dont think i will ever turn oneirophobic
but i just hate being tormented in dreams
something's not at peace
something's just not right
ekh
a war setting of some kind
living sepia character
was just being pushed along with a group of people
when i managed to break away
and got chased
again
ran past some trees
into a house
this house
this house i will never forget
the door i cant remember
i only wanted to burst through it
and stop the chase
but immediately i was stumped by the beauty of the empty house
it was silent
eerie
the walls were a misty shade of turquoise
everything was misty
there was nothing on the floor
nothing on the walls
but something about the house reminded me of the colours in frida
or pictures from a lomo
the windows were simply holes that looked out to nothing
were just white
misty white
like i didnt simply leave the group i was with
like i entered an entirely new world
at first i ran like a rat
here
there
or what seemed like there
then i walked
slowly treaded the floors
up the stairs
all turquoise
but darker now
misty
darker as i progressed along the stairs
the stairs had strange corners
turning after just four steps
then turning after ten
then after three
getting darker and darker
the first door i come across opens up to my parents
normality steps in abruptly
the war scene is dropped
the house is dropped
it's so ludicrous
i wake up
doh
trees
cold
ala crucible
dad executed
heart's pierced through
mom on the way to execution
i bawl my head off
there are all these fucking cockroaches
i hate cockroaches
i h a t e them
wont go into details
but i dont really want to know why i dreamt of their execution
my heart felt real sorrow
real pain
but it was unreal
laid awake for an hour thereafter this morning
i was traumatised
i am traumatised
if it was as simple as hating one's parents
i wouldnt be disturbed
but i know i love them so deeply
this
this
'tis exactly this that affects me
try not to try and understand it
and ravi
he was behind a building of some sort
a building i'm familiar with when i was growing up in katong
he was watching
he cant come out
it's like we still cant reveal our parentally-unapproved modern relationship of modern times
even at my parents' death and my desperation to cling on to the last moments of my mother's life
even her sorrow was real
so real, i was angry
so angry
and my brother
looked like he was resigned to it
as usual
like he couldnt do anything about it
he wasnt even holding on to her
just sat there
talking with someone else
felt helpless
and frustrated with his doing nothing
and then it was done
i became an orphan
felt more lost than i usually am
i cant have these dreams anymore
Monday, March 15, 2004
Sunday, March 07, 2004
pendulous madness
unhealthy isnt it?
that i keep running to you?
that when i fall, scrape my knees and bleed, that i cry for you?
such desperation, such esteem beating.
but i dont blame you.
i cant.
because it's no fault of yours.
but mine.
am i not strong enough to get past the lethargy?
am i not steel-hearted enough to brush the dust into my wound and off my knees?
do i not possess an optimistic view on life?
you think not.
i feel not.
i'm still in self-denial.
but that's no delusion, when you confess you're in self-denial.
but it's not good enough.
i feel famous.
leading two diverse lives, a public affair and a private face.
i talk of myself like i dont know myself.
maybe i dont.
i think i do.
but it's just a thought.
i cant spend energy wondering if i know myself.
the entire box of kit-kats will disappear magically.
like my emotions.
if i can understand, i could learn to control it.
just like i can understand it.
but i dont.
what is it?
when you wake up and you feel like you could lunge yourself out the window?
all you feel is despair.
desperation.
frustration.
emptiness.
how is it possible?
to feel empty yet feel desperation and frustration as well?
i feel like i'm an adolescent.
i feel pre-pubescent.
i feel like a five year old girl surrounded by dolls and encyclopaedias.
i feel how i've felt all my life.
to oversimplify it, disoriented.
sometimes it's ok.
it's even manageable without all the milk, chocolates and family bashing.
mostly it's not.
i'm scared of something.
and i dont even know what it is.
all i've known all my life is flying.
flying in my dreams without wings.
without speed.
with something, someone, somehow catching up on me from behind.
and i cant see it.
i dont even know what it is.
maybe i'm a felis catus, chasing after its own tail.
sometimes i dont even fly.
i'm running.
like h e l l.
my feet are moving so fast, it's a blur.
my fear is taking my body forward so fast, i can feel my mad pulse in my jugular popping through the thin skin.
the fear is so real, i can taste it melted and acidic on my sore tongue.
i'm so scared shitless, i'm thrown into consciousness.
i wake from my dream the way some people pass out into the unconsciousness from fear.
some strange way of escaping from danger.
every week.
i want to stop it.
not just the dreams.
i want to stop falling all the time.
if i have to run to stop falling, at least i'm moving.
but you, i still hold dear.
that i keep running to you?
that when i fall, scrape my knees and bleed, that i cry for you?
such desperation, such esteem beating.
but i dont blame you.
i cant.
because it's no fault of yours.
but mine.
am i not strong enough to get past the lethargy?
am i not steel-hearted enough to brush the dust into my wound and off my knees?
do i not possess an optimistic view on life?
you think not.
i feel not.
i'm still in self-denial.
but that's no delusion, when you confess you're in self-denial.
but it's not good enough.
i feel famous.
leading two diverse lives, a public affair and a private face.
i talk of myself like i dont know myself.
maybe i dont.
i think i do.
but it's just a thought.
i cant spend energy wondering if i know myself.
the entire box of kit-kats will disappear magically.
like my emotions.
if i can understand, i could learn to control it.
just like i can understand it.
but i dont.
what is it?
when you wake up and you feel like you could lunge yourself out the window?
all you feel is despair.
desperation.
frustration.
emptiness.
how is it possible?
to feel empty yet feel desperation and frustration as well?
i feel like i'm an adolescent.
i feel pre-pubescent.
i feel like a five year old girl surrounded by dolls and encyclopaedias.
i feel how i've felt all my life.
to oversimplify it, disoriented.
sometimes it's ok.
it's even manageable without all the milk, chocolates and family bashing.
mostly it's not.
i'm scared of something.
and i dont even know what it is.
all i've known all my life is flying.
flying in my dreams without wings.
without speed.
with something, someone, somehow catching up on me from behind.
and i cant see it.
i dont even know what it is.
maybe i'm a felis catus, chasing after its own tail.
sometimes i dont even fly.
i'm running.
like h e l l.
my feet are moving so fast, it's a blur.
my fear is taking my body forward so fast, i can feel my mad pulse in my jugular popping through the thin skin.
the fear is so real, i can taste it melted and acidic on my sore tongue.
i'm so scared shitless, i'm thrown into consciousness.
i wake from my dream the way some people pass out into the unconsciousness from fear.
some strange way of escaping from danger.
every week.
i want to stop it.
not just the dreams.
i want to stop falling all the time.
if i have to run to stop falling, at least i'm moving.
but you, i still hold dear.
"train wreck waiting to happen, for someone to come pick me up off the tracks, a wild fire born of frustration ... "
i had so much to say
just ten seconds ago
and now
none
just ten seconds ago
and now
none
Thursday, February 26, 2004
daily vitamins | tongue trips ||| || | |||||| |
potentially fatal.
why do these dangers come our way when we are at our weakest?
h.l. mencken said, 'yield to temptation. it may not pass your way again.'
or something to that effect.
are the repercussions worth it?
i hardly think so.
i had asked for transparency, honesty, sincerity, a genuine desire for friendship.
but it could simply be the neanderthal need for continuity that beats behind every man's sternum.
rv is extremely busy and hardly has time to spend thinking of me when those cells are better off solving some other work-related problem.
distractions then serve as a daily staple.
cos the day has to go on.
and on.
(i feel very titanic-ish here)
i cant help loving people i like.
we all want to be touched, hugged.
some kinda weird need to rub our oils off one another.
it melts my heart though.
when i look at stan's eyes and see that puppy need to have me.
"you know that elvis song? where he'd rather have the person in his life and be hurt all the time instead of having the person and losing the person?"
no.
but i get what you're trying to say.
and yes, while you're trying to explain yourself, go ahead and give me the ultimate killer.
"rarararararararararararararailoveyourarararararararararararara"
flatliner goes off.
you've seen me all of four times and spoken with me almost daily.
and you love me?
i'm a temperamental, cowardly, insecure, manipulative, cunning woman and you dont even know that yet.
oh, and i have rv in my life.
oh, how i repeat that like a rap to the beat of my cautious heart.
"i know i cant have you as my girlfriend. but i want you in my life. i care for you, dl. i dont know why i feel this way for you."
oh scho schweet.
oh scho scho schweet.
but i preferred the "smooth skin" comment.
but i had such a great time.
we drank on empty stomachs, almost fell with the table on top of us, spilled drinks all over us while escaping the heavy toppling table, danced, laid down for a while, drank again, danced, danced, danced.
such honesty i cannot ignore.
such raw honesty i dance to in all my tribal nakedness like a drunken witch around a fire.
these people, have a grounded honesty to them that is absent from my so-called intellectually abled so-called friends.
the freedom (and cigarette smoke) bloats my lungs and my soul floats.
all garb is shed.
while my so-called intellectually abled so-called friends keep their suits on and shoot bullets into your heart from the pockets of their suits.
you, 'tongue trips' is merely a double entendre.
do not light the flame of your imagination the way i pour fuel on mine and torch my heart.
why do these dangers come our way when we are at our weakest?
h.l. mencken said, 'yield to temptation. it may not pass your way again.'
or something to that effect.
are the repercussions worth it?
i hardly think so.
i had asked for transparency, honesty, sincerity, a genuine desire for friendship.
but it could simply be the neanderthal need for continuity that beats behind every man's sternum.
rv is extremely busy and hardly has time to spend thinking of me when those cells are better off solving some other work-related problem.
distractions then serve as a daily staple.
cos the day has to go on.
and on.
(i feel very titanic-ish here)
i cant help loving people i like.
we all want to be touched, hugged.
some kinda weird need to rub our oils off one another.
it melts my heart though.
when i look at stan's eyes and see that puppy need to have me.
"you know that elvis song? where he'd rather have the person in his life and be hurt all the time instead of having the person and losing the person?"
no.
but i get what you're trying to say.
and yes, while you're trying to explain yourself, go ahead and give me the ultimate killer.
"rarararararararararararararailoveyourarararararararararararara"
flatliner goes off.
you've seen me all of four times and spoken with me almost daily.
and you love me?
i'm a temperamental, cowardly, insecure, manipulative, cunning woman and you dont even know that yet.
oh, and i have rv in my life.
oh, how i repeat that like a rap to the beat of my cautious heart.
"i know i cant have you as my girlfriend. but i want you in my life. i care for you, dl. i dont know why i feel this way for you."
oh scho schweet.
oh scho scho schweet.
but i preferred the "smooth skin" comment.
but i had such a great time.
we drank on empty stomachs, almost fell with the table on top of us, spilled drinks all over us while escaping the heavy toppling table, danced, laid down for a while, drank again, danced, danced, danced.
such honesty i cannot ignore.
such raw honesty i dance to in all my tribal nakedness like a drunken witch around a fire.
these people, have a grounded honesty to them that is absent from my so-called intellectually abled so-called friends.
the freedom (and cigarette smoke) bloats my lungs and my soul floats.
all garb is shed.
while my so-called intellectually abled so-called friends keep their suits on and shoot bullets into your heart from the pockets of their suits.
you, 'tongue trips' is merely a double entendre.
do not light the flame of your imagination the way i pour fuel on mine and torch my heart.
Monday, February 16, 2004
today
how does it go?
when i blink my eyes open to the roaring buses
and the children's annoying, thoughtless screams below?
how can it be?
that stuffing the musky pillow over my reddened ears
i can still hear them yelping me awake merrily?
how goes it?
when my penthouse lids tear awake to the creeping dawn
and i can only hear the anger against my ribcage beat?
how can it be?
that unfounded pain and excruciating sadness sets in
and asphyxiates the possibility of life in me?
how does it go?
that standing limp and nude in the shower they run freely
whilst naked and exposed out there not a tear i dare show?
how can it be?
picking up the hairdryer against my soaked dropping hair
i would bite my lips and question why they think i'm pretty?
how goes it?
stroking the coaldust through my mellow lashes and drawing through
the heart morphinates over like frozen meat?
how can it be?
the strides are long and confident on the plane
and the eyes show joy and the smiles come naturally?
how does it go?
in interstices of absorption in labour i jolt awake
and scream in white silence while the seconds ebb and flow?
how can it be?
as the feet sally me on and the day grows weary
that i feel myself sinking backwards and gurgling desperately?
how goes it?
the hold stands strong in fear of kin ridicule
but the bleeding soul gives way when alone again in the bed?
when i blink my eyes open to the roaring buses
and the children's annoying, thoughtless screams below?
how can it be?
that stuffing the musky pillow over my reddened ears
i can still hear them yelping me awake merrily?
how goes it?
when my penthouse lids tear awake to the creeping dawn
and i can only hear the anger against my ribcage beat?
how can it be?
that unfounded pain and excruciating sadness sets in
and asphyxiates the possibility of life in me?
how does it go?
that standing limp and nude in the shower they run freely
whilst naked and exposed out there not a tear i dare show?
how can it be?
picking up the hairdryer against my soaked dropping hair
i would bite my lips and question why they think i'm pretty?
how goes it?
stroking the coaldust through my mellow lashes and drawing through
the heart morphinates over like frozen meat?
how can it be?
the strides are long and confident on the plane
and the eyes show joy and the smiles come naturally?
how does it go?
in interstices of absorption in labour i jolt awake
and scream in white silence while the seconds ebb and flow?
how can it be?
as the feet sally me on and the day grows weary
that i feel myself sinking backwards and gurgling desperately?
how goes it?
the hold stands strong in fear of kin ridicule
but the bleeding soul gives way when alone again in the bed?
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