My Dear we're slow dancing in a burning room
|
Sunday, September 26, 2010, 2:19 AM
It's 2:25am on a Sunday morning and i should probably go to bed. Probably. Then again, i could come up with a list filled with things i probably should have done but didn't. Fridays and Saturdays seem like the pots of gold that stand at the end of the rainbow we're all chasing. Once the weekend hits, it feels like nothing else in the world exists. One fleeting moment of joy you could squeeze out of the incredibly bovine week that just passed by. Rapid, rapidly flying by. One Sunday, another, and another, and another, and another make 5 Sundays. That's more than a month. 5 dinners at my grandma's house all add up to more than a month. The same old conversation at the same old table, my Uncle's eyes seem to droop more every week. Food's the same, so is the smell. But it's moving so fast. Feels too surreal sometimes. As if we're standing on the edge of all that once was and all that will be, teetering on the pinpoint of a platform that rose from the barricade that separates the two. Yes i know what you mean, don't look at me like that. I know exactly what you're thinking. Why do you have to be so far?
Wednesday, September 22, 2010, 9:07 PM
It's just one of those counterpoints that meet for a split second in the things around us even for a fleeting moment in time, a quick yet strong equilibrium that just exists so perfectly that nothing can be said to judge it. Like two bullets meeting head on and slipping away from each other the split of a nano-second after they kiss. I'm too caught up in my own emotions to actually go anywhere. This seeming distance travelled isn't actually anything. I'm not getting anywhere with myself here. I need to find a way to change that. Sure come on over, i'll just say something completely off and unplanned. Changes things though, doesn't it? One word to another and another, like flipping coins over and over again, dissatisfaction. Suddenly realize that we're just trapped in this tiresome routine, 'cyclical and repetitive nature,' yea thanks beckett, loud and clear. This inability to express myself. I'm trapped in the notion of constantly using unconventional metaphors to tell you all what i'm feeling. I need to expand this notion. I'm sure i could go at least a week without saying 'i feel like i'm swimming in an ocean of germ-infested needles.' If i'm going to pursue a career where words are golden weapons, i need to get comfortable with my own mind. That rush i'm getting too often now, i need to control it. Sieving fragile test tubes from the swarm of metal shards heading straight for my face. I'm getting better at it. I wish there was some way to capture it like a photograph and let it lose whenever i needed it. This inconsistency is not gonna do me any good. I find it funny that the school compacts lessons in the morning to let us off the hook, free for self-study, by lunch time. Yet i have not gone back past 8 in the past week or so. Again. Feels just like old times. You, me and a sleepy train station. I have a long morning tomorrow and math in the afternoon. Performing at the arts house's playden on Friday afternoon, deconstruction of the masterpiece we crafted so affectionately. You could have just left it alone and let us off, but you just had to. Makes you feel like a superhero, balancing the A levels with a performance life in the industry. This is the last time? Yea alright. You said that 3 performances ago. I want to audition for something. I don't really care what. I want to jump into a university life where lectures are whenever i want it to be, where you could wear what you want, be who you want, live how you want, wake up at 9 for a lecture and head off for an audition or a call back somewhere. I need a change. I want a change. Hurry up and end, year, i'd trade anything for some Christmas pudding and a good long plane trip to the middle of nowhere. I should probably study right about now. Watch me flop on my bed and watch another episode of how i met your mother and not give a damn.
Sunday, September 12, 2010, 9:58 AM
It started in my stomach. A slight discomfort or a sharp jolt, almost as if someone has just stuck a 10-inch blade through your mid-riff. Pain. It turns into pain. Like a thousand red ants finding their way into your intestines and trying to tear your insides apart into a million bite-sized pieces. It grows like a skyscraper right before my eyes, the pain gets more intense. I try to convince myself that it's nothing, i'm the man with the iron stomach. How in the hell can anything happen to pure steel? I laugh it off and reach for my bottle of water across my desk. And then, more pain. Hits my arm like a bullet. A chain of bullets. Penetrating into my arms at fist then slowly into the rest of my body. My muscles spasm slightly as i struggle to regain control of myself on my chair. Almost instantly, that feeling arrives. Something i have never felt for years. I rush to the kitchen and grab a pail, messily stuffing a plastic bag inside it to try and cover up for what is about to happen. Useless. I grip the sides of the blue plastic pail and throw out my dinner. I feel like the merlion on a good day. My upchuck flies from my mouth like beam of light. I try to stop it. I try to hold back my vomit but my muscles disobey me. This goes on until i taste bile. The horrid bitterness of my insides greets my tastebuds like a splash of ice-cold water on the face of a new-born child. At last, my body gives up. There cannot possible be anything more inside my stomach that i can hurl. Sweat pouring down my face, soaking my shirt, i feel colder than ever. My head spins uncontrollably. I feel like a snake with a hundred snake charmers all around me playing a hundred different twisted tunes swaying my head in different directions. I feel cold, then i feel hot. I bury myself under my blankets and stare at my ceiling. My sense start to turn against me. With fevers come nightmares, something that hasn't changed since i was a child. Everything around me starts to feel fearsome. The slow sweeping of a broom brush outside my door turns into the growl of a monster. The soft hum of my air-con turns into the heavy breathing of a phantom menace. I close my eyes but i still see. Images of war, hate, blood, death. Screaming, shouting, cursing all around me. My friends and family hold spears and shields, daggers and knives in some medieval fight to the death. But more real than any movie can fantasize. Blood spits from the open wounds of my friends. You, running with a basket of fruit drop and roll down a hill with a knife sticking out from your neck. I scream but no one seems to hear me. I jump about wildly but no one seems to feel me. I pull a knife out of my primary school teacher's chest and stare at the blood turning into ants. My vision stops in a freeze frame and nothing else seems coherent. I put the knife gently into my stomach and pull it out in the most serene way possible. The sharp pain hits me and i wake up. Calm. Silence. My room feels the same way it always does. I stare down at my snow-white palms, my veins blue like the ocean stick out as a reminder that i'm only human. I pick up my phone and dial her number but she does not pick up. I leave a voice mail. "Mom, where are you? I miss you please come home soon."
Thursday, September 9, 2010, 1:35 AM
Get out for a bit, you tag along like a leech, we go on to meet her and do absolutely nothing. Best way to spend a Wednesday afternoon, fall in like rabbits to a hop parade, we get shushed twice like vile desolates wandering into a quiet library, walk into another world and listen to one person talk for an hour, spend the next 5 thinking about why we gave a damn, appreciating nonetheless. Or at least, trying. We disperse, like a drop of ink inside a larger pond. You leave. We head out, grab a couple drinks. I down a carlos, fuckin waste of $16. Went down like a shotgun round in thin air. I'll stick to my beer thanks. We wander the riverside like bums, people stop and stare. Underage? Course not. Just, youthful. I'll break that fucking camera if you snap another shot you skank. That's my brother you're putting your hands on, he doesn't need your flack offering so quit behaving like a cheap and lose slut. You can take your tight dress to the other side of town and try attracting some game there, they'd flock like bees to a honey dipped teaspoon and you'd go down like a cannon ball in the ocean. So go ahead, whore, make our day. My motion gets thrown off. One too many lagers. I shake my head to get my focus back. My head feels like a camera lens zooming in and out over and over again, in and out of focus. beeping. Battery's low. Slap my head quietly with a napkin and my world comes back. I thank my size for the large tolerance level. Suddenly i feel myself ebbing back through my body, i pick up my phone and highlight your name on the call list. I'm a little drunk and i think i need you now. But i don't call.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010, 2:31 AM
I am a walking paradox. I feel so extremely terrified when i think about it but so unbelievably confident at the same time. I want to whisper in your ear and pour out to you my world into a teacup but i don't want to. It's like i'm walking down the street taking a step forward and a step back right after that. Like i'm suspended in the middle of space, no gravity to pull me anywhere. I'm just floating in a space. There are a thousand things i want to do, want to tell you, but i can't. I don't think i can.
Saturday, September 4, 2010, 1:45 AM
Too many years have gone by without you saying a word. I thank god you finally show your world to me. Your mouth opens and words fly out like bullets heading straight for me. I can barely keep up with the pace you're going but it feels good to finally hear you speak. You. Not you behind that layer of insecurity and shadow. But just you. I hope you never forget, Brother, that i'm not going anywhere and i never have now nor will i ever judge you.
|
Vanity isn't a sin, a little narcissm wouldn't hurt.
The World would be a much lesser place without corndogs and pizzas.
Facebook
Andrew. Music. Food. People. What more could you possibly want?
|
One day when i wake up and find the motive and time to link anybody, i'll let you know.
+ Truth is, babe, I love you too.
+ Sometimes I walk out the door with a smile on my f...
+ Moments are a lot more real than what you make the...
+ Only when you can separate the mind from the heart...
+ Life is becoming a day old chewing gum that's gone...
+ The world has too much to say sometimes. Every ind...
+ It's starting to get dark now and the world around...
+ The heart is thrown into a free fall and the very ...
+ I've pictured that moment before. About one year a...
+ Hero. You think you're getting somewhere, slim, bu...
+ April 2007
+ May 2007
+ June 2007
+ July 2007
+ August 2007
+ September 2007
+ October 2007
+ November 2007
+ December 2007
+ January 2008
+ February 2008
+ March 2008
+ April 2008
+ May 2008
+ June 2008
+ July 2008
+ August 2008
+ September 2008
+ October 2008
+ November 2008
+ December 2008
+ January 2009
+ February 2009
+ March 2009
+ April 2009
+ May 2009
+ June 2009
+ July 2009
+ August 2009
+ September 2009
+ October 2009
+ November 2009
+ December 2009
+ January 2010
+ February 2010
+ March 2010
+ April 2010
+ June 2010
+ July 2010
+ August 2010
+ September 2010
+ October 2010
+ November 2010
+ December 2010
+ January 2011
+ February 2011
+ March 2011
+ April 2011
An accidentality production
Inspiration from DancingSheep & BONBON:D
|
|