As of now, the light bulb in my bathroom is dead.
A lightning storm came once upon a silent dark, blowing it off its heat and radiance.
At first, I've satisfied myself with showering in the downstairs' facilities, but I grew awkward of the much smaller and claustrophobic space it served.
Thus, a small table lamp came to the rescue. Served as a substitute for the fluorescence that once beamed over my barren soul.
Showers does this thing to me. It truly is mechanical. But the semblance of rain that it creates makes it all the more beautiful.
Semblances are all I have right now.
When I'm on that linoleum, with water drenched all over, my imagination wanders like intrepid travelers searching for a new world. A world only I can conjure.
And now, the small table lamp wedged between the window grilles.
It is now my Sirius.
Thank you, optimism.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Friday, March 4, 2011
Appareo
Perception is an ugly thing. We take in and believe in only what we can see. Whatever that is absent, is automatically non-existent.
Quranic text tells us Man were made out of various forms of clay, with a soul subsequently breathed in by the will of God.
The very nature of our being thence, has become entirely geological if they were to be put in a form of analogy.
For instance, we always crave for beauty in others. The perfect partner would have both external and internal aspects of themselves completely aligned and balanced.
Yet that isn't always the case.
Due to our limited senses, we get enticed and allured by the beauty of forests or green fields, when in truth, the earth they have hugged their roots around contain nothing but dirt.
And as we cut down all the trees, used up all of the wood, and foraged all of the fruits, we abandon the land, leaving it barren and desolate.
Beauty based on whatever is on the outside is ever so temporary.
It is however, a rarity for us to ever be attracted to the jagged rocks, or wide, endless oceans of sand deemed the desert. People often avoid these places, to find fertile grounds, or at least a safer path to travel.
Little do people know, that most of these layers of seemingly barren rock hoards a tremendous amount of precious gold, whether black or displaying metallic lustre.
After thousands of years of mining, notwithstanding the progress of extractiontechnology , Man has still failed to learn to not judge a book based on its cover.
But it is true, that these precious stones, be them diamond or coal, will eventually run out too.
And when it does, it signifies senility or even death.
I am on nobody's side.
People in truth, are short-lived. Whether ugly or not.
We try so hard to conserve finite minerals and endangered trees, just so they could last a little longer.
Makes you wonder that maybe perception is pointless. And that when you love someone, you just...do.
Industrialism can suck my dick.
Quranic text tells us Man were made out of various forms of clay, with a soul subsequently breathed in by the will of God.
The very nature of our being thence, has become entirely geological if they were to be put in a form of analogy.
For instance, we always crave for beauty in others. The perfect partner would have both external and internal aspects of themselves completely aligned and balanced.
Yet that isn't always the case.
Due to our limited senses, we get enticed and allured by the beauty of forests or green fields, when in truth, the earth they have hugged their roots around contain nothing but dirt.
And as we cut down all the trees, used up all of the wood, and foraged all of the fruits, we abandon the land, leaving it barren and desolate.
Beauty based on whatever is on the outside is ever so temporary.
It is however, a rarity for us to ever be attracted to the jagged rocks, or wide, endless oceans of sand deemed the desert. People often avoid these places, to find fertile grounds, or at least a safer path to travel.
Little do people know, that most of these layers of seemingly barren rock hoards a tremendous amount of precious gold, whether black or displaying metallic lustre.
After thousands of years of mining, notwithstanding the progress of extraction
But it is true, that these precious stones, be them diamond or coal, will eventually run out too.
And when it does, it signifies senility or even death.
I am on nobody's side.
People in truth, are short-lived. Whether ugly or not.
We try so hard to conserve finite minerals and endangered trees, just so they could last a little longer.
Makes you wonder that maybe perception is pointless. And that when you love someone, you just...do.
Industrialism can suck my dick.
Friday, January 21, 2011
Reckless
My love, I am the speed of sound,
I left the motherless, fatherless,
These souls dangling inside out from their mouths,
But it's never enough.
I want you.
Carved your name across three countries,
Grounded in with bloody tides,
Their broken necks will line the ditch,
'Til you stop it.
Stop this madness,
I want you.
I have waited, with a glacier's patience,
Smashed every transformer with ever trailer,
'Til nothing was standing, 65 miles wide.
Still you were nowhere,
Nowhere in sight.
Come out to meet me,
You came out to greet me,
Come into the light.
Come the box cars,
Through the engines,
To the smoke,
Into the sky,
Your days have always outrun mine,
So I.
Pick them up,
And crash them down,
In a moment close to now,
Cause I miss..
How'd you sigh yourself to sleep,
When I break the springtime across your sheets.
My love, I'm an owl on the sill in the evening,
But morning finds you, still warm and breathing.
This tornado loves you.
I left the motherless, fatherless,
These souls dangling inside out from their mouths,
But it's never enough.
I want you.
Carved your name across three countries,
Grounded in with bloody tides,
Their broken necks will line the ditch,
'Til you stop it.
Stop this madness,
I want you.
I have waited, with a glacier's patience,
Smashed every transformer with ever trailer,
'Til nothing was standing, 65 miles wide.
Still you were nowhere,
Nowhere in sight.
Come out to meet me,
You came out to greet me,
Come into the light.
Come the box cars,
Through the engines,
To the smoke,
Into the sky,
Your days have always outrun mine,
So I.
Pick them up,
And crash them down,
In a moment close to now,
Cause I miss..
How'd you sigh yourself to sleep,
When I break the springtime across your sheets.
My love, I'm an owl on the sill in the evening,
But morning finds you, still warm and breathing.
This tornado loves you.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Part of Damon
“Haha, Damon get out of that tree”, said Malika. She was trying to climb up branches, but slipped on one of them. A boy with brown eyes glinted in the dusk light laughed at her. “It’s been 10 years Malika, and you still can’t catch up with me?”. Damon was the boy, and he was sitting on his haunches on a tree house he once built when he was 6. His friendship with Malika was as old as the tree house, and she finally got up to sit at the same level as he was.
“Aren’t you afraid this thing’s gonna fall?”, said Malika , nervously adjusting herself on the tree’s platform. “No, I think my dad has got that covered. Look, carbon reinforced wood”, Damon grinned whilst bouncing up and down. “You know how he’s like with me”.
“So..”, Malika interrupted the silence, as they were previously observing the sun taking refuge behind the dark evening clouds”…you said you wanted to tell me something?”. Damon sighed. This was the original reason why Malika came. It was one of the reasons they bonded so well. Damon had a scientist-cum-inventor for a dad, whilst Malika had an ear for stories. It has been going on since he was 7.
“I can’t believe we’re leaving for high school already”, said Malika under her breath, as Damon gathered himself to talk about his father. It was never easy, as his father’s inventions were most of the time, beyond what common sense can absorb. Even with Malika, whom Damon has had the pleasure of divulging craziness for the past 10 years, he still felt like he needed time to compose himself. He welcomed the distraction ‘though, thinking he wasn’t ready. “You know Malika, the only friend I have is you. And that fact, doesn’t really make me look forward to high school anymore than you do”, said Damon. “But we don’t have to go”.
Malika felt like she was caught off guard. “What? C’mon, Damon. You’re not still afraid of girls or what you call the ‘female species’ are you? You’re almost 16!” “I’m not afraid, you dimwit. Don’t make me sound like I’m biologically inept at handling myself in adolescence”, snapped Damon. “My father used to tell me stories you know..”.”About girls?”, giggled Malika, but was immediately cut short. “..about my mother.”
Everything went quiet. Damon’s mother was a taboo topic. She was a schizophrenic, and has many times attempted to murder her own husband. Even worse, she once tried to abort her baby with a butter knife. Damon never knew his mother personally, seeing as to how she was detained to an asylum immediately after giving birth to him. “..it’s a pleasant story I guess. The truth is, my dad loves her. I was on the way to our basement once, and I saw him by the gramophone, singing to her picture on his desk”.
Malika looked disconcerted, but placed a hand on Damon’s back to comfort him anyways. “…so my father hasn’t told me what it is. But I snuck into his basement, and I discovered that he’s invented some sort of portal”. When the sky turned red, Damon finally told the story.
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