakai kasut masuk surau ni"

Sometimes when I look through the clouds I can see distant flight machines, remembering the olden days of propelling noises.

Sometimes there'd be two, clashing against each other like two stars in the - not endless really, more of a "besar gile" - godforsaken space.

I see clouds as one of God's most beautiful animated inanimate objects, the malapropism of it all touches my heart.

Foxes in pin-striped coats incarnated into the figure of a fisherman.

He visits daily, sometimes to sneak a few of those nuggets I bought from KFC the day before.

Funnily enough, no one even remembers his name anymore.

So we just call him the ever glamorous name of Pak Mat

The way he dreams of owning a ship as the words are dictated through his rotting teeth, makes me smile with my perfect ones as I sit under the cherry tree.

I think smokers need their own culture.

Drugs had it with their junkies.

Sex had it with their Democrats and Protestant.

The colour of their lungs don't bother me at all really, it's more of the demeanour.
How the fogs of monoxide shroud their faces when they talk beatifically (no matter the usage of vocabulary) of what they did out in the ocean or in their office.

Even the mundane ones tend to be more interesting, coughing out their seemingly last breath, and continue on laughing at you when you bring your something from home to eat.

Sometimes I wonder who's laughing last, but I guess it's kinda amusing when a person carries a portable exhaust pipe in between their phalanges WHILE bantering about the current fossil fuel economy.

As the petrol price rises, so does their blood pressure. Literally.

An as an avid aficionado of literati and countercultures I dare say that "The One-Toothed Fisherman" will always be the closest to my crackling soul of copper.

Oh, god this was a very jovial post.
I'm gonna go bomb a christmas tree.

Massalam

The White Of It All

"And so the man called his wife and told her everything was alright"

After several trips down the well of confetti, I caught a sign that said my name.

GARY DESILLIA

It's been a while since anything self-related was publicized in deliberacy, doesn't matter if it's fountain pens or amplified humiliation.

It has also been a while since I've realized the coincidential fragmentations of words such as humiliation and humid to the acuteness of embarassment faced from urinating in public.

Self-awareness.

By The Man Who Is Everyone But Himself

Since I veered off of infancy I've always had a fascination with everything infront of me. Subsequently, I become fascinated with what in actuality does a person mean when they say 'I'.

Is there a puppeteer in our mind that makes up our individuality?
Or is everything a mere flow of atoms drifting through the myriad of particle arrangement trying to make sense of everything it touches?

I don't know about puppets but I know that when a boy of six plays with action figures that is modelled after an American in khaki's he doesn't analyze what's outside of it, but what is there to make from it.

Creating from the creation.

I think about God all the time, I believe everyone does, one way or another.

Since the discovery of chimpanzees, Englishmen have been trying to embrace what these hominids created by the laws of nature are proving to the structure of rationality and the ever popular slogan that goes along the lines of 'Being Human'.

A summary of the rediscovery of mankind divided into pre-chimpanzee research and post-ditto.

Humans are the only creatures who make and use tools
Wrong.
Humans are the only creatures who have the ability to pretend.
Wrong.
Humans are the only..

You know what, this was suppose to be a travel log of awkward degrees and abnormal resolutions, but it turned out to be a thesis, or an antithesis for that matter. Of awkard degrees and abnormal resolutions,yeah.

I don't know what I'm saying now. Or trying to say.

I don't believe in good or evil, I believe in what is necessary and what is not.

Deep inside everyone's like that, thinking who'll they grow up to be and how they'll find a way out of every single jigsaw puzzle that doesn't have a piece you understand but in turn it fits anyway.

It's just that spontaneity becomes a part of everything you chase for, premeditated or not.

I laugh to myself as I stumble upon and adult shop that advertised uniforms for the purpose of role-playing sex.

I don't know, really. Fantasizing about having relations with a nurse have the power of increasing the syahwats of a particular group of people, regardless of whether that nurse even has a medical degree or professional training from anywhere.

It's a simple pathetique, that the definition of nurse is overturned after the vagueness and absurdity of our 'imagination'

The mind is it's own place.

No better way to put it.

I remember my mother telling me a story of me crying for no particular reason when I was at the zoo during the age of 8.

"Probably it was the animals"
"Macam kena rasuk dengan jin"

Trying to remember how I was at that age, I remembered my interest in pan paniscuses then were more avid than it is today (or maybe it still is avid, after all, adolescence comes with the inclusive package of denial).

And I remembered asking if animals went to heaven.

I still look forward to looking at our biological relatives whenever I'm at the zoo.

But subconsciously, I don't.

Sometimes tears fall out of the crenellations of my mind, thinking how sad it was that one could look at a sunset and only seeing light refracting through the atmosphere.

The other sad thing is that I can't express this thoughts clearly.

Because after all I'm just another person.

Just like everyone else is another person.

I can't write anymore.

It's thoughts like these that makes you realize that there are worse things than sinning and death and hell and..

Thinking about it, I don't think there are worse things than anything.

And thus this declamatory ends with

"It makes a heaven out of hell and a hell out of everything"

And back to the panorama of sexual fantasies.

I had to laugh really.

I don't know why.
In the setting of the sun and the dimming of blazing light rays,
I know that the lions couldn't possibly be pretending .

Shampoo Vision (Losing)

Born, yeah they will be,
Tighten to old streets,
Making the lights set,
Down on the arms raid.

And we'll at least sit down,
When the tide and soul is,
All that's in this town,
But they've never seen the light,
And time is none by their side,
And pain will have no sound.

Tell me a story,
Make it a poetry,
Satan is every,
Man in their gold seats.

And we'll concede it now,
Where the sun and spirit's,
All the feelings gone,
To the white-eyed and the faint,
And time is on our side,
Where there will be no sound.

Be awake,
'Tho the shades free,
Be still,
In the pale breeze,
And you ask
Where's that somebody,
To share me this oak tree.

Oh I'm just waiting now.

Presents and folk hymns,
Dust and the sobbing,
Babe, you're just beating,
Shrubs and confetti.

And we won't be around,
When the city has lost it's children,
And vacant lots,
Then only candle lights will
Brighten our dry sky,
And you'll be safe free,
From the people with sunglasses,
And their lights won't blind us,
When there will be no sound.

Fields of Bricks

Grew up in a manhole,
Said I'd never grow old,
If I don't realize,
People with their imagery,
Of what's life and what's deceived,
Daddy, I tried.

Caught up in the contrast,
Tell me what and what won't last,
Maybe I'll be fast,
Maybe I'll try,
Same things make us all say,
Makes us feel okay,
Make us feel right.

Someday I'll be human,
Maybe I'll be yeoman,
Cultivating pride,
It's a city,
And you grew up looking pretty,
Mummy said,
She's alright.

And I've taint,
These gates of Eden,
Shaggy and frayed,
You just got beaten,
And by the way,
I'm losing til heathen,
I'm losing,
Like I should.

Grew up in the suburbs,
Never thought the reverb,
Were coming to this side,
Girls talk and look pretty,
Man try to be witty,
Well some of them try.

I'm lost in the sidewalk,
Hoping that we could talk,
Temporary bride,
False hope,
and stop signs,
Make my own white line,
Still the game's are rough.

I grew up in the city,
Didn't manage to put pity,
On the southern side,
I am the fire,
Insulated wires,
Not really my type.

These fields of bricks,
Are all that I learn from living,
Someday we'll fix the leakage,
Cement the ditch,
Tudors and white horses,
Pavement and trees.

Bard of the concession,
Hoping for a lesson,
For the things he's done,
Sea change and affection,
Freezing in complexion,
Baby wasn't that fun?

I've been told to be quiet,
But you can't turn off the night.

The Red Stuff In Your Eyes and Lipstick

Why do you wait,
For the portraits,
Coz you know you've never lost it,
To the mystique eyes and deliberate age,
Of a one plus two in a rocketed fuel,
She lays off on the balcony,
Screaming for action.

Maybe time is a sin,
For those who cannot begin,
My eyes are falling apart,
From curves to heart,
You made it wrong from the start.

Sometimes it's time for the anger to shade,
This world collapsed,
In the arms of a gaze,
Two years, maybe a period of latency,
But then again I'm at lost for numbers.

We need to start,
Don't resuscitate,
We need to start,
A relapse of fate,
You got paint,
All over the walls didn't you?
What else is there to do.

Like blood in love with glue.
I'm still in love with kleptomaniacs of the century,
I got gas,
But never for the poverty,
Shame and pastiche of everything,
Wouldn't you,
Love me too.

It doesn't matter if the Freudian ethic's alone,
The sun will rise even if you turn off the phone,
It's like a libel and a song for the cynic,
You're not in it.

There's no rhyme to argue,
Nothing will turn to you,
When you turn to nothing.
So we'll sing,
Bring about the kings,
Of the elder age,
And a lost mistake,
Of a smoke machine,
And a daily routine,
All of these fantasies,
All find a stage to you.

Like the northern apes,
Said,
"These dreams weren't as daft when you dreamt them"
So let's forget them.