talking of Michaelangelo.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
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this is a word masterpiece // 11:00 am
This is a reconstruction. All of it is a reconstruction. It's a reconstruction now, in my head, as I lie flat on my single bed rehearsing what I should or shouldn't have said, what I should or shouldn't have done, how I should have played it. If I ever get out of here --
Let's stop there. I intend to get out of here. It can't last forever. Others have thought such things...
When I get out of here, if I'm ever able to set this down, in any form, even in the form of one voice to another, it will be a reconstruction then too, at yet another remove. It's impossible to say a thing exactly the way it was, because what you say can never be exact, you always have to leave something out, there are too many parts, sides, crosscurrents, nuances; too many gestures, which could mean this or that, too many shapes which can never be fully described, too many flavours, in the air or on the tongue, half-colours too many.
...
But remember that forgiveness too is a power. To beg for it is a power, and to withhold or bestow it is a power, perhaps the greatest.
(From Margaret Atwood's A Handmaid's Tale)
Friday, July 30, 2010
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punitive nightmares // 4:23 pm
Sometimes it seems as though when my life gets a little out of hand, it throws itself into my slumber, my subconscious. My sleeping is not sleeping, as though I were an insomniac, as though I am truly, living every moment to the fullest, even in the night. The nightmares are not of some monsters, as the children say, nor are they of the bloodcurdling genres, but they are of tenderness lost, kindness never to be got again, warmth -- again, that smothering warmth -- that heart-wrenching, abyss-falling feeling of losing what one once had, losing
touch. It is this feeling that I must carry on my fatigued, already-burdened shoulders in the morning to work, to my walks, to the MTR, to life.
He warms her with such sincerity, such hope that she wishes would falter quickly -- but it obviously doesn't. And simultaneously, he leaves her again: coldly, abrasively even. Even in the dreams, he is evasive.
She must outwit him, thwart his danger, his whims and the risks he presents to her. Oh, those tempting trifles!
Memories haunt me still. I see the past everywhere. He says to not live in the past and future. I find it troubling and difficult to live in my present when he - my past him - keeps haunting me.
Timorous, my friend says. And I must admit, I am also reluctant to confess such sensations.
Speaking of my friend, really going to miss her... too much. Anywhere in the world, I hope we stay the way we are.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
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underestimated the power of vulnerability // 10:57 pm
Reading another Atwood, much more intense, this one is.
"Nobody's heart is perfect." - Margaret Atwood in
A Handmaid's TaleI believe it's the disappointment that plagues me. Frankly, I thought better of him and it scares me to think that let my guard down... too much. Which gets me thinking, maybe I let my guard down too frequently, too perpetually even.
...and step sideways out of my own time. Out of time. Though this is time, nor am I out of it.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
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EMERGENCY EXIT, please // 10:47 pm
Living in this cruel dystopian world, like some futuristic nightmare, some exhausting wasteland that has been somebody's premonition long ago.
I am too vulnerable, made myself too vulnerable, when I thought I had a shell ready and polished. Turns out it was only a ragged cloth I had when I thought it was chain mail. Now when I implode into myself, there is nothing I can say (or do). I am walking in and out of the past simultaneously with this mortifying present. I am so filled with disgust and I can hardly contain the anger, (or is it green envy?); I refuse to believe or confess that I have fallen far.
That uncontrollable, runaway devil by the name of emotion. Who is controlling me, and so who's to say I can't exit now? How does one run off unscathed?
And so, where is my emergency exit?
synaesthesia - too much of this can be harmful
I want to vomit incessantly and this feeling won't go away.
Friday, July 16, 2010
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October 14, 2008 // 10:13 am
I re-read that post today. It's sad how I know exactly how I felt back then. Maybe a little dose of Him-Him would help. He's literally a kiddy boy version of Taeyang and G-Dragon smashed together. Absolutely adorable. That should take my mind off things.....
Her Other Self
What scares her most is the vague memories that arise sometimes... and then there's that slight suspicion that it's all in her mind, replaying out and convincing her stupid blinded self that maybe it's all her subconscious being stupid.
She sees things of them in him, it's intriguing... push and meddle with the heart. She is fickle. She is so, so fickle.
Instead, she wishes for a little capricious(ness).
I wait now, for nothing. I am a pyromania once again... playing with the invisible fire, that devilish thing that catches your eye but once you lean in to touch, you singe, you burn, you slow dance.
That burning room is too enticing.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
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please stop waiting // 11:20 pm
So you find me repulsive and unworthy.
She feels so stupid for waiting.Initiating is not in the question, please don't venture.
Please don't hold any expectation. Please. Please....
I can't hold the emotion in. Apparently it's very evident in my palm.
In the process, I lost too many.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
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happy ending? // 3:14 pm
... and that falling feeling again.
She's too stupid to realize how stupid she is.
Just fall down a well will you? I hate this.
There's a time to admit defeat and I think the time is, well, now.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
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courier service // 1:10 am
Why did she think of those moments suddenly?
It came over her like a grey cloud and she thought all the "what-ifs" to herself then sighed. There are or were no "what-ifs". It's just her own stupidity.
Recurring, recurring, she sees it in the present and the past muddled together. Afraid to look up and smile, afraid to nod, afraid she'll meet the eye of someone she does not want to meet.
Friday, July 02, 2010
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addicted // 11:59 pm
She thinks she's addicted to that feeling. The rush. She practices conversations on streets. She looks like an idiot thinking about things.
Things, ah.
Can't you see see? She's addicted again but all she can do is wait and watch the chance slip away....