River running wide and smooth,
With gentle ripples and splashes few.
Is it possible to lose a river? The ridiculous situations I find myself in. But here I am, on what used to be the banks of a wide river that ran straight across the winding country. Or at least I think this is where it used to be.
When I had left, this river held nothing more to me than drowned dreams, another barrier to my long awaited freedom and a flat pebble or two lying at the bottom of those clear waves. For, to cross that river was to have this town and everything it held at an arms length where it could not infect me with its lack of purpose. The idleness of its occupants repulsed youthful energy. Many an evening would sidetrack from the dimmed shops to a walk beside the river. When the tide was out, one could follow the swirling trails of mud it left behind on the strained banks where the grass sank slowly to dip its longest stems into cool liquid life. Like gentle fingers, the ebbing currents carved furrows into the earth, and soon, soft thick grass would shoot from those patches of rich earth to pattern the lawn. If one was lucky, they’d think the fairies had passed here, dancing in their rings, lushness expelled from their dainty bodies upon brushing mother earth.
The river cut this town from the rest of the world. It was a buffer against the busy activities that buzzed on the other bank, where everything slows down as soon as it touches the water. If one stood at the other bank looking in, they would be able to imagine that time sped past slower here, for every minute in the real world, only a second was passed here. On my frequent trips around the streets, only one person could regularly be seen, the others coming and going as they may, slowly, sparsely. Holding the bright embroideries in her hand, Mary would skip down in her blue cotton gown, waiting to show me her work. But that was many years ago, and she too had been chased away and worn down. Married, they tell me. Married and went off to God knows where. That seemed to be the natural order of things.
At times, I wondered why I returned. This place had been my very first prison, and now, after finding my freedom and wondering for the first time in many, many seasons if I could still find a home. Anywhere could be a home when one has seen the world, but it was good to have sentimental reminders of the past haunting my wearied steps. The mango tree in the garden had died, as typical, mortal joys do. The house would’ve been unlivable, left the way it was. The garden bench had rusted beyond recognition, they sigh, wearily. For it would have to be removed at their expense. The houses have changed, the old Victorians becoming too cumbersome, too worn down and utterly too beautiful to maintain. But where was my river?
Let Imagination Possess A Pen, And What Results Will Be Beautiful
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Worthy
Round and Round and Round.
There's absolutely nothing better than a trip down the memory lane is there?
No really, I mean it.
You can start off with the most innocent object that can possibly exist on the surface of this planet. Take for example... a totally unrelated object, the epitome of neutrality, a ball. Any ball will do. You notice its shape, which is predictably, hopefully, round. Round, as in like, circles, as in like, circle from friends, as in like, friendship, as in like, relationships, as in like bad experiences with relationships... Anyway, I'm sure you get what I mean. Before you know it, KABAM, you're hit in the face with something you thought you'd buried deep enough for it to be melted inside that jumbled mess of a box marked "Subconciousness". Even better, it would've eventually leaked into the "Forgotten" hole. But no, it was not to be so easily scrapped.
At times you think to yourself, what if, just what if, I never took trips down the memory lane. Certainly, life would be much more productive, so much time would be saved from having to think about the evitable and unchangeable past, chores would get done much quicker, people would NOT linger in pouring rain and acting all sentimental about useless objects. We'd be more focused on the future, probably abit happier too. Hell, we know we buried those things deep inside our mental junk for a reason.
But without those unplanned incursions into the depth of our conciousness, many many hours of entertainment would most certainly be lost. Sitting there, alone at the bus stop or waiting patiently for the train arriving in 29 minutes, how many people unconciously drift into memory, with a sweet, blank smile on their face. People dub it as nostalgia, people write about it, sing about it, even paint it. Da vinci's Mona Lisa is a typical example of nostalgia gone famous. Broken dreams, shattered ambitions, lost loves, obliterated lives, they all seem to install themselves into our memory and root themselves more firmly than anything else. Even the answers to the next maths examination.
At the end of the day, perhaps we are all better off as we consume our dinners while thinking back to some delicious gourmet meal that had long since lost its taste on our tongues, or listening to the distant albeit loud thud thud thud of our neighbours music while reminiscing on the haunting piano tune some faceless lover used to play. It keeps us happy and gives us something to remember our lives as being worthwhile lived.
- Blood
There's absolutely nothing better than a trip down the memory lane is there?
No really, I mean it.
You can start off with the most innocent object that can possibly exist on the surface of this planet. Take for example... a totally unrelated object, the epitome of neutrality, a ball. Any ball will do. You notice its shape, which is predictably, hopefully, round. Round, as in like, circles, as in like, circle from friends, as in like, friendship, as in like, relationships, as in like bad experiences with relationships... Anyway, I'm sure you get what I mean. Before you know it, KABAM, you're hit in the face with something you thought you'd buried deep enough for it to be melted inside that jumbled mess of a box marked "Subconciousness". Even better, it would've eventually leaked into the "Forgotten" hole. But no, it was not to be so easily scrapped.
At times you think to yourself, what if, just what if, I never took trips down the memory lane. Certainly, life would be much more productive, so much time would be saved from having to think about the evitable and unchangeable past, chores would get done much quicker, people would NOT linger in pouring rain and acting all sentimental about useless objects. We'd be more focused on the future, probably abit happier too. Hell, we know we buried those things deep inside our mental junk for a reason.
But without those unplanned incursions into the depth of our conciousness, many many hours of entertainment would most certainly be lost. Sitting there, alone at the bus stop or waiting patiently for the train arriving in 29 minutes, how many people unconciously drift into memory, with a sweet, blank smile on their face. People dub it as nostalgia, people write about it, sing about it, even paint it. Da vinci's Mona Lisa is a typical example of nostalgia gone famous. Broken dreams, shattered ambitions, lost loves, obliterated lives, they all seem to install themselves into our memory and root themselves more firmly than anything else. Even the answers to the next maths examination.
At the end of the day, perhaps we are all better off as we consume our dinners while thinking back to some delicious gourmet meal that had long since lost its taste on our tongues, or listening to the distant albeit loud thud thud thud of our neighbours music while reminiscing on the haunting piano tune some faceless lover used to play. It keeps us happy and gives us something to remember our lives as being worthwhile lived.
- Blood
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Half Speak
Tangible Anticipation milled around the Sydney Opera House that evening.
And to those ignorant of the purpose, it seemed strange
That so many should gather in their finery at such a place
Without there being any program on for the night.
But for many of those floating in a sea of silks, spots of color against living night
It is their first time ever to see such a sight
Who could blame them to be zealous and wanting the spotlight
To themselves for awhile against the darkening sky?
Hello, you look fabulous as always, and I hadn't recognized you in that dress.
What changes? "I try hard everyday" And they all laugh.
Anything, almost anything will pass today I thought
As I watched her chase a rather skittish blob of black up the stairs.
To see Your Name against the roll, ah! so it is true and we are here.
It's hard to imagine what the next five hours will be like
Besides the fact we know it will be exciting as we anticipated
Because we spent so much time anticipating.
So many faces flash past, Hi, Sorry I don't quite remember your name.
It's alright because you don’t quite remember mine either
And everyone's confident of themselves somewhat.
With the stories floating around like wildfire in the wind.
FLASH, click click, whirls, followed by other automated noises.
A moment captured in memory, mostly faces
Truth be told, what we really want to capture really can’t be captured.
Because textures, smells, feelings fade while faces and dresses don't.
AH! Follow the crowd draining out of the nature reception way
We don’t know what's there but we can feel it in the air
And as we round the bend, sure not to disappoint
Gasps of surprise at the Starship waiting there.
We were orderly, none wanting to ruin this moment in our memory.
Cooperative, like we have hardly ever been before.
The untamable tamed and tempers evened for today,
Just for today while we board.
It seemed short. It took pretty long but, we were excited.
And everything happened too fast for us even in slow motion.
Feeling the solidity of the ground leave our feet,
We were swept up in this wave, the flow of the whole night.
And feeling much beyond our years, we watched the sunset
With clanging glasses and wind-swept skirts for conversation
Both wishing that perhaps it could've been different, someone else.
Surprised with the lack of regret or disappointment, not now.
Feeling just a little lost for the first time, there were really too many faces
That people would wonder off with, one by one,
Until that group was left with only a few standing there, wondering
Where they were, where everyone else had gone.
But soon, they would find their anchor, and begin to float in that room
Then it would be someone else’s turn to look around
Push their way through the crowds around the plush, neat, square sofas
Treading directionless on the deep toned carpet without a sound.
One could easily tell that only a handful, perhaps, were used to this
I mean, come one, who'd ever have to choose from three sets of knifes before?
And truth be told, they looked pretty similar, who cared?
It was there for enjoyment and nothing more.
The rest of the night progressed as it should have.
No one judged each other on the dance floor, I hope
Though the fact that everyone was pretty clueless would've contributed
Just let go they said, it's not like the people looking down cared.
Up and down the stairs and I'm glad I was prepared for this.
Everyone was special that night during one time or another.
And beneath the bridge lit with earth bound stars and wheeling glitter
This episode was made perfect perhaps, by the lights of Luna Park.
Most of the night was a blur filled by laughter, music and pain
And I dare to say that all the girls sighed with relief
Upon being relieved of their heels and touching sweet, sweet grass
Wishing their weight was much lighter, vowing never to repeat this episode.
Stumbling half dead into bed, I wonder how the others could still go on
Waking up this morning, wondering where the hours had gone
If I had dreamed it all, until I saw in front of my bed,
Two purple balloons bobbing happily in the sun.
----------------------------------------------------
What realizations do the Wise make?
Buried in their books,
They discover the world for us.
Perhaps the eccentric aren't so at all.
They merely see the world
In ways we will never understand.
When will the weary rest at ease?
It depends, mostly
On where they are trying to reach.
As for when the world will end,
Well, that's better asked
As when will Humans stop existing.
----------------------------------------------------
Life as the shadow of some Greater Glory
Many don't doubt life as a test of some sorts.
But trials for what purpose?
And thus this question led to the development of concepts.
Afterlife, heaven, immortal sections of us captured timelessly.
We cannot begin to accept that perhaps, our existence is insignificant to the world.
And we try to prove our point through destruction of what’s around us in the name of "creation" and "for the greater good"
-----------------------------------------------------
- Blood
And to those ignorant of the purpose, it seemed strange
That so many should gather in their finery at such a place
Without there being any program on for the night.
But for many of those floating in a sea of silks, spots of color against living night
It is their first time ever to see such a sight
Who could blame them to be zealous and wanting the spotlight
To themselves for awhile against the darkening sky?
Hello, you look fabulous as always, and I hadn't recognized you in that dress.
What changes? "I try hard everyday" And they all laugh.
Anything, almost anything will pass today I thought
As I watched her chase a rather skittish blob of black up the stairs.
To see Your Name against the roll, ah! so it is true and we are here.
It's hard to imagine what the next five hours will be like
Besides the fact we know it will be exciting as we anticipated
Because we spent so much time anticipating.
So many faces flash past, Hi, Sorry I don't quite remember your name.
It's alright because you don’t quite remember mine either
And everyone's confident of themselves somewhat.
With the stories floating around like wildfire in the wind.
FLASH, click click, whirls, followed by other automated noises.
A moment captured in memory, mostly faces
Truth be told, what we really want to capture really can’t be captured.
Because textures, smells, feelings fade while faces and dresses don't.
AH! Follow the crowd draining out of the nature reception way
We don’t know what's there but we can feel it in the air
And as we round the bend, sure not to disappoint
Gasps of surprise at the Starship waiting there.
We were orderly, none wanting to ruin this moment in our memory.
Cooperative, like we have hardly ever been before.
The untamable tamed and tempers evened for today,
Just for today while we board.
It seemed short. It took pretty long but, we were excited.
And everything happened too fast for us even in slow motion.
Feeling the solidity of the ground leave our feet,
We were swept up in this wave, the flow of the whole night.
And feeling much beyond our years, we watched the sunset
With clanging glasses and wind-swept skirts for conversation
Both wishing that perhaps it could've been different, someone else.
Surprised with the lack of regret or disappointment, not now.
Feeling just a little lost for the first time, there were really too many faces
That people would wonder off with, one by one,
Until that group was left with only a few standing there, wondering
Where they were, where everyone else had gone.
But soon, they would find their anchor, and begin to float in that room
Then it would be someone else’s turn to look around
Push their way through the crowds around the plush, neat, square sofas
Treading directionless on the deep toned carpet without a sound.
One could easily tell that only a handful, perhaps, were used to this
I mean, come one, who'd ever have to choose from three sets of knifes before?
And truth be told, they looked pretty similar, who cared?
It was there for enjoyment and nothing more.
The rest of the night progressed as it should have.
No one judged each other on the dance floor, I hope
Though the fact that everyone was pretty clueless would've contributed
Just let go they said, it's not like the people looking down cared.
Up and down the stairs and I'm glad I was prepared for this.
Everyone was special that night during one time or another.
And beneath the bridge lit with earth bound stars and wheeling glitter
This episode was made perfect perhaps, by the lights of Luna Park.
Most of the night was a blur filled by laughter, music and pain
And I dare to say that all the girls sighed with relief
Upon being relieved of their heels and touching sweet, sweet grass
Wishing their weight was much lighter, vowing never to repeat this episode.
Stumbling half dead into bed, I wonder how the others could still go on
Waking up this morning, wondering where the hours had gone
If I had dreamed it all, until I saw in front of my bed,
Two purple balloons bobbing happily in the sun.
----------------------------------------------------
What realizations do the Wise make?
Buried in their books,
They discover the world for us.
Perhaps the eccentric aren't so at all.
They merely see the world
In ways we will never understand.
When will the weary rest at ease?
It depends, mostly
On where they are trying to reach.
As for when the world will end,
Well, that's better asked
As when will Humans stop existing.
----------------------------------------------------
Life as the shadow of some Greater Glory
Many don't doubt life as a test of some sorts.
But trials for what purpose?
And thus this question led to the development of concepts.
Afterlife, heaven, immortal sections of us captured timelessly.
We cannot begin to accept that perhaps, our existence is insignificant to the world.
And we try to prove our point through destruction of what’s around us in the name of "creation" and "for the greater good"
-----------------------------------------------------
- Blood
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Look, Halo!
REWRITE~~~
Not sure what I need,
It's not here, without a doubt,
Fly away into the night
Know how to do without.
Listening, so far away
The sound that's ringing out.
Leading me on this path
Making my heartbeat shout.
Drawing cirlces in the sky
Waiting for the pouring rains
Standing out in the dark
Wash away these teary stains
This time wont be bad,
the clouds will fade away,
the sky will turn to blue,
and the world wont be grey.
Hey love, do you dream now and then
Of a house and many friends
Maybe a family with time to spend
Piles of news to send?
Hey love, dont you worry about me
Just enjoy this moment please
Don't clouds your eyes with doubt
Sometimes you just gotta be free
Hey love, Hey love
Dont you worry about me
------------------------------------------------------------------
You'd notice that this can be sung to "halo" by beyonce. When I first heard it, really thought it was hey love xD
Not sure what I need,
It's not here, without a doubt,
Fly away into the night
Know how to do without.
Listening, so far away
The sound that's ringing out.
Leading me on this path
Making my heartbeat shout.
Drawing cirlces in the sky
Waiting for the pouring rains
Standing out in the dark
Wash away these teary stains
This time wont be bad,
the clouds will fade away,
the sky will turn to blue,
and the world wont be grey.
Hey love, do you dream now and then
Of a house and many friends
Maybe a family with time to spend
Piles of news to send?
Hey love, dont you worry about me
Just enjoy this moment please
Don't clouds your eyes with doubt
Sometimes you just gotta be free
Hey love, Hey love
Dont you worry about me
------------------------------------------------------------------
You'd notice that this can be sung to "halo" by beyonce. When I first heard it, really thought it was hey love xD
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Mentality
Just as cracked mirrors are to self loathing,
I am to a spinning vortex.
Just leave, take few, leave more, and run.
But I tire easily, what now?
The idleness of transportation would drive me insane
Even while taking me fast and further away
Than I could ever manage on my own.
There's dependence, there's emotion,
Both not good for a healthy pride.
Supposedly a mortal sin by the book of God,
If such one exists amongst us miserable creatures.
Searching every nook and cranny of the earth for answers,
Best found within ourselves, if only we'd look hard enough.
If we'd only see we brought this on to ourselves.
And then there are those who deny their existance,
Throwing away their lives to the oceans
Not knowing that this, all this, is apart of the experience.
Some are better off than others, some are worse.
It's all a matter of balance, equality and harsh injustice.
But who are we to judge what is right and what is not?
Seen only as another grey pebble in the endlessly blue sea.
As the moon shines tonight, a small fraction of us will see it.
What good is light when we forget to appreciate
How it lights up our eyes, our road, our life, our surroundings,
And how we see everything so much clearer now.
Similarly, I needed a light for the mind's eye
One to point me in the right direction,
Show me a path to reconcile with dreams and aspirations.
Seeing the rain now, beating, drumming, streaming
It is hard to imagine that somewhere,
A dry parched earth is begging towards the clear sky.
Holding the red dirt in my fingers, they leak
Out from my cupped hand and streaming
Like red, red blood into the wind, diluted by the air
Until it seemed matter could simply disintergrate.
All the while, my mind's eye is still hazy,
Watering with precious drops, evaporated before they fall.
Relieving the parched winds of its emotionlessness somewhat,
There are only two things to do now, alas
Both are not within my power to control my heart.
Just as ice will melt under a blazing sun, inevitably
Time will freeze me in it's icy vaults.
Burn, Bleed, Die for my peace of mind,
It seemed like an absurd request, deservingly,
And quite understandable if you could see into me,
Into this spinning vortex of confusion and clarity
Mixed into a creamy grey, swirling, concoction.
Yet for all it's sinister thoughts and inflictions of pain,
It is quite sought after and precious when found.
Even when physical light engulfs my mind
And tightly closed eyelids cannot help but glow
The eloquent silence shouts out it's protests
Into my mind, Never out, It comes now.
With a wave, that flimsy, overpowering light
Is conquered by the dark flames of reassuring, solid mentality.
Like the dark wings of death claiming life.
Still, through all of this, your visage remains,
Burning it's image into the clear cold glass
Framing the windows into my soul, so they say.
And wave after wave, they cannot wash away this imprint
Until the very ocean tires from it's endeavours.
I'm left wondering why, why, why and how this can be
That a simple spot of white could blemish my perfectly dark sea.
I am to a spinning vortex.
Just leave, take few, leave more, and run.
But I tire easily, what now?
The idleness of transportation would drive me insane
Even while taking me fast and further away
Than I could ever manage on my own.
There's dependence, there's emotion,
Both not good for a healthy pride.
Supposedly a mortal sin by the book of God,
If such one exists amongst us miserable creatures.
Searching every nook and cranny of the earth for answers,
Best found within ourselves, if only we'd look hard enough.
If we'd only see we brought this on to ourselves.
And then there are those who deny their existance,
Throwing away their lives to the oceans
Not knowing that this, all this, is apart of the experience.
Some are better off than others, some are worse.
It's all a matter of balance, equality and harsh injustice.
But who are we to judge what is right and what is not?
Seen only as another grey pebble in the endlessly blue sea.
As the moon shines tonight, a small fraction of us will see it.
What good is light when we forget to appreciate
How it lights up our eyes, our road, our life, our surroundings,
And how we see everything so much clearer now.
Similarly, I needed a light for the mind's eye
One to point me in the right direction,
Show me a path to reconcile with dreams and aspirations.
Seeing the rain now, beating, drumming, streaming
It is hard to imagine that somewhere,
A dry parched earth is begging towards the clear sky.
Holding the red dirt in my fingers, they leak
Out from my cupped hand and streaming
Like red, red blood into the wind, diluted by the air
Until it seemed matter could simply disintergrate.
All the while, my mind's eye is still hazy,
Watering with precious drops, evaporated before they fall.
Relieving the parched winds of its emotionlessness somewhat,
There are only two things to do now, alas
Both are not within my power to control my heart.
Just as ice will melt under a blazing sun, inevitably
Time will freeze me in it's icy vaults.
Burn, Bleed, Die for my peace of mind,
It seemed like an absurd request, deservingly,
And quite understandable if you could see into me,
Into this spinning vortex of confusion and clarity
Mixed into a creamy grey, swirling, concoction.
Yet for all it's sinister thoughts and inflictions of pain,
It is quite sought after and precious when found.
Even when physical light engulfs my mind
And tightly closed eyelids cannot help but glow
The eloquent silence shouts out it's protests
Into my mind, Never out, It comes now.
With a wave, that flimsy, overpowering light
Is conquered by the dark flames of reassuring, solid mentality.
Like the dark wings of death claiming life.
Still, through all of this, your visage remains,
Burning it's image into the clear cold glass
Framing the windows into my soul, so they say.
And wave after wave, they cannot wash away this imprint
Until the very ocean tires from it's endeavours.
I'm left wondering why, why, why and how this can be
That a simple spot of white could blemish my perfectly dark sea.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Day By Day
Drip…Drip…Drip.
There’s nothing like waking up to a dripping tap. The incessant annoyance that seems to fade just as you open your eyes, then crescendo into a brain cracking stake driving itself deeper between your skull as soon as you close the windows to your soul.
In your minds eye, the tap is no longer below your eye level but above, you gaze up and watch that blown up water drop gather at the edge of the tap, appearing from the black abyss of the pipes, grow, halt, tremble, fall. Falling, falling, seemingly on top of you, the coming down with a mind shattering CRASH right besides you, destroyed, with bits of water flying in every direction and the only evidence for its existence were scattered remains.
The longer those eyes are closed, the louder the dripping will get until your very world is drown by that one water drop hitting cold porcelain, each drip becomes a hammering, BOOM BOOM BOOM.
Petrified, you open your eyes. And once more, the sound of the dripping tap recedes, almost lost in the noise of life.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
It’s time to get up.
Tap…Tap…Tap…
Black leather pumps beat rhythmically on warm timber floors, twirling in front of the mirror. What ever shall be worn today? A smooth silk shirt slips gentle onto winter chapped skin, smoothness on smooth, and white against creamy gold, bordered by black beady buttons. Black hair tumbles neatly on to the shoulders and lies there, arranged in disarray. All this tucked at the ends with neatly arranged folds into a non-descript black skirt, cotton and silk mesh. Neat, simple colors or rather, the lack of.
A small hand runs down those curves once again, straightening out imaginary wrinkles and picking at illusionary loose fibres. Those hands liked the feel of smooth, downy material on tired, strained hands. The grooming ends, but those hands know no rest. They turn and grab the silvery white bag propped up against the door, briefly scrunching in distaste. The bag would suit a party more, too flashy and un-elegant for this attire. But there was no time to amend this breach of dress code. Work now.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Sharp, crisp footsteps disappear amongst the din of the traffic.
Rumble…Rumble…Rumble…
The subway was rather crowded today, per usual. Sardines of black suits and white shirts crammed into their tins. The platform was milling with people, some looking into a book, some looking through a newspaper, some burying their heads and minds into a brightly highlighted report, adding a dash of color to the otherwise monotonous colour scheme of the day. News, communication, connection.
No one notices the little boy who looked just a bit lost, a bit frightened and a bit filthy. But the train is filthy. The people are not. And yet, they seem to sigh in relief as they lean against a pole or door, not remembering that only that morning, they had spent much effort in smoothing out the invisible wrinkles, while now, wrinkles crack and branch from every movement.
That pair of black pumps could be heard before it was seen in the forest of legs, its tapping tempo increasing as the warning whistle sounded for its tin’s departure. A small spring, a flurry of skirts and ah! She has reached her reserved spot, nestled against her peers, blending into that web of black and white contrast. The doors slide close, sealed with a click and off they go, on another adventure to work.
Rumble. Rumble. Rumble.
The train picks up speed and distances itself from the loading dock.
Tick…Tick…Tick…
The second hand seemed to move extra slowly today. People waded about in slow-motion. The air seemed thick, the ground unsubstantial, gravity indefinite and light came and went in hazy streams that trickled in and out between the moths beating in slow motion against the lamps. The piercing shrills of the telephone beating against weary eardrums were dull. The computer beamed out a sleep inducing pillar of blue light against eyes that reflected the light right back. Nothing was entering. Disconnect for today.
The clock all but halts its painful process. Eyelids hid glazed over eyes. Just another day to dream. All of a sudden, time speeds past. It’s sunset, time to go now.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Life’s just passing by.
-Blood
There’s nothing like waking up to a dripping tap. The incessant annoyance that seems to fade just as you open your eyes, then crescendo into a brain cracking stake driving itself deeper between your skull as soon as you close the windows to your soul.
In your minds eye, the tap is no longer below your eye level but above, you gaze up and watch that blown up water drop gather at the edge of the tap, appearing from the black abyss of the pipes, grow, halt, tremble, fall. Falling, falling, seemingly on top of you, the coming down with a mind shattering CRASH right besides you, destroyed, with bits of water flying in every direction and the only evidence for its existence were scattered remains.
The longer those eyes are closed, the louder the dripping will get until your very world is drown by that one water drop hitting cold porcelain, each drip becomes a hammering, BOOM BOOM BOOM.
Petrified, you open your eyes. And once more, the sound of the dripping tap recedes, almost lost in the noise of life.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
It’s time to get up.
Tap…Tap…Tap…
Black leather pumps beat rhythmically on warm timber floors, twirling in front of the mirror. What ever shall be worn today? A smooth silk shirt slips gentle onto winter chapped skin, smoothness on smooth, and white against creamy gold, bordered by black beady buttons. Black hair tumbles neatly on to the shoulders and lies there, arranged in disarray. All this tucked at the ends with neatly arranged folds into a non-descript black skirt, cotton and silk mesh. Neat, simple colors or rather, the lack of.
A small hand runs down those curves once again, straightening out imaginary wrinkles and picking at illusionary loose fibres. Those hands liked the feel of smooth, downy material on tired, strained hands. The grooming ends, but those hands know no rest. They turn and grab the silvery white bag propped up against the door, briefly scrunching in distaste. The bag would suit a party more, too flashy and un-elegant for this attire. But there was no time to amend this breach of dress code. Work now.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Sharp, crisp footsteps disappear amongst the din of the traffic.
Rumble…Rumble…Rumble…
The subway was rather crowded today, per usual. Sardines of black suits and white shirts crammed into their tins. The platform was milling with people, some looking into a book, some looking through a newspaper, some burying their heads and minds into a brightly highlighted report, adding a dash of color to the otherwise monotonous colour scheme of the day. News, communication, connection.
No one notices the little boy who looked just a bit lost, a bit frightened and a bit filthy. But the train is filthy. The people are not. And yet, they seem to sigh in relief as they lean against a pole or door, not remembering that only that morning, they had spent much effort in smoothing out the invisible wrinkles, while now, wrinkles crack and branch from every movement.
That pair of black pumps could be heard before it was seen in the forest of legs, its tapping tempo increasing as the warning whistle sounded for its tin’s departure. A small spring, a flurry of skirts and ah! She has reached her reserved spot, nestled against her peers, blending into that web of black and white contrast. The doors slide close, sealed with a click and off they go, on another adventure to work.
Rumble. Rumble. Rumble.
The train picks up speed and distances itself from the loading dock.
Tick…Tick…Tick…
The second hand seemed to move extra slowly today. People waded about in slow-motion. The air seemed thick, the ground unsubstantial, gravity indefinite and light came and went in hazy streams that trickled in and out between the moths beating in slow motion against the lamps. The piercing shrills of the telephone beating against weary eardrums were dull. The computer beamed out a sleep inducing pillar of blue light against eyes that reflected the light right back. Nothing was entering. Disconnect for today.
The clock all but halts its painful process. Eyelids hid glazed over eyes. Just another day to dream. All of a sudden, time speeds past. It’s sunset, time to go now.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Life’s just passing by.
-Blood
Friday, October 2, 2009
Actually
Love me if you may,
Turn this darkness into day.
Scorn me if you must
Blot my out sun with dusk.
Just dont pretend you don't know.
Don't tell me you dont really care.
Dont whisper that I'm really not that important.
These truths that I cannot bear.
If I said that you were kind, would you stop being kind to me?
If I said I loved your laugh, would you stop laughing.
If I said there was something I wanted, would you take it away?
If I said I merely just do, would you still be willing to stay?
Turn this darkness into day.
Scorn me if you must
Blot my out sun with dusk.
Just dont pretend you don't know.
Don't tell me you dont really care.
Dont whisper that I'm really not that important.
These truths that I cannot bear.
If I said that you were kind, would you stop being kind to me?
If I said I loved your laugh, would you stop laughing.
If I said there was something I wanted, would you take it away?
If I said I merely just do, would you still be willing to stay?
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