talking of Michaelangelo.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
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rooted // 7:08 pm
I saw a girl today, teenager, she looked young. But her face looked old and weary of the world. Her eyes sunken.
The mall was the usual, swarming with people, bustling, moving, always moving.
And she was standing right in the middle of everyone walking, people pushed past her, but her feet were planted, rooted firmly to the ground.
She swayed a little and looked a bit like she was in a trance. It was an odd scene.
Sometimes I feel like her, but I don't have the physical inclination or the courage to do what she was doing. Maybe she couldn't control herself.
It was odd watching her or thinking about her afterwards. I wanted to give her a hug or something to set her in motion again. She looked like she could use a jump start.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
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day of the dead cockroaches // 5:35 pm
I don't get it, I probably spotted at least 8 or 9 dead ones on the street ... squashed by human feet.
My grandmothers have the cutest farts ever. And they're not bashful about it at all. They have TV sounding farts. I love them.
Losing and losing........ a lot of weight.
I need to stuff my face like a "ravenous little animal" and get all that fat back. (I think my grandmothers are more than willing to help.)
Thursday, October 27, 2011
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in-between // 12:53 pm
consciousness.
Been having problems sleeping. Not so much falling into it (a problem from before), but not being able to control the waking.
The dreaming has been vivid and mostly carries anxiety, always leaving me feeling slightly unsettled, unnerved, unable to go back to sleep, then thoughts drift, tangential; and the final phase is always me begging, begging someone or something to let me go back to sleep. (And of course there’s the nasty cough too.)
contiguous.
Perhaps what a friend says is right – subconsciously I’m a nervous jittery wreck. I don’t want to mess up anything. But what is there to mess up anyway? Relax, girly.
The father is retiring and I am happy for him. In his words, “You may wish to know that my decision for retirement is partially facilitated by your ability of getting a job and your financial independence.” Oh, daddy.
mindlessness.
What do I need to be free from?
random words on a page.
I also think Steve Jobs was a fascinating man.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
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// 10:31 pm
What are you waiting for?
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
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things will be better // 5:48 am
window pane framed sunrise
Just creeps up on you... the day.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
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lost // 7:21 pm
I don't want to go. I only want to stay and stay and stay. I don't want to go.
I don't want to give you hurt. I don't know how to fight or what to fight even when all I do is fight. Fight you. Fight myself.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
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// 5:20 pm
I hate it. I hate waiting.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
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agua caliente // 12:50 am
I have a soul that sings and dances and nothing can stop me.
Heck, I can't even stop me.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
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flurry // 6:15 pm
I was transfixed today, as I stood there, doing what I always do - wait.
I stood alone and I watched the mist lingering, sprawling over the mountains like a damp clingy cloth.
And from a certain angle (I always see things from certain angles these days), I watched the rain.
The rain was silent, it wasn't tumbling down like it was in a hurry. It was drifting in slow motion... felt soft -- it was like..... snow. My eyes must've been playing tricks on me because sometimes it felt so slow, it came to a pause. Rain suspended midair. I wanted to touch it, be with it, be in it. I wanted to
be it.
And at that moment my heart tugged with longing for home, for that place where I used to stay out and watch snow float, watch it suspend in the air for moments before joining the rest of the fluff.
Forced out of my moment once again by the end of the waiting, the sound of the lift rolling open for me to be on my way.
I turned to look down once more before I returned to ... and I saw the rain pitter patter down on the concrete floor... I woke. Rain.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
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// 7:47 pm
.... a moment pregnant with thought.
Saturday, October 08, 2011
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sharp // 9:48 am
All night, half awake, half not.
You with me and then not again. Not exactly dreaming. What did you call the night again? The other side of the morning? Another life? God, I can't find the words you used for it. I miss our conversations at night.
Vivid dreaming.
I feel like I've been doing so many things, packing them in, not giving myself a moment to breathe.
I was sitting at a strangely particular and peculiar angle on the minibus yesterday...looking out. Watching the outside from inside this strange emporium like place or inside an aquarium. I didn't belong to myself. Jaundiced glow of the night lights, sometimes reddish. Momentarily suffocated by thought. I became a spectator of another world that I was completely unfamiliar with. Became the spectator of myself in that world. I forgot where I was, looked around and forgot who I was. One of those moments but contained, trapped in it- claustro. Squished into this other... this other that I couldn't put my finger on. I said to myself "Don't panic, you're in Hong Kong, on a minibus." The bus driver's cursing forced me out of the state. And on I rode, late. Always late.
Minibus Emporium.
Wednesday, October 05, 2011
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thoroughly // 10:37 pm
Thank you for a week of undeserved good. You've given and given and I have not given much back.
I live now as though I were not my own but always together, not apart. You've given me much to remember you by and too much to miss you with. In the morning, I wake and feel empty and wish you were there.
My fingers, like raindrops, but you, like a typhoon. Can't forget you. Your eyes and kisses. I own territory, you better take care of it.
Oceans... oceans...
Don't (won't) indulge.
Saturday, October 01, 2011
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buttons // 9:50 pm
When you're going up or down or sometimes you feel like it's both, you hear things. A grey wash, you are tired. The fluorescent light and the buttons -- you suspect the plastic sheet protector has never been changed, the floors never been washed.
In that small space you are confined to this noise, the whirring of the machine taking you up, and the red numbers on a black screen climbing as you climb, by evens.
You think of the possibility of being trapped in.
But then you hear other worlds, between 8 to 10 or 20 to 22, you hear giggles of children or snippets of a conversation about the upcoming meal, or muttered arguments of a stale couple. Blurry, but in the quiet you hear it like tuning in (but only for split seconds) after much white noise. You are sucked in to these other worlds, these other people, these other smells, these other quarrels, they are not added to you, you are added to them.
As if you could see, touch, feel, but you could only hear.
And for moments you're not allowed to escape their world, the many worlds, this world. For the moments before you step into your own corner, you must be thrown, pushed, forced into other worlds - by sound.
