Garden of Shadows

"If I Were to Walk in Twilight"

2012-02-01T01:49:00.007+08:00

If I did like Eve and left
the hard bony ribs of Adam
would splinter and crack
The sun would hide itself
Lost, you'll be wondering
the streets in your mind's night

But you couldn't care less
No, not the one who hides
silver slivers in your mouth
Where the bite left me wounded
poisoned, weakened
Frozen and cold

If my restless fingers
should press the proverbial button
a ray of cleansing light
will herald your destruction
and left me to pick through
the bones of your abject humiliation

But you couldn't care less
No, not the one who hides
silver slivers in your mouth
Where the bite left me wounded
poisoned, weakened
Frozen and cold

If I decide to welcome
the sleepless nights
you kept hidden from me
Will you keep me sane
and lucid, grounded in love
with a broken heartstring?

No, you couldn't care less
No, not the one who hides
silver slivers in your mouth
Where the bite left me wounded
poisoned, weakened
Frozen and cold

Of open letters, Pt. 2

2011-09-29T01:09:00.002+08:00

Dear Friend-of-convenience,

I regret the things I’m about to say.

I apologize for the things kept silent all these time. I was under the mistaken belief that my place as a friend is to remain hunkering under your colossal ego—or foolishness. That my duty as a friend is that I should hold my piece, and turn a blind eye to your faults.

Well, no more.

I refuse to confront you because it would be a pointless exercise anyway: you’ll either insist you were in the right and I was just touchy, or that nothing was wrong and it’s all in my head, or … that I served my purpose and you have no more need of me.

I’m sorry that I couldn’t be the kind of friend you want: the one who doesn’t call, or ask how you’re doing. A birthday wish forgotten. The one you could ignore until you deigned to grace me with your magnificence.

I’m not sorry now for being the one who tells you you’re a dick. A louse. A douchebag. I’m not sorry for being the one who jerks you short before you hurt yourself and those around you. As your friend, I had hoped that you’d appreciate my candour and not how well I could spit-shine your ego.

I apologize for taking too keen an interest in your well-being—in your successes and failures. I’m sorry that I pushed you just a little extra so you could shine. I’m sorry for paying so much attention to your improvement because I thought that’s what a friend should do. I’m sorry I went the extra mile to help you with your new job, you moving house, your new business venture, that new artwork you commissioned but deemed never good enough for your wall—despite it being done for free!

However, I won’t apologize for not caring about your excuses and lies. Or your vacillating nature. I’m not sorry for the snide look I gave, or the sneer on my lips, when you get uppity that I dared harp on what is your one constant—those promises and commitments you never delivered. Words that freely tumble from your mouth that I suppose you can’t help but trip on them when they lie knee-deep surrounding you.

I don’t regret my stand when I say one is only as good as one’s word and that you’ve been found wanting.

Therefore, do excuse my censorious looks whenever we meet. We’ve both played out our hand, and I’m cashing out before I bankrupt myself—emotionally, physically and what have you.

I don’t regret the experience of knowing you. You’re an interesting piece of work, I must say.

Then again, we all are.

Yours distastefully,

Tired and drained.

Of songs and such

2011-07-29T03:07:00.003+08:00

I found that after the heartbreak that my mood vacillates between almost-suicidal depression and almost-homicidal irritable. I wished Society wouldn’t frown too much should I decide to knife someone I the face but alas, the masses still subscribe to a certain standard that my sometimes-anarchist loved to buck against.

Then again, Society perhaps would feel rather strongly towards my obsessive attempts at reclaiming what was lost.

It should be noted that I display disturbingly polarized behaviours it becomes taxing at times to find a middle ground.

However much I’d like to wallow in misery, what’s done is done and there is no turning back. I may perhaps look fondly on the past but I won’t stare. Or at least, look too long. I entertained nostalgia once 10 years ago and it almost landed me a basket case …

So, in moving forward I did an inventory of the stages I went through: Denial. Rage. Apathetic numbness. Bitterness. Apathetic numbness. Despair. Apathetic numbness. Rage. Apathetic numbness. Rage. Bitterness. Rage. Clarity. Rage. Apathetic numbness. Acceptance.

I supposed my state of mind could be divined by some of the songs I listened to in my playlist below:
(in no particular order)

Remember November – Juliana Hatfield

These Arms of Mine – Otis Redding

1000 Oceans – Tori Amos
Over and Uder – Egypt Central

Call Me When You’re Sober – Evanescence

You Oughta Know – Alanis Morissette

Not As We – Alanis Morissette

Foolish Games – Jewel

Try – Asher Book
Out Here on My Own – Naturi Naughton
Still Reminds Me – Anggun

Limp – Fiona Apple

Just Lust – Juliana Hatfield

Fuck and Run – Liz Phair

Gives You Hell – The All-American Rejects

Move Along – The All-American Rejects

A Few Words Too Many – Billie Myers

Army of Me – Bjork

Fighter – Christina Aguilera

Linger – The Cranberries

Get Over me – Marion Raven

Heads Will Roll – Marion Raven

Unforgivable Sinner – Lene Marlin

You Will Cry No More – Lene Marlin

Who Let In the Rain – Cyndi Lauper

You Could Have – Lene Marlin

Scar – Missy Higgins

Fast As You Can – Fiona Apple

Stalker – Turin Breaks

Overrated – Siobhan Donaghy

Overpower Thee – Melissa Auf der Maur

Divided – Tara MacLean

Better That We Break – Maroon 5

Going Under – Evanescence

I Want Out – Helloween

How Do I? – Lee Ryan

Here With Me – Dido

Hunter- Dido

Not Ready to Make Nice – Dixie Chicks

Lost Without You – Dream Theater

Here We Are – Lene Marlin

Table for One – Liz Phair

Where I Stood – Missy Higgins

Wedding Dress – Matt Nathanson

Why Do You Love Me? – Garbage

Farewell Party – Juliet Orange

My Happy Ending – Avril Lavigne

10 000 Promises – Backstreet Boys

Don’t Say You Love Me – The Corrs

Go Your Own Way – Fleetwood Mac

Taffy – Lisa Loeb and Nine Stories

Your House – Alanis Morissette

You Won’t See Me Cry – Wilson Phillips

In My Veins – Andrew Belle

No More I Love Yous – Annie Lennox

Big Mistake – Natalie Imbruglia

This Mess We’re In – PJ Harvey

Now I’m Gone – Juliana Hatfield

"Untitled"

2011-07-21T20:44:00.003+08:00

You may be the Storm, but I am Winter
I will bury your rage with snow and entomb you in ice
You are just one pattern of a fickle weather
while I am an entire season--
an unchangable, implacable and unending part of Nature.

Of righteous cleanliness and such

2011-07-10T21:40:00.041+08:00

La, such a hullabaloo surrounds the Bersih 2.0 rally that This Author decides to bestir his normally-indifferent self towards the nearest news updates to brush up on current local hot-button topics.

It does make one forget one’s own troubles after all … Should This Author’s understanding is somewhat awry, one begs you gentle readers to allow those fanciful inanities and remember that This Author is hardly a political pundit. Tolerance, is after all one of the foundations for harmony, yes?

Now, where were we? Ah, here we go…

Bersih 2.0’s mission is for a clean, free and fair electoral system, with the aim to effectively monitor both sides of the political divide. At its inception a little over three years ago, it was comprised by civil society organisations and political parties with the objective of campaigning for said mission.

This Author applauds noble intentions such as these, should the outcome is favourable and beneficial to all parties concerned. And frankly, to someone as indifferent as This Author, it is immaterial. Or at least, the relevance is somewhat elusive.

Before This Author continues, the following are just his humble opinions, which stemmed from his observations, conversations, experiences and some quick reading—which may or may not be right. This Author is not infallible, after all. Findings from those aforementioned exercises was to This Authors vexation—his, and [presumptuously perhaps] on others’ behalf.

What resulted from a supposedly peaceful rally was a climate of anxiety throughout for non-participants living in the city or its immediate environs. Bersih 2.0 are all about exercising their rights in holding their rally, among which the following three have been bandied about:

1. The right to free speech and expression

2. The right to peaceful assembly

3. The right to freedom of association

We could see the results of having exercised those rights, sadly.

The right to free speech and expression
Blogs, social networking and media sites, news feeds and more are inundated with constant updates where everyone—both local and foreign—is weighing in on the rally from rants, taunts, Wall scribbles, it goes on and on and on … ad infinitum.

This Author heartily holds to the statement that anyone and everyone may opine or have their say but not to the point of denigrating each other. Agreeing to disagree or at the very least, respecting each others’ rights in voicing their own opinions is the very cornerstone of a civilized Society.

This Author should note that the one-and-half-hour spent trawling the Net for Bersih-related items he was tickled and impressed by some of the wittily incisive remarks made regarding the rally—both for and against, mind. As for the trolls inhabiting cyberspace, This Author will just say they warrant no comments.

Sadly, This Author should also add that the Election Commission (SPR) should have a more coherent and knowledgeable response to allegations made against them. Right now, the lay populace is intransigent, ambivalent, or indifferent about the state of things. The media also should display responsibility in presenting things in a non-partisan manner as well. Stop with the platitudes and ask the hard questions. That is one of the reasons for their being, isn’t it?

With sauce for the gander is sauce for the goose what should be done if one side demands the right of free speech, have at them. The other should spend less time demonizing what gives them purpose and work at collecting easily-verified public data or materials to present their case and demand the same from the naysayers. After all, talk is cheap. It seems right now it’s a case of he said/she said, so to speak.

The right to peaceful assembly
Authorities are arbitrarily conducting arrests on suspected participants with no definite proof or verification, therefore deep-sixing the entire purpose of a peaceful rally. The world—and people—being what it is, this fed a vicious three-way cycle where participants/non-participants/authorities are all victims of their own and others’ abuse.

It also goes without saying that firing tear gas into a hospital whilst chasing down the participants is hardly a move to endear the authorities to the masses. What were you thinking?!? That was directed to both participants and authorities, by the way.

Honest, hardworking employees are afraid to venture out for work due to fear of being mistaken for “dissidents.”

Roads were closed and major public transports were affected—depriving the populace of a chance to actually go out and enjoy their weekend after slogging thru a 5-day week at work. And of course, affecting those who are also working on weekends.

Shops and businesses were closed, depriving consumers of services previously availed to them and business their custom. This brings along the next two items:
1. There are those that may retort, “no shops, people don’t spend; therefore they save money, it’s good for economy.” Just because no money goes out, doesn’t necessarily make it a good thing. This Author is no economist, but from what one understands the basis of economics is one of supply and demand. With no supply for goods or services provided, demands will burgeon and seek alternatives—should they be lucky to obtain one. Otherwise, the cycle will just stagnate.
2. With no shops or businesses open—or those who were unfortunate enough to have employees missing out on work due to fear, productivity had to have experienced a decline, This Author expects.

For a movement that started out with noble intentions, Bersih 2.0 inadvertently became that which they implicitly wanted to avoid, a tyrant—both in its modern and classical meaning of the word.

The right to freedom of association

This Author expected DiGi employees braved their Saturday working days not without some trepidation.

Interesting. This Author is entertaining a more cynical thought, The right to freedom from association. But one digress.

Personally, yellow has never looked good on This Author’s dark olive skin. And thank the stars for that!

Those who were quite vocal about this particular right would state that Bersih 2.0 has a right to be associated with anyone, regardless of political bent.

Now, it was also documented that Bersih 2.0 had issued invitations to all political parties to join them in their walk for democracy but stated that while BN component parties have rejected the invitation however, members of the opposition have decided to join in the walk. This Author is perplexed. If one’s mission is to effectively monitor both sides of the political fence, why include one but not the other? If one is to play Big Brother of sorts, then shouldn’t the presence of both is of equal importance? One shouldn’t preclude the other, after all.

This Author feels that if the mission is to promote reforms to result in clean, free and fair electoral system then associating with only the one party more or less rendered the no-partisan angle null and void.

Sometimes, appearances are of just as equal importance.

After the spring-cleaning
From what This Author has observed, Bersih 2.0 started out with what appears a noble and workable—and even actionable—agenda.

However, This Author is of the opinion that the impetus of the agenda is somewhat specious and curiously happenstance: alleged vote-rigging and electoral abuse in light of the coming elections in 2013.

This Author suggests instead the following:
For the Government
Invest in good public relations—one that is both knowledgeable and visible.
Develop or employ a model for compliance to be used.
Have a third party observer gauge the effectiveness and share recommendations on improvements—we did utilise the aid of several Englishmen known collectively as Suruhanjaya Cobbold, did we not?
Perform stringent audits or compliance checks on everyone involved with the Electoral Commission.
Present the results publicly.

For the Opposition
Instead of spending time on alleged tampering, compare the definable processes and investigate the following items:
What did they/we do right? Where did they/we fall short?
What have they/we achieved?
What are our/their strengths, weaknesses and opportunities?
How to build on strengths, develop opportunities, and improve weaknesses?

Regardless, these are just opinions and suggestions. From someone who can be called as indifferent to politics, that would certainly be items of interests or buy-ins for This Author.

It certainly bears some ponderings, yes?

* * * * *

Some nuggets and memorable quotes that would do us well to remember:
“Beneath this YELLOW there is an idea, Mr Najib, and ideas are bulletproof,” – Thomas Chai, tweeting to the PM.

Standing up for yourself doesn’t mean stepping on other people’s toes – Enid Blyton, Last Term at Malory Towers

Those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it.

"I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it." – Evelyn Beatrice Hall

"Passing the Same Signs"

2011-07-10T03:09:00.009+08:00

The quarrel that we had
why did it seem so familiar?
The lines sounded as I remember it
so what is the matter?
I believe we've been here before
but cannot place my finger when
Deja-vu a disease or are echoes
a regular part of our conversation?
I should have heeded myself
to stay away from you
You accusing me belittling you--
what is this? this deja-vu
Why must we always fight?
Why should you be right?
(when you're not)
I guess I'm just not good at this
at choosing my fights
And so I keep passing the same signs
over and over again.

Of undefineable dissolution

2011-07-03T04:01:00.002+08:00

“If you think I’m going to discuss the dissolution of our marriage at a place where the toilets are labelled Dudes and Chicks, you’re out of your mind!” – Bree van der Kamp

* * * * *

I’ve always admired the fictional Mrs van der Kamp for those little gems.

If only that particular statement wasn’t so apropos.

We were having an extremely late dinner at one of these holes-in-the-wall places at the heart of the city. We talked about things that have happened to our friends. We talked about things that we did. We talked about work. His. Mine.

We’ve had this little row a month or so back where little nitpickings, petty jealousies and cutting, hurtful words were thrown around like hand-grenades. It even got a little physical—no, not like that! We settled it by each apologising—him for his jealous outburst and me for hammering in on his insecurities. For some reason, I have this disturbing gift of finding someone’s weak points and exploiting them in a fight—so in case it gets into a tussle, I know to aim a kick at his left knee… but I digress. We agreed to table the conversation to a more opportune timing.

Those who’ve known me enough knew by now that good timing and I were never easy acquaintances. The love of my life died on Valentine’s Day, and I got dumped on my birthday for crying out loud!

Well, the talk started out guardedly with each of us doing this bizarre waltz around verbal eggshells. So, me being me just bluntly asked him what is his problem? I could almost swear that you could knock me down with a feather when he started out listing the reasons. For reasons I'm unable to fathom the qualities he found as my strengths and main attractions now became glaring points of contention:

1. My tenacity is now pig-headed stubbornness
2. A snappy, subversive humour is now an unruly tongue
3. My compartmentalizing my own emotions now makes me a heartless sociopath

And it goes on and on and on. I admit I was’t exactly defusing the tableau by winding him up to see just how far he could go with it. Apparently our Mr Kwan has accumulated quite an impressive frequent-flyer mile since he went there, built a house and started knitting—metaphorically speaking, that is—and it devolved into youdon’tthinkI’mgoodenoughbecauseyouhavethehotsforsomeoneelse and you’reimmatureandactlikeacompletetool and its several variations.

I couldn’t take it anymore so I left and let him stew in his own juice.

Yes, I know it sounds wrong …

The upshot is now we’re on a time-out. I could never understand that particular concept when it comes to relationships; what does that mean? What does it entail? Are you back to single-but-dating status?

With things the way they are now, I’m hard-pressed to say I’m optimistic of the outcome. We’re two independent people who are both stubborn and not exactly gracious about admitting our mistakes. It’s like the Titanic meets iceberg. Only time will tell who sinks—and pulls everyone down with him.

Of temptations and seductions

2011-06-19T23:46:00.019+08:00

Temptation.

It is defined as something that entices or something alluring.

They come in many forms. It could be that second slice of cheesecake. Or that “up to 70% off!” sale at Massimo Dutti. Or that intelligent, witty young gentleman in your office.

Who happens to be your subordinate. And you’re already in a relationship.

Fine. I could never let the dessert cart pass me without divesting it of its offerings. And three of the sales associates at 1U’s Massimo Dutti already know me by name.

But the one thing I’ve always pride myself in is my control over my own emotions—how I could nip any apparent chink in my façade of indifference and stow them away in the darkest recesses of my mind. God knows, it’s pretty dark in there …

Let me just state for the record that nothing untoward had—or will—happen between that young man and I. I’ve heard on the grapevine that some in the office were all a-clack about the going-ons between the two of us. Of course, filth such as those shouldn’t be pandered to but one can’t help but wonder if there was anything in my—or our—interaction that may have added fuel to the fire.

Perhaps I was overly solicitous in my dealings with him, and I sometimes blur the lines when it came to communication; I treated him as I would a friend when I barely knew him and before I knew it I was incessantly peeling the metaphorical onion. Every single layer of this beautiful young man makes me want to keep him for myself.

Therein lays the crux of it. I was looking up the synonyms for temptation and I found the following: lure, attraction, pull, seduction.

Yes, I was lured by his easy smile and crackerjack wit. I don’t deny that he is physically attractive, with one of the most symmetrical features I have ever seen ( and though I am of the opinion his wardrobe could use some tweaking or minor revamp, I'm certainly not holding that against him!). His openness, willingness to learn, agile mind and general bonhomie instantly pulls one in.

And yes, I was seduced. Gads, was I seduced.

Seduced by those qualities and what-might-have-beens, I flirted nervously with the idea that maybe the forbidden should be ignored and acted upon. I would like to dramatize it for all it was worth and said I agonized over it for nights on end, but no. I quelled it after 3 minutes of those thoughts popping in my head and started to distance myself from him.

At times like these, I felt relieved that I’m able to compartmentalize emotions as easy as some people wiggle their ears. For the longest time I suspected that such ability may be indicative of a dissociative personality—that gives credence to the remarks that I am heartless and unfeeling. Perhaps it is just a simple matter of it being my own defence mechanism.

The more fanciful part of me likes to call it strategic withdrawal.

For now, I am content to let him be and remain distant from him, safe in the fact that he will always have my highest esteem and regard—and myself safe from losing his.

* * * * * * *

I was reminded of this song by Melissa Etheridge, Angels Would Fall (video below)

9th June, 10:47pm

2011-06-12T23:02:00.002+08:00

The mattress was lumpy and as I lay awake at night I ruminate on the paths that led me here. If I had stayed on one course--the one I left after a disastrous affair with a razor blade and a bottle of brandy--would it still have lead me here?

(Would it still have led me to you?)

I wonder at times at the things people do when situations demand them to rise to the occasion. What prompted such Herculean efforts to surmount those overwhelming odds? And why sometimes some would rather curl up and die than stir themselves for their own survival?

We sometimes limit ourselves without knowing it. The joy and pleasure we had in things when we were small seemed to have lost their luster, and this existence lost their magic. We no longer go through life with rose-coloured glasses but we see it stark and naked--much like our faults and foibles. Irony is, those faults and foibles became our suit of armour as we go about our lives.

These are one of the many thoughts percolating at the back of my head when I observe people around me: What made you change? What keeps you going?

(What was it that you couldn't define yet still compels you to stand by me?)

In this life where choices define us, I have made my peace with mine. There are things I'd like to do over, but for what it worth those choices were made on my own cognizance and I stand by them. No regrets. I will admit though, that my choices concerning you still have me at a loss. If life is made up of paths and roads, then we're breaking our own trail and I sometimes wonder where we'll end up, or where I might lead you.

Once, when I voiced my doubt out loud, you said, "You'll lead me home."

Imagine Me & You (revised)

2011-05-31T01:58:00.001+08:00

I once imagined that I would meet you on a moonlit shore. The soft night breeze will whistle among the palms and rhu leaves with whispers of promises yet to be fulfilled. A pregnant moon will be our witness; Selene casting her silvery gaze upon the doings of mortals aeons untold. You would offer your hand—I will accept—and together we will run to the water's edge. The little wavelets will lap our feet with salty splashes to join the night's cool breath. Your quicksilver smile tugs the strings you've once bound me in. Like Samson shorn, I followed in your wake. By your breath and your words, would I have spoken. Your wounds became my scars. Your mystique became my own. A reflection I became, mirroring your movements—my dark to your light.

I imagined that our nights will never end. That the little cove we made ours would remain untouched by the coming dawn—as we willed it to be.

We forgot that even the strongest of wills are still victims to the frailties of flesh.

I've imagined that despite the sifting sands that marks our passing we would endure. I imagined that an Eden could still exist even if only for a while. I've imagined that my searching hands would messy themselves in your hair. Little nibbles of thoughts that later became words to forge the promises we made—now never to be realized. I imagined that you're probably shaking your head at my refusal to let go. It should be easy for you; you were the one who left me behind. I imagined our little cove is now silent. No more laughter. No more paired footprints to mark the sand. No quicksilver smiles or words to echo.

I imagined in your passing your mystique became my own brand. I became a lone soldier carrying your badge. I imagined that those memories are armour to grant me fortitude and protection. I wear it proud as grief and joy mingled as one.

And I know that I could survive anything.

"Untitled"

2011-05-05T22:55:00.007+08:00

It shouldn't be this sinking feeling
It shouldn't be a catch in my voice

It should've never been iron bands
Never that smothering cloak

Robbing me of light

It shouldn't be that icy grip 'round a withered heart
It shouldn't be the cold side of the bed

It should've never been my surrender
It should've never been a furious tempest

Tailwind spinning tossing this kite

It was meant to be a balm
A safehold from all harm
It was meant to be a gentle thaw

Now lost, forevermore

"This Night for Wandering"

2011-04-03T01:12:00.006+08:00

There is this crazy feeling that I might have

known you from beyond the mists of years

There is a deep certainty that I may have

known your laughter, your smiles and tears

I discarded it as flights of fancy

How could it remotely possibly be

There came that niggling feeling I could have

known your touch, held you hands in mine

That little tingle that tells I certainly have

been the lucky one to share your mind

I discounted it as pure romance

Just coincidence -- a happenstance

There was a sense of knowing within

my fingers once walked across your skin

That semblance of remembering, I had

eked lusty sighs, made your head spin

I rejected it as fantasy, unsent

Keeping taunting haunting, no end

Of artistic roughs

2011-03-03T17:52:00.000+08:00

Some pencil-work I've been working on

I was going for a waifish air, and used soft smudgings for tonal effect.

I wanted to give her a big Farrah Fawcett 'do but just kept it simple with sleek straight instead

This was done while on the LRT - received compliments from these 2 American guys. I creamed myself, obviously.

Eloa - First pass, hatching shades and lines

Eloa - 3rd pass, with hair and features locked

Falconer - elf druid

Fey sorceress

I was tired of the delicate/sissy elves depicted in films. This one will kick your ass and run off with your woman (or man, if he so inclines!)

Battle sorceress - first draft

Battle sorceress - 3rd pass

Of relations and temptations, Pt. 1

2011-02-13T16:10:00.000+08:00

Love.

And close behind it: Relationship. Kissing cousins, those.

One doesn’t know if such things should even exist. Save perhaps as literary devices, and nothing more.

Well, perhaps also as instruments of torture.

I guess this is what happens when you’re not attracted to any particular gender but instead worship qualities possessed by that person—regardless of gender.

It is disturbing that when someone finds out you’re in a quasi-long-distance relationship that they assume each partner has their run of the yard. I suppose I could see where they would arrive to that conclusion, and therein lays the issue. Lackaday. It would seem that I am discombobulated by my newfound status as off-market meat. Not that newfound mind you, but certainly off market. And as my previous entry had indicated, am sorely tempted by certain … individuals.

In a long-term relationship, is it acceptable for a solidly monogamous relationship to devolve into a revolving door the moment those selfsame partners separate? By what yardstick do we measure this? Where did it say that you can’t have a monogamous long-distance relationship, and why such practitioners seem to be aberrations of nature?!?

Yes, I admit to feeling a mite vitriolic as I’m typing this but seriously--? What, you have to have your cake and your pie, too? Haven’t you considered that maybe, just maybe I like skipping desserts?

After all, after a huge feast … dessert seems a tad anticlimactic.

Yes, I know putting things in food analogy can be somewhat jarring for some readers but hey, you write what you know.

***

Anyhow, back to these temptations.

It’s a well-known fact among my circle of friends that despite a very open and broad mindset I am quite conservative when it comes to relationships.

Which is challenging when one’s young stud of a boyfriend has always practised an open relationship.

I almost bolted out of the gate like a Triple Crown winner but upon reflection—while judiciously avoiding his calls, ignoring his texts for 3 weeks, and deleting his e-mails without reading—I decided that we needed to have The Talk.

I was surprised that he agreed to a monogamous status. However, I wasn’t prepared for the bomb he dropped when he suggested that should I be tempted; he’s fine with me indulging myself! In classic drama/high-dudgeon style I told him I no uncertain terms what I think of that brilliant suggestion—involving words such as STDs, commitment, philandering, Henry VIII and other interesting similes—and the sadist in me relished watching him wince as I verbally whittled his arguments down to size. I know even the harshest critic wouldn’t say I’m ugly but between the two of us there’s no prize for guessing who’d end up being snapped up by trawlers. He’s no pushover, our Mr. Kwan.

Long story short—it was a talk that lasted almost 3 days, with neither party willing to give ground. Note to self: This is what happens when wilful meets stubborn. Stars help me, I’ve always admired and worshipped strength—of character, mind and personality; and this boy has it in spades! I have yet to meet someone his age that enjoys reading—classics, no less (favourite authors: Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, Mark Twain, William Makepeace Thackeray and the Brontё sisters).

What to do? What to do??

Ghost Town, 4th February

2011-02-05T11:18:00.000+08:00

Friday morning, in stare of silence

Loud quietness deafening magnitude

Embers burning, loss rememberance

Solitary touches begging solitude

Train ride, all alone within my cares

Swatches, splashes and blobs of red

are all I could see in blurred stares

Lanterns illuminating where I'll head

Rushes of old swept for the new

Empty asphalt cracked barren tar

Fireworks clapping as they often do

Sparks land on a forgotten old scar

Friday at midnight missives unfound

Solitude embracing in comfort unwanted

Friday midnight hushed silence around

Into the darkness is where I'm headed

Of suffering little children

2011-01-24T06:48:00.000+08:00

I pride myself on being able to separate between my personal self and the workplace. Despite my seemingly affable appearance, I keep myself distant from most people at work. In the vein that one catches more bees with honey than with vinegar, I usually keep my nose out of most tangles at the office. Of course, one shouldn’t make the mistake that I am of no opinion when it comes to certain members at the workplace! I’ll have you know that I do opine. In grand fashion no less, too.

Such is the occasion that after facing certain individuals—be they from the workplace, or from social gatherings—that I tend to come away with a sour taste in my mouth. One such occasion was from the trainings I’ve conducted in my line of work.

The take-away of me as a trainer is that now I am of the opinion that youths nowadays are—as a majority, or at least half of that number—a thoroughly stupid lot. I wouldn’t have minded at all if people are ignorant, or ill-educated; not everyone could recite lines from Milton’s Paradise Lost unless one is a true classicist literati but I do expect a certain … coherent thought process. It just ticks me off when people just take what was given for granted and expected to be spoon-fed. It is as if they were still in diapers or leading strings. I am of the opinion that leading strings make handy strangling device, but that’s just me …

I’m not saying I am perfect. The Heavens alone knows I’ve done my lion’s share of mistakes and gaffes. Yet I believe I have, if not wiser for them, then certainly more careful about what shoe size I’m going to stick into my mouth. No, this particular entry won’t divulge what those mistakes are; such gems must be doled out bit by bit. And yes my dears, I’m very good with things going into my mouth: shoes, food, drink, ciggies, et al … It curdles my blood that these are the future software engineers, neurosurgeons, or insert whichever high-falutin’-job-here—all waiting to be mined as future resources. Such behaviour—the attitude that the world owes them—is verily beyond the pale. I believe Mark Twain said it best: “The world doesn’t owe you a living. It was here first.”

Of course, there are those youngsters who are a credit to their parents, or whichever system of education that inculcated a strong degree of professionalism and maturity—at times well beyond their years. I am sometimes awed by them as it just harkens back to my somewhat glaring lack when I was their age. For these little gems among the often overwhelming dross, I will wake up at 5:00 in the morning on the weekends!

Of New Year musings

2011-01-15T14:54:00.000+08:00

Aaah … One almost feels suicidal with these past gloomy days. Of course, I can only speak for myself. But if anyone feels like opening a vein, tell me please. I could always stand watch.

No, perhaps it was just one of those little morose thoughts that I oft-times entertain. I know that at times I seem to relish my inner petulant-angst-ridden-hormonal-adolescent (would that we never grow up!) or fancy myself a Byronic creation—but la, usually it was just me being my usual insular, melancholic and snippy self.

I wish I could regale you gentle readers with my stupendous New Year celebration filled with awesome tales of outlandish antics and debauchery that would make even the most inveterate hedonists blush. But no such tales this time around, sadly. After having done and experienced things as I had, it was time to leave such trivialities behind and move on. Like most New Year’s Eve past I spent it at home.

Of course, I wasn’t alone. Not this time around anyway. Suck it!

Therein lay this particular quandary.

I was content to an existence of single blessedness (or is it blessed singleness?). After watching so many relationships unravel—others, mine—I was admittedly leery of being in one. Perhaps it was the oft-cited male affliction called ‘fear of commitment’. Perhaps it was just a long dry spell. I know those who know about that particular aspect of my life would roll their eyes and snicker, Ya think?

As often is the case, just when I find myself in a relationship … is just when I get—we shall call them signals—from previously uninterested parties. Yes, it does make one want to gash one’s wrist, doesn’t it?

I suppose it is the classic case of “when one is waiting for the bus, the bus won’t come” scenario—but seriously?

I have to admit. Stars alone know how tempted …

Of avatars and hilarity

2010-12-16T20:22:00.000+08:00

Okay. I don’t get Avatar.

I mean, I get the fact that it’s wonderfully made using the latest technological advances in filmography. And it was directed by James Cameron—the very person who was responsible for one of my favourite movies, Aliens. And me nursing a crush on Sigourney Weaver for the longest time.

But more on that later. If and when I feel foolhardy enough to owning up to the fantasy involving Ms Weaver in fishnets, a pulse rifle and a zippered mask.

After 2 viewings—one of it with the special-release-extra-footage!—I’m still at a loss.

On one level, the story is engaging enough. Underdog/untested/embittered hero out to prove himself on his last chance, fish-out-of-water/innocent abroad (I’m using the term innocent loosely, as in clueless) situation. Fierce, suspicious natives. Inter-cultural romance. Redemption/acceptance.

Sounds familiar? It should be.

It’s the same formula used by several well-known movies. I'll illustrate 2 as examples:

1. Dances with Wolves: American soldier befriends a tribe of Native Americans. Impressing them by locating a migrating herd of buffaloes and being accepted after saving one NA from being pulped/gored to death by a rampaging bull. Soldier befriends rest of the natives, and makes BFF with one. Soldier falls in love with native culture—among other things. Circumstances ripped away the soldier from his adopted home and mistreated by his ‘original’ people and branded a traitor. And somewhere in there there’s a wolf, a horse and a journal as key plot points.

2. The Last Samurai: American soldier goes to Japan. Soldier captured by a Samurai faction. Soldier found peace—among other things in Japanese culture. Soldier makes BFF with Japanese. Soldier betrayed by his people. Soldier helped Japanese. Throw in some katana, seppuku and Hallmark-like slogan in the end.

There. Same difference, innit?

You can actually make a game out of it. Take all three movies and their general plot points. Throw them in a bucket, give a good shake and see what comes up.

Maybe it’ll be something like the following results:

1. Dances with Samurais: 25^th-century Manhattan debutante enlists in the army. First mission, reconn on a remote planetoid inhabited by burly, Sino-looking humanoids with a penchant for ritualistic suicides. Her spaceship crash-landed and she adopted a horse (or an equine-like facsimile or somesuch) as her mode of transport and fashioned an outfit out of chain links and other metals from her spaceship to compensate for her damaged army fatigues. Private Barbara Ella Van Hauten is now known as … Barbarella!

Did I mention she’s wearing a steel bikini? Just checking.

2. The Last Avatar: Embittered, invalid soldier volunteered as a human guinea pig on a mission to space. He brought along his pet wolf and camcorder. Fell in love with the natives—despite their tendencies towards plug-and-play sex using built-in USB ports and lots of cables grown from their hair (don't ask me what goes where!). Disaster occurred when he realized he forgot to renew his Norton Antivirus subscription and single-handedly responsible for decimating the native populace when they decided to access his infected porn collection.

STDs never looked more digitized. Those afflicted lose the smooth contours of their perfectly modelled CGI limbs—they now sport ugly polygonal, pixelated protuberances.

Cure: amputation with a katana.

3. Pandora’s Diary: With voiceovers to evoke the atmosphere of intimacy and immediacy, this quasi-artistic independent film chronicles the trials of one illegal blue-skinned female alien who longed to be one with the world. After countless meaningless one-night-stands and failed affairs she has to come to terms with her own sexual proclivities (involving hair extensions and exotic wildlife), the death of her pet pterodactyl and the destruction of her homeland.

Countless montages include her gazing forlornly out her shabby genteel Greenwich Village apartment and arguments between her current lover and her jealous ex—while blissfully oblivious to the growing attraction between the two.

Useless subplots includes her half-hearted attempts in searching of the American GI with whom she had a torrid fling and her morbid, borderline phallic-symbol-worshipping-fascination with his family heirloom, a katana.

Jokes aside, don’t get me wrong. I actually enjoyed the movie. But only as a movie. I’m not going to rhapsodize over floating mountains or contemplate opening a vein because our humdrum drudge of a reality couldn’t compare to that we see available on Pandora. And I definitely won’t try to grow my hair long and braid it onto to my neighbour’s cat!

Fine, so DWW didn’t have a toruk makto and TLS didn’t liberate Japan from grubby, grasping industrialists. Both don’t have floating mountains and 10-foot tall humanoids. And I’m pretty certain Tom Cruise and Ken Watanabe didn’t engage in weird-ass kinky sex involving hair-tentacle-cum-plug-and-play bonding—unless there’s a gay spoof of TLS out there I missed that heavily features docking. Eww …

So, anyone up for making and indie film?

Of Bankable madness

2010-12-12T17:29:00.000+08:00

It was interesting to see that Tyra Banks has finally clued in on what she should be doing on ANTM. Of course, she just had to do it after several promising girls had to be put through some of the most bizarre photoshoots ever conceived. Yes, Tyra—and to an extent ANTM—can be accused of trying too hard to be edgy that they sometimes cross over into parody. Anyone remember the meat-on-models photoshoot? No? Here it is, in case you (blissfully) forgot.

Pebbles would like her club back ...

After 14 seasons, countless makeover meltdowns and boy-deprivation-induced catfights by way of hormonal imbalances, she finally decided on going high fashion. What beggars the question is why now? Is she tired of being a joke—however unintentionally at times as it may be? Or could it be something to do with the cancellation of her talk show? After all, the self-proclaimed Supermodel-turned-businesswoman-with-a-big-forehead has to have something to do with her newly-found spare time. So what better way than to make sure her other ~~cash cow~~ project has the bona fides to stand on its own and be another major contributor to pop-culture? Spinal Tap, your days are numbered!

Tyra Banks being Tyra Banks, she plumped the prizes to further entice the fashion pundits and lay viewers by glitzing each episode with industry bigwigs—first episode and she’s already whipping out Diane von Furstenberg. Diane von Furstenberg.

She’s playing for keeps, I tell you.

Aiming high does our Ms Banks, and while some of the concepts—if any!—of the photo assignments eludes me somewhat, I’ll grant her the benefit of the doubt. With her brand of crazy I don’t expect her to hit the mark. I expect it to be entertaining, but whether or not this crop of girls she churns out will command the undivided attention on the fashion by and large still remains to be seen.

Of course, when Ms Banks starts waving around her crazy stick—and the pantsuits! Seriously?—we get to see the meltdowns and crash cases that has kept us thus far entertained and glued to the tube.

ANTM Cycle 15 has some memorable contestants, among which are:

1. Jane Randall: Princeton-educated, Christie Brinkley-clone

Jane - post-makeover

Ann - Mermaid photoshoot with jewellery by Matthew Rolston

2. Ann Ward: this Cycle’s Nicole Fox/Heather Kuzmich

Chelsey's pseudo-CoverGirl print

3. Chelsey Hersley: freckled love-child of CariDee English & Melrose Bickerstaff, minus the crazy

Kayla - formerly blonde redhead

4. Kayla Ferell: this Cycle’s chameleon talent (Kahlen, anyone?)

5. Liz Williams: this Cycle’s girl-to-hate (there is always that one girl, isn't there?)

Liz - Rodeo Drive shoot by Patrick Demarchelier

Chris - Rodeo Drive shoot with Patrick Demarchelier

6. Chris White: Comedy Queen. Talking about some random male she saw, "Mama wouldn't mind me bringing HIM home, honey."

Of course, in the case of not throwing the baby out with the bathwater, it wasn’t all a total loss. One thing, some of the shenanigans kept me in stitches:

1. Ann’s dream guy: a warlock, shoots fireballs, and she’s ok with him being older—like >40s. One word: creepy.

2. Jane: (from Meghan Carlson, Senior Writer, BuddyTV) “I had to include this photo (see below) because it shows, word for word, where Jane's head is at during their gondola tour of Venice: Absorbing more KNOWLEDGE! She's a history major at Princeton, so you can't blame her, and the nerdiness is quite endearing. I can't blame anybody in the world for actually seeking out "lots of pamphlets." If only we were all so focused on learning. She's quiet and seems sort of awkward, but also ridiculously beautiful and graceful. Jane is basically every nerdy girl from a romantic comedy post-makeover, except she just never went through the initial ugly duckling phase. Damn her.”

Jane = lovable nerd

3. Liz: Hearing Milan as one of the international destinations, she thinks Mulan, "so of course I'm thinking Japan and dragons". That’s Chinese, you ignoramus! She then realized after watching another girl’s reaction (Chelsey) that it's actually MILAN, as in Italian Vogue. As in what this competition is all about. Mulan. Friggin’ Mulan. Dumb brunette 1, Active listening 0.

Liz: "Another fiver and you get to see the cooch, boys." Classy.

And Tyra Banks being who (or what) she is, took this cycle to debut her directorial skills on a "motion editorial"—whatever the Hell that is—where she free-laboured the remaining contestants into an intense, disturbing and ultimately freakish short—we’re talking about The Ring here!—that makes you wonder, “If Tyra has a therapist, does the therapist quake in fear whenever it’s time for Tyra’s appointment?”

I won’t waste words, but I’ll just post it here and let you judge for yourself.

*Photos owned by CW and respective photographers

Of sorcery and beauty

2010-09-25T21:07:00.000+08:00

It shouldn’t surprise anyone that I’m quite the avid reader. One of my favourite genres is fantasy, which started when my mother got me The Wishsong of Shannara by Terry Brooks for my 13^th birthday.

Of course, the rest is history.

One of favourite books from that particular genre is Polgara the Sorceress by David & Leigh Eddings. This, of course, was written waaaay before he degenerated into slothful works like The Dreamers.

It was a beautiful story. On one level, it was a good start for beginners of the genre; simple prose, good dialogue (which happens to be the Eddingses’ forte), and enough magic to assuage one’s hunger for the incredible. To a seasoned fantasist; it has drama, adventure, and magic aplenty. For longtime followers of The Belgariad and The Malloreon series, it serves as a bookend and prologue of sorts to the preceding stories. It delves into the history of the titular character and gets into who and what she is—her motivations and her and dedication to her charges. And for the sentimentalists, there is enough romance to fill-up your Mills & Boon’s fetish.

I’m not going to spoil it for you, but I recommend you to get a copy—buy, steal, rent, whatever. Just make sure you read it.

Polgara the Sorceress by David & Leigh Eddings

*************

The Twilight craze is insane. Yes, I know it is a tautology, but it is what it is. I’ll admit I have all four books—Breaking Dawn hardcover!—but I’ve only read them once. I’m not saying Stephenie Meyer is a horrible writer. She’s good at manipulating the language. The key word here being manipulating. Just as how she belabours the obvious beauty of the vampires, she seems particularly vague when it came to Bella. Yes, I know she’s dark-haired and pale-skinned. So does almost every Goth/emo girl out there. What’s the exact hair colour? Chestnut, dark brown, highlights? Almost any girl can project what she is onto the character and experience forbidden love vicariously through the book.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t regret purchasing those four books. Nor am I discounting rereading them. I even have favourite parts in the book that I paused and reread several times—the birth scene is my ultimate favourite. It’s like Aliens meet Sweet Valley High, by way of Anne Rice. However, unlike Rice’s vampires who could be very sexual, sensual and decadent Meyer’s came across as repressed and awfully ethical. Then again, Meyer is a Mormon so perhaps we should’ve expected that.

Except Edward, of course. The whole stalking, passive-aggressive, controlling, I-know-better-than-you-fragile-human shtick is just wrong. I’m expected to accept that this is what most pubescent girls go ga-ga over?

I don’t think so! Then again, we have to account for Justin Bieber’s fame so what the Hell do I know, eh?

So, it is with great trepidation that I picked up Beautiful Creatures. After having Jacob from Twilight go all WASP-y and whiney on me as he watched Bella vacillate between werewolf-human or vampire-human pairings I have some reservations about female writers writing from a male protagonist’s point of view.

I was humbled to say that my misgivings were unfounded. Kami Garcia and Margaret Stohl have managed to write something fresh, yet familiar. The hero Ethan Waite tends to overanalyze but with the advent of the “sensitive new age guy” or SNAG, I can deal with that. And before you throw up your hands in disgust and say, “Oh wonderful! Just what we need, another fragile hero!” allow me to set a few points across:

1. Ethan is a rough-and-tumble kind of guy.

2. Ethan is understanding, yet pushy (like every young man he spouts understanding and yet gets demanding—without making any bones or excuses for it. Suck it, Edward!)

3. Ethan has issues—real ones (unlike Bella’s “I’m the new girl but so darn superior ‘cos I’ve done your lab work at my previous school!”) which ran the gamut from heavy stuff (distant and emotionally disturbed father), to small potatoes (flaky/spacy best friend), to having his life unravel by lies and falsehoods (nope, that would be spoiling it).

I know, itemizing the above makes one wonder how is a high-school senior supposed to get through this without reserving a spot at the Betty Ford Centre? Yet, for all that never once did the writing devolve into melodrama. Stohl and Garcia kept it paced just nice. Slow enough for you to digest the angst and speedy enough you want to see a good ass-kicking done.

Beautiful Creatures and its sequel Beautiful Darkness is out now. So grab a copy and enjoy!

"Walls"

2010-09-20T14:08:00.000+08:00

These walls are closing in

and I cannot breathe

These walls are toppling in

and I cannot run

But wherefore should I run

Where shall I hide

How far could I go?

What is it I must do?

These walls that I built

The edge spiked and perilous

I cut myself open

and hang unbidden

And wherefore should I cry

Where is my solace

How far could I go?

What is it I must do?

These walls I'm tearing down

this cheap tinsel crown

Rub my skin raw

clean to the bone

And salt will scour me clean

Here is my place to bide

This far I can go

Tearing myself down

"Jigsaws"

2010-09-17T13:10:00.000+08:00

A curved nook
where your neck meets
shoulder
There will I rest my
head

A columned spine
lying curved away
from me
There will I reach my
hands

A breathed air
on my bristled cheek
tickle tickle
They will meet my
lips

A puzzle of bodies
on a tangle of sheets
fingers uncurling
Little death fled
us

Of letting go

2010-09-08T16:40:00.000+08:00

One would think that letting go is easy. Theoretically speaking, it's a simple matter of uncurling one's fingers one by one and release may be found.

I wouldn't know if it's easy as all that.

Or even as hellish an ordeal as some would make it to be.

Things, people --- good and bad --- will come and go. The cycle will repeat itself and like it or not we have to roll with the punches. And maybe land a couple of our own in the meantime.

I don't pretend to possess the collective wisdom of ages, nor am I adept at prognostication. Like most, I blunder on and get by on wits and instinct. I've been lucky enough to land on my feet but make no mistake, it's not all a charmed life. Some of my winnings happen through fighting tooth and nail, swallowing my rage, and generally smiling at people I'd like to jam a knife into --- all in the name of making sure I make it in the long run.

Aaaahh ... the things we do to survive.

Of lawful illusions, sweet wildness and twisted truths

2010-08-29T16:01:00.000+08:00

Sarah McLachlan - Laws of Illusion

Sarah McLachlan's first disc since her split from husband Ashwin Sood harkens back to her earlier recordings -- namely Surfacing, Touch and Solace.

Some may make much of the fact that McLachlan's singing is still replete with quasi-orgiastic sighs and moans by way of wistfulness but then again, the same argument could be made for Rihanna's slightly nasally voice. It should be noted that when her breakthrough album Surfacing came out, a unique niche was already carved that allowed her to display vulnerability, earnest naivete and romanticism without coming across as melodramatic -- in an era where almost every female singer-songwriter was trying to emulate another fellow Canadian (Hi, Alanis!).

The production was top-notch, with longtime collaborator Pierre Marchand and that's where they hit gold with arrangements that not just accompanied each individual songs, but each addition of strings, and even electronic beats draws this listener in. Of course, McLachlan didn't skimp on her trademark lyrics either. In "Forgiveness" she mourned a loss of trust and inability (or perhaps unwillingness?) to forgive a wrong. "Out of Tune" starts with stark percussive beats before the piano swells and segues into her desire to disappear into her lover's arms.

All in all, Laws of Illusion won't net her new fans but it's definitely a reward for her legion of loyalists who have been following her since her first album.

* * *

Jewel's second foray into country

If I had to pick a favourite Jewel album, Sweet and Wild wouldn't be the first choice -- the honour would go to Goodbye Alice in Wonderland. Granted, Sweet and Wild is more cohesive than her previous attempt at the country genre with Perfectly Clear -- a title I found ironic since I was left in the murk at her confusing lyrics.

This isn't to say that both attempts at country are dismal failures. I admire Jewel's attempt and ambition at musical reinvention; from her modest coffee-house folkie beginnings, to adult-contemporary, electro-pop diva and now as country chanteuse.

There are good tracks to be found here: the melancholic Fading recalls midlife depression, the sweetly flirtatious Stay Here Forever where her vocals trills and resound clear with breathless anticipation at "having a little kiss" with her beau (we'll assume husband Ty Murray has the honours!). One cannot fault her crisp and versatile vocals -- all throughout the disc, she sounds like the same young folk artist we fell in love with in Pieces of You, albeit with matured skills. She brought over some elements from Goodbye Alice in Wonderland with her lyrics -- while retaining her simple approachable architecture -- in delving more into heavier themes subtexts of sacrifice and despair on Satisfied. But that's where it stops.

Perhaps, Jewel will need a third attempt at truly capturing the essence of what makes country country. As her track record suggested, she is able to deliver by polishing each album until she hits the motherlode but it all depends on how the fickle public sees it.

* * *

Lene Marlin - Twist the Truth

One is tempted to wonder if Lene Marlin suffers from chronic disappointment. Her songs are so melancholic and morose that it sounds as if one more heartbreak could leave the poor miss a basket case.

Now, this is not to say that I feel like taking a razor blade to my wrists after listening to the album. What did strike me was the fact that this girl have amassed quite a consistent signature style when it comes to her music. She combined winsome melodies that easily traps the untrained pop listener and then rewards them with lush backings of orchestra, synthesized arrangements and ethereal vocals. If not for the slightly melancholy air of this record, I would be tempted to say listening to it is like a dreamlike journey. It is fortunate for this listener that Ms Marlin's capable genius did not allow it to devolve into a nightmare.

Her closest concession to mainstream pop would be her first single off of this album, titled "Here We Are". As the song's chorus laments at loss and wishful thinking on what-could-have-beens, guitar/violin melds seamlessly with keyboards. What Marlin excels -- and consistently concentrates on -- is creating moods rather that catchy hooks. Her soft voice wouldn't stretch anyone's vocal range but trying to evoke the mood that she slamdunks almost without effort is a true indication of her talent.

While songs like her lead single, "You Could Have" and "You Will Cry No More" speaks about blame, responsibility, loss and accountability she never once came across as accusing or preachy. As with her previous albums, she managed to balance her lyrics that it presents itself as a neutral observer yet still engrossed in the going-ons around her.

I suggest tracking down her first album Playing My Game -- released when Marlin was only 18 -- and then listen to Twist the Truth and you'll see what I'm talking about.

Of cougars and leopards

2010-07-03T12:38:00.000+08:00

One of my more recent TV series addictions is Cougar Town. From the opening to finish scene of the first episode, I was hooked. Can’t say I’m surprised; I’ve always had a soft spot for Ms. Cox ever since I first saw her Gloria in Misfits of Science. And yes, I do find her hot. There, I said it.

Segueing into a slightly (by way of theme being ‘dating’) related note, I’ve recently reinvigorated my dating pool. Yes, I know it is crass calling it that but needs must. And no, tricks do not apply here.

In a case of life mirroring art, I find that my current—attractions, shall we say?—all are decidedly on the younger side of 30. While it shouldn’t raise many eyebrows I do grapple with my own prejudice that youth equals callowness. It is through my own experiences and observations that youngsters in general are a thoroughly stupid lot. Stupid, as in they can’t help those foolishness and pratfalls. Being ignorant on the other hand, just invite contempt in buckets. And Lordy, it’s well-known that I don’t suffer fools willingly, nor do I possess capacious patience!

Now, I know dating someone 27 years old doesn’t necessarily make me a lecherous old man I was nearly sent into cardiac arrest when one of my dates informed me that he just turned 21. I should’ve known when he didn’t get the Punky Brewster references. Or the one from Thundercats.

But yes, parents do be warned this leopard is back on the prowl—and beginning to appreciate the intriguing pull of the younger set!

* * * * * * * * * * * *

I’ve recently went out on a date. At least, date is the polite word I’m using since there might be gentle-bred ladies present.

Without going into too much detail, all I will say are the following:
1. Shower first. Or at least put on some cologne.
2. Dress well, to fit the occasion. Often overlooked – footwear! Shoes often can make or break an outfit.
3. Don’t interrupt your date by leaving the scene, indulging in lengthy phone conversation or both.
4. Keep the name-dropping to a minimum. If 3 times saying you work with Jamie Oliver didn’t get her lifting her skirt, or him dropping trou, move on.
5. Leave the rah-rah crowd behind. Unless pressed, don’t ram your entire social calendar down your date’s throat. If you haven’t even kissed by the 3^rd date, what makes you think she/he wants to ingratiate themselves into your social circle?
6. Breeding shows. Yes, it is a throwback to those elitist times but this one is a bonus. And in contemporary times, everyone can behave like a gentleman or a lady without being styled a peer of the realm. And no, insisting to people you come from the top drawer does not a class act make.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Now, on the general topics of cougars and dating I’m still on the fence on the whole age thing. How young is too young? And conversely, how old is too old? You see the Chihuahua/St. Bernard couplings and you see Methuselah/Persephone combo. It’s an equal toss up if one wants to go all aquiver and rhapsodise over love bringing such disparate people together, or one can vomit all over at the perceived grossness. I suppose it all depends on the parties participating. I bemoan the fact that people my age prefers younger mates, while I stave off unwanted attention from those with daddy/big bro complex.

Perhaps it’s time to relaxed the age band slightly and see what develops?

Of vacillations

2010-06-07T17:14:00.000+08:00

We’ve often been told that to give in to our emotions would leave us stranded in a position—that while the journey is arguably worthwhile, or even sometimes enjoyable—most people would pay good money to avoid. We’ve all been in that place. That crucible where we give in to our whims. We knew it was a path better left alone. But the weed-choked alley somehow caught our fancy. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to take a short traipse down that path…

And therein lays my undoing.

I would risk calling myself a hedonist. A glutton, a sensualist —— a greedy little sponge. The list of pejoratives goes on and on. Even if I were to exhaust my formidable vocabulary I would still not have the words to describe my moments of weakness.

My contemplating my state of mind—if you can call it that!—is not a signal of depression, I assure you. I’ve been lucky enough to favour the manic side of bipolar disorder. Nor is it another promise (yet another one!) of turning over a new leaf—which I probably have no intention of keeping. Perhaps I like picking at scabs. Who doesn’t? Our closet masochists must be pandered to, after all. Whilst our inner drama queens take stock and unleash calamity upon diatribe upon tragedy on unsuspecting bystanders.

Perhaps neither scab-picking nor throwing expensive crockery at the wall is the solution. While waiting one to present itself, I’ll happily vacillate between the two!

"Some Mother's Son"

2010-05-28T00:11:00.000+08:00

Sparks and flares
coming from a gun
Blowing away
some mother's son
Screech of tires
and the setting sun
Left to die
some mother's son
Lived by the sword
and barrel of his gun
What to do?
She cradled her son
weeping, oh she weeps
(do I weep? do you?)
Wisps of smoke
wafting from a gun
What was it?
Just some mother's son

"Highways"

2010-05-12T23:58:00.000+08:00

I'm tired of straight roads
that don't lead anywhere
I'm tired of people saying
I should "go there"
when I'm just plain lost

(Why doesn't anyone listen?)

Emotions run high
on this mercurial run
Will you be leaving me
when you're done?
This map I'm holding
it doesn't mean a thing
I can't make out the lines
to take my empty whine

(Why doesn't anyone care?)

Tired waiting
Tired asking
questions that bring no answers
Waiting for my hearse
I'm just messed-up
Run out of luck
Just tired of going
in circles
On nonexistent highways
on a worn-out roadmap

Of being so over this

2010-04-07T10:50:00.000+08:00

Alright.

You clearly do not hold yourself to blame.

Fine. You don’t know what is wrong until someone tells you your fly is undone. Do you rely heavily on others to manage you? Do you wait for handmaidens to come at your every beck and call? What gives you the right to presume such sense of entitlement? You’re a grown-up for cat’s sakes! Can’t you analyze you doings and dealings with others and see the patterns that develop?

Therefore we’ll dissect a sample of what you are:

1. 1. A macho hombre.

2. 2. A dominating, dominant, tough guy.

3. 3. A charging bull.

4. 4. A multifaceted, sensitive man.

5. 5. A “simple guy.”

6. 6. A tempestuous personality.

7. 7. A very friendly person.

8. 8. A “take it as it is” kind of guy.

9. 9. Opinionated.

Now, we’ll do the same for me.

What I am:

1. 1. Mercurial.

2. 2. Vindictive.

3. 3. Artistically inclined.

4. 4. Intractable.

5. 5. Willful.

6. 6. Passionate.

7. 7. Misanthropic.

And you’re not:

1. 1. A psychic.

2. 2. A wizard.

3. 3. The village idiot.

4. 4. A jerk.

5. 5. A two-faced tray.

6. 6. A manipulative user.

7. 7. A big baby.

8. 8. An incorrigible flirt.

And I stand against:

1. 1. Mind games.

2. 2. Double-standards.

3. 3. Double-talk.

4. 4. Underhanded spite.

5. 5. Denial.

6. 6. Unaccountability.

7. 7. Liars.

8. 8. Pre-judging others.

Can we see a pattern developing? In a case of He said, She said this will make a nice screwball comedy but no … in real life it just leads to much dissatisfaction and hurt. You make half-assed attempts and call it your final try by presenting me with a symbol of my own failures? Are you that sadistic? Is my silence that much of a burr you find solace in spitting in my face? Do you deny the whines and moans of your working life when I’m trying to cope with my own empty one? Can anyone be that reality-impaired?

No, I refuse to capitulate to a caterwauling brat. If thinking treating others as ciphers for your own amusement is within your right then I’ll leave you to it. I promise I’ll remain unjudging, and love the fancies you represented. But my eyes are now open, and I see the fantasy for its blasted surface.

Empty.

Perilous.

Unfulfilled.

Of suitcases

2010-04-05T10:46:00.000+08:00

Sometimes … Sometimes I wish I could divest myself of feelings.

Joy.

Sadness.

Pain.

Love.

Despondency.

I wish I could pack them up in little suitcases and store them somewhere I couldn’t see. So I could forget. Out of sight, out of mind. So I could go about my daily doings unhampered by baggage and concentrate on what is needed and what must be. And what must be is for me to move on. Forge ahead unheeding of whatever losses I might have accrued and look for more to gain.

Companionship.

Safety.

Security.

Balance.

It’s a dicey affair, having to balance between what is necessary and what is desired. More often than not, I give way to others’ wants and needs and leave myself bereft and unfulfilled. I wished I could say I’m an altruist but no … I just prefer to let things slide, unsaid.

In a place where words have the power to break, heal, mend or even destroy I find myself bound by silence. A winter garden that awaits for spring’s thaw. It might be beautiful. It might be perfect. Yet it is a perfect beauty defined by its solitude.

And I crave – paradoxically, it seems – society.

And society demands things I could never give freely. All the baggage that formed me into what I am are too fragile, too precious, too private – too painful – to share. Perhaps with losses and gains I find myself teetering on the edge.

Whether it is on teetering on a fine balance or on the edge of a cliff remains to be seen.

"Running Horse"

2010-03-24T21:48:00.000+08:00

He runs
swift like wind
sheds worries and cares
like some dead, sickly skin
He tries to be one
with the elements
They reject him
fearing his independence
His spirit touches the sky
celestial light bathes him
They smile now but mourn
the day his essence dims
O running wind
douse not this flame
Oh my fragile champion
I wish I could stay the same
He runs now
in spirit if not body
Remembering things lost
back when he was free

"Too Much Said"

2010-03-11T21:38:00.000+08:00

I hold you blameless
That is the only way
Placed on a pedestal
That is the only way

I hold myself silent

That is the only way
I hold myself still
That is the only way

I hold you blameless
innocent from my thoughts
I hold you high up
so you remain distant

I hold myself silent
so it remains secret
I hold myself still
to keep you safe

Alas, it’s too late
For these lips have spoken
Too much been said

So let it be

You shall remain blameless

remain untouched by me
Up on your safe perch
deaf to my plea

Your company my balm
Your cause my sword
to guard you from harm
Your plinth my place of worship
your silence my consent
My silence is freely given
for these things unsaid, unsent

Of wantings

2010-03-10T20:33:00.000+08:00

It’s a weird feeling being ignored.

I suppose one could pout one’s lips and shrug it off like water of a duck’s back. But no, that’ll be too easy for me.

The path of most resistance has always held a morbid fascination for me and I, like the proverbial buzzard will pick it to the bone and still remain dissatisfied by my findings. I would like to say that I don’t make a habit of living in my head, but sometimes … when it’s that cold dead sensation of knowing that people just don’t get what you’re about – when you feel even more of an oddity than you realized – the only safe place to be with is by yourself.

I chide myself sometimes for being too self-aware. And at times I remain oblivious to my surroundings when I’m picking at emotional scabs. Perhaps my own pain screams too loudly for me to listen anyone else’s – or I’m just selfish that way.

Death.

Abandonment.

Loss.

Heartache.

Heartbreak.

Depression.

Mania.

Emptiness.

They are no strangers to me. Perhaps coming from such a background as mine, it is to be expected. It should be added as well that I perpetuated and exacerbated events that led to such conclusions. For all my efforts, I found myself – allowed myself, even – thwarted. At times, after looking over at how it all went south I was perplexed that it was through my own doing.

No, I must say that I’m not blameless at all. I want many things. Most of them immaterial – that only I can work for if only I can bestir myself in that direction. I would like to be able to laugh. Really, truly laugh with joy. To be happy.

Is it so bad to want things?

Of lost guides

2010-02-26T12:37:00.000+08:00

Aah ... It seems you can take one out of Maudlin City but you can't take the city out of one's mind.

Would it that I could divest myself of this slow malaise that forever bites and nibbles at my consciousness. To beg for it to leave me with some semblance of peace. Or sanity, if it is not too much to ask. Alas, my cries for reprieve falls on deaf and uncaring ears ... for needs must to survive, and what is one frail mortal against the world?

I look to the sky last night, uncaring that I was traversing the busy streets of KL. Around me the hustle and bustle of a city that defiantly refuses to be ignored clamored for my attention: hawkers stridently call out for customs, stalls waft with teasing smells of delectable repasts. But no, my eyes are locked on the heavens, trying to look beyond the clouds scudding across my vision; trying to look beyond my self anchored to this material plane.

We may be sparks of the divine, breathed into life by the Supreme Maker -- given thoughts independent of outside influence, save those of our own allowance and making. But last night I felt so insignificant and lost. The silver disk of Selene mocks me with her absence and the heavens refused my sight.

Of asinine statements

2010-02-22T23:07:00.000+08:00

We’ve had encounters where we had to sit through another’s display of idiocy. At times, we’re guilty of the same pratfalls. But of course, since I’m on my soapbox I’m not going to talk about myself. I believe others could relieve me that particular chore.

Below is an example of choice statements that make me wonder at the speakers’ state of mind – and if English is in fact, their first language!

1. “I can never be unfaithful to my mistress.” Maybe his mistress’ name is Diane de Poitiers.

2. “I’m half in love with you.” That makes as much sense as saying "I'm somewhat dead" or "I'm kinda pregnant!"

3. “It’s not cheating on my girlfriend.” Pause. “I just let a guy give me a blowjob.” His friends should get him a dictionary for his next birthday.

4. “I’d never kiss a girl who smokes.” Speaker is someone who is very into rimming. That certainly puts things in perspective, doesn’t it?

5. “People can’t tell I’m gay.” Speaker is wearing a (too) tight T-shirt, rainbow stickers on his car, and the ‘tell-all’ earring. Geez, deluded much?

6. “He gave my syphilis!” Speaker is in a loving relationship with a swinger couple. Like, d’uh!

7. “She was asking for it!” Speaker was referring to a rape victim – who has a penchant for short skirts. If she’s in a bikini, she’d be the Whore of Babylon, I suppose.

8. “If you can’t escape it, just sit back and enjoy it.” Speaker was referring to rape victims. I just can’t muster enough snark for this one.

And no, I assure you these are not figments of my (often hyper-active) imagination. Nor are they translations from my native Malay. These are statements I’m quoting directly from people – and in context! People I’ve had the fortune to encounter. And yes, I meant fortune ironically.

Of course, two of my favourites are numbers 2 and 3. I’m sure depending on the reader – or listener, as the case could be! – others might be their choice for contributions to the Darwin Awards.

As mentioned, the statement "I'm half in love with you" makes as much sense as saying "I'm somewhat dead" or "I'm kinda pregnant" and just as idiotic. And whilst we're on the subject of idiocy -- a bigger idiot (that would make him/her a moron, wouldn’t it?) would be the person who falls for that kind of drivel. Talk about clutching at straws!

After numerous times experiencing these particular displays in stupidity, whenever such statements present themselves I usually just pursed my lips, elicit a “Hmmm, interesting” reply and promptly removed myself. Although it has yet to be proven scientifically, stupidity might be catching.

"12 February"

2010-02-12T17:21:00.000+08:00

Two days before it starts. Hello, love. How are you? People buy flowers and give them away. Love bought and sold. Cheap.

Children exchange kisses. Adolescents exchange their innocence. Adults exchange more in the privacy of their bedroom.

Your place or mine?

Love. A four-letter word. So's fuck. Or kill. Or dead for that matter.

Of VD and Misery

2010-02-10T19:33:00.000+08:00

"If life is a bed of roses I have but one request: throw me among the thorns, allow me to feel the pain of falling. Let me be hurt so I know what healing feels like. Let me know that I can still bleed; that I'm neither frozen nor unmoving. Let me feel alive again."

That was what I had written once.

I was 18. I was in college. I was young and – looking back with eyes that had seen twelve monsoons – one would be tempted to say that I was puffed up on youthful arrogance. It had never dawned on my shallow adolescent mind that there are such things as a self-fulfilling prophecy. I was young still after all, and with the typical faith that the forces behind the system would side with us. Somebody’s always someone’s meal ticket.

Ah, the foolishness of youth. Wasted wastage of wisdom gathered the hard way. Bitter pills to swallow and all that.

***********************************

Valentine’s Day holds a different meaning to me ever since 2001. Someone dear to me passed away on that day and I could never look at the date on the calendar without feeling a surge of impotent rage at the life taken away from me.

Perhaps it just wasn’t meant to be.

After the rage quelled itself, then the sorrow will come and often at times during the days leading to, or past VD I would replay the cherished moments we managed to share. That’s all that I have left.

People have oft told me that ten years is much too long a time to be spent mourning for someone. I would usually spitefully spat back that they weren’t the ones with loss, guilt, regret and rage churning in their heads. Then of course, the remorse at biting the hand that attempted to succour me will come and I’ll bashfully apologise. Yet again.

It’s becoming quite predictable that it becomes sickening.

Maybe it’s time to break out the razors and start back to cutting. But that’s another story.

Of insults and offenses

2010-02-08T11:35:00.000+08:00

Alright. I've been wallowing in Maudlin City for some time now and I found cloying sweetness to be ... well, cloying.

Don't get me wrong, being overly sentimental to the point of having your personality reduced to the consistency of an overboiled potato does have its perks. You get to wax lyrical about love and sunshine whilst people indulgently pat your hand and welcome you to to the lane of mediocrity that the general human race inhabits.

I've found that I have become too lenient nowadays that most transgressions have been overlooked and let slipped by me. And that should not be in the first place.
I say, screw it! Yes, the bastard is back! Say hello to the Intransigent, because I'm setting up home.

"You Are"

2010-01-24T20:04:00.000+08:00

You are the one purity
amongst things sullied
The sun that warms the blue sky
The beauty I didn't to see
The manna that I feed
on till the day I die

You are the cool breeze
that calmed a raging sea
You are the anchor I cling
to, when I take my ease
Yet are gone without me
Left me loose and drifting

You are the shadowy retreat
when light flares, searing
You are the thaw to winter
The patterns I repeat
The words that I sing
The things I most desire

You are the ghost unrested
you are what I am not
Against whom to be measured
My one Geordian knot

For this one left wanting
Fluttering, adrift and uncaring
You are the gravity that lures
All that I am, is yours

Of New Year musings

2010-01-01T20:51:00.000+08:00

New Year, 1 Jan 2010; KL, 1:01am

The haze of the sulphur clouds lie around me. It is thick and chokingly so. Like a bizarre, ghostly hand it groped itself around the streets. Around the people on the streets viewing the fireworks.

I smell the sulphur and it was like both Vesuvius and Etna erupting in their collective conflagrations. Was this how it was for the people of Pompeii? What crossed their minds as the hot ash went through their systems, immolating them from the insides?

I could smell the sulphur from the fireworks’ aftermath. A haze of vog-like clouds wafted past my face and I wonder, as I batted them aside, if those parading themselves around me know how they look to an onlooker?

There are dancing boys, like the village fair I once attended. Some of them aping their primate counterparts, and some were content to be admired.

Of paint-splatters and egocentric divas

2009-04-06T23:02:00.000+08:00

So, I was catching up on my dose of YouTube fun—watching posts from friends, serials that'll never see the light of day here in Malaysia and plain ole browsing.

Now, I know that last cycle of ANTM was pretty whacked out. Yes, I'm still crushed that McKey won over my favourites Elina and Analeigh. And gobsmacked that the clueless, bow-legged Samantha actually walked in the finale's fashion show ... and the fact I had to see Whitney Thompson again. Oh, Dominique ... why have you deserted me?

**************************************

Okay, so this new season of ANTM starts off to a crazy start. Yes, this one actually topped the pseudo-futuristic Top Model Institute of Technology nightmare that'll have every science geek turn in his badge and begin pledging to metrosexual machismo.

The cycle's premiere takes place in Las Vegas. What better place to welcome the newest batch of wannabe ~~tarts~~ models than the City of Sin?

Since this is Las Vegas, the show started with a historic theme with Roman centurions and togas--Ceasar's Palace, et al, remember? We have the girls streaming into the place where Tyra graced them with her divine presence as the "Goddess of Fierce." Wow. Barely 10 minutes into the show and she's bringing on the crazy. Cue screaming girls here.

Any louder and they'll sound like a bunch of Liverpudlian schoolgirls who just saw the Beatles touch down at the tarmac.

The usual round of interviews followed and we're treated to your usual reality-TV fillers. The girls run the gamut here: we have a street preacher, an epileptic, a bug-eyed (No, not you Christina!) girl who confessed to liking the sight of blood and admits she finds "nosebleeds are sexy," an Afro-ed Amazon and a former burn victim. Oh, and don't forget the silly twit who brought her entire pen collection but couldn't name 5 working models. Hello, clueless! It's a modelling competition, remember?

To cut a stupid story short, they selected the lucky 13 out of the bunch of screaming ~~maggots~~ girls to live in the Top Model house—which, coincidentally is filled with photos of Tyra. Goddess of Fierce? Try Goddess of Narcissism.

The lucky 13 are as follows (with ~~stricken-through names~~ eliminated as of to date):
1. Aminat: the Amazon with the Afro
2. Tahlia: the Burn Victim
3. Natalie: Miss Sassypants
4. Sandra: the African Bitch. Much like Nnenna and Fatima.
5. Allison: Bug-eyed, Blood-Loving Girl
6. London: Manic Street Preacher
7. Fo: the Blaxican
8. ~~Jessica~~: the Pretty Girl ("I've never been called ugly"). Didn't you study your ANTM Manual? Tyra hates the "pretty-pretties."
9. ~~Nijah~~: the Prom Queen
10. Celia: the Ice-Blonde Glamazon
11: ~~Isabella~~: the Epileptic
12: Teyona: the Alien. The size of her forehead!
13: ~~Kortnie~~: the [not-quite] Plus-Sized Girl. "My body is a temple and the temple wants cheesecake!"

*************************************

Alas, the last photo shoot was a nightmare as some girls were big disappointments with the judges, while some surprised the panel with some very, very alluring shots.

The concept of this week's photo shoot is a beauty shot with a twist; the modellettes will be spattered with coloured powder and swatches of make-up, and they need to emote according to the colour. Sounds simple, no?

Not really, if the photos are any judge.

Celia Ammerman is splattered in gray. It was an interesting take on a profile shot, but you can tell there is strength and an iron will behind her eyes.

Teyona ~~Alienson~~ Anderson is yellow. Frankly, I don't get what is it about this photo that made Tyrant go positively moist with her "hope and change" speech. Her eyes, while looking somewhere in the distant, still looks blank and is a classic example of the make-up doing all the work.

Metallic blue was the colour chosen for London Levi. Looking like an alabaster-skinned goddess, this photo is rife with interesting little details: the raised shoulder, the delineation of her clavicle, the sombre emotion in her blue eyes. My only gripe about the photo is that in turning her head at the photo's current angle, London lost her neck.

Would you believe the judges actually had her placed in bottom three?!?

Sandra Nyanchoka wanted to embody the purity and angelic connotations behind white. What she ended up looking like is the confused love-child of Dennis Rodman and Harley Quinn.

Thank Heavens this lousy photo sent her packing.

Passion. Energy. That was what Fo Porter embodied in this exquisite shot. The arched eyebrows, the pouty lips, the way her freckles blended with the fine smatterings of red pigment and of course, she was smiling with her eyes.

Hello! What have we here? The latest MAC ad campaign? No, it was another pleasant surprise from this cycle's underdog Tahlia Brookins. Her softly sensual look makes you want to buy violet lipstick, doesn't it?

I feel almost sorry for this cycle's resident freakshow. Allison Harvard is a young photography afficionado, and she's as cute as a button. A cutie-pie who likes blood and finds nose-bleeds sexy. She tells people she's stealing their souls with her eyes. Understandably, her shutterbug hobby lends her a slight edge over the other girls, but she has "only one look," as noted by judge Paulina Porizkova.

Her embodiment of hot pink, though beautiful, is bland and uninspired. True, it looks like it belongs among the pages of Vogue or Marie Clare but still a sub-par performance for someone who started out so strongly in the competition.

Judge Nigel Barker likens Natalie Pack to Keira Knightley. My jury's still out on that one, but I'm certain that the willowy actress is yards the better model (Coco Mademoiselle?) than this cycle's Miss Sassypants.

Alas, for Miss ~~Hack~~ Pack. While she is a beautiful girl—and currently is the most modelesque of the girls—she has yet to master finding the correct angles to maximize her delicate bone structure. Her head-on photo looks like she had her face squashed against a shop window.

It seems emoting orange—which is fun, vibrant and almost psychedelic—is a bit too far out of her range; making her look vague and haughtily disinterested, raised eyebrows be damned.

Green with envy? Not Aminat Ayinde. The statuesque 6'11" beauty instead went for a more earthier and softer associations with the colour. She finally mastered her angles, and her lips are perfection—do I foresee lip gloss sales skyrocketing anytime soon?

*Photos credited to the CW

Of Life's Lessons

2009-03-29T17:53:00.000+08:00

Harking on back on where I am right now, and the road that led me here I was struck once again just how often people in general deny their true selves.

It’s true. We diminish ourselves, limit our talents and blind our far-reaching minds because we want to blend. We hug the familiar with such fear of letting go that we squall like newborns when someone amputates us free. We try to nail down shutters to windows letting the view of things new and untarnished. We solder our tongues to our throat so truths remain unheard, and wisdom withered unsaid. We bind our nimble fingers from pointing to paths not tread and cripple each other when one walks too far—or too fast.

On the flipside? We close our eyes to the realities of our own limitations and contract our own self-written Icarus-like tragedy.

Or we end up like Phaeton instead, piggybacking on another's name we presume to be their equals—if not betters.

We lie to ourselves by saying we’re noble and true but honestly are they truly virtues or they just pipelines you fill in to make yourself feel good? A husband will lie to his wife about a rough day at work, simply to avoid her smelling the secretary on his shirt. A son will lie to his mother about staying back at school, so she wouldn’t know he was in detention. An employee will lie to his superiors if it’ll clear him off the hook. We tell people of the good things we’ve done, and our achievements for what -- ? For them to start attaching their lips to our anal rings and start sucking? So they could build a tiny little shrine and ply you with itik golek for next week's nombor ekor?

Whilst I’m hardly a certified life coach, I believe we could all share with a little lesson or two, no?

Life Lessons 101:
1. Not only is Life a bitch, she has puppies.
Life, in all her myriad wonders and ugliness—and much like Fagin in Oliver Twist with his fleet of street urchins—employs underlings to bring you down. Age, Time, Luck, and Misfortune—all will try their dandiest to trip you up, knock you off of your pedestal and drown you out.

Hire a dog-catcher and keep those puppies penned.

2. When Life throws you lemons, throw back bricks! (and watch out for innocent bystanders!)
Sometimes, you end up receiving one of Life’s anal probe. Shit happens. That doesn’t mean you have to smell like one, yes?

It’s a precarious line to balance, though. Remember, standing up for yourself doesn’t mean stepping on others’ toes.

3. Love is Life’s pretty little sister.
Remember that little play by a certain bard called The Taming of the Shrew? Meet the Bianca of the family. Unfortunately, like all ugly elder sisters Life will make sure Love doesn’t get to have all the fun with you.

4. Some friends are fiends spelt with an “R.”
Yes, we love having our friends. There will be times however, when our friends are working against our best interest—because it is in their best interest that we trip and fall on our unpadded asses! That isn’t to say that most of them are mean-spirited. They just can’t help flapping their gums. Asking them for discretion is like celebrating Celine Dion’s retirement.

And we all knew how that went.

Some, however are the veritable Trojan horse in our group of friends. These leeches feeding off on your trust and goodwill infiltrate your life because they don’t have one. Consumed with envy because they can’t be you, they settle for lying in close then tearing you down when the opportunity presents itself.

Invest in a little emotional exorcism for the exotics, or just clock in a good old session with your therapist (who will no doubt be itching to pen her memoirs about the fools she’s met in her course of work!). Or your best friend—who’ll undoubtedly be a lot cheaper.

5. Drama is an elective, not a prerequisite
Yes, you know how some people are naturally flamboyant (who, ME?) while some seem to court trouble on a daily basis. To the point they can’t throw a party without the police being invited. These are the people that’ll make even RuPaul and Amanda Lepore run for the trees!

Learn the difference between stress (Work! Work! Work!) and drama (calling your friends from the office phone and whining about work!).

Remember that Drama is Life’s whorish black sheep cousin—grief masked as a one-time show, staging an over-the-top trauma. For these people—or if God forbid, you happen to be one of them!—have a handy supply of horse tranqs in your bag. You’ll need it.

Of an Open Letter

2009-03-28T10:43:00.000+08:00

Dearest Whom Ever,

I've been listening to too many critiques and they all contradict each other.

I've been called a product of misery. Does that mean I desire company?
I've been called bipolar. Does that mean I should increase my Zalasta intake?
I've been called a body-switcher. Should I eviscerate my Mr Hyde?
I've been called a rampaging berserker on the warpath. Do I turn myself into a willing victim now?
I've been told I'm multifacted. Do you want me to limit myself?
You call me cold, yet say I carry too much passion that it exhaust those around me to keep up.
You call me ugly yet trot me out like a prize filly in a show.
You call me full of shit and still you listen to my tales of romance and fancies.

So tell me again how does this finger-pointing work --- do I stand still? or do you want me to dodge your salvo like in P. E. class?

Tell me again of this seemingly incredible monster that shapeshifts, this multitasking destroyer that chomps on unfortunate souls to feed it's painful existence, this being that carries manifold mind patterns that houses too dangerous an imagination? Does it crave virgin sacrifices?

Or does it play more like this:
You call me miserable because I can exist without others.
I am bipolar because I like to laugh my troubles out loud, and become silent when I'm thinking.
You call me a body-switcher because I can separate between my heart's dictates and my mind's demands.
I'm a berserker on the warpath because I've had enough of being a victim.
I'm multifaceted because every one I come into contact with is unique in their own special way.
I'm cold because I don't waste time with feeling as opposed to doing.
You call me ugly because I reflect what is inside your soul.
I'm full of shit because that is the only scent a swill-guzzling spawn-of-a-sow would be familiar with.

Yours sincerely,
N. E. Guy

Of vexing timings

2009-03-23T23:20:00.000+08:00

Time.

A way to measure the passage of moments as we go throughout our life and trials. There are times when we take its passing for granted, always expecting that we have more to spare.

Alas, as my 30th birthday approaches I find myself discombobulated. No, it wasn't the regret for lost opportunities for I've always one who is never given to ponder on loss and missing chances. It was more of the time it takes to be patient. While I am quite adept at playing a waiting game much like a hunter stalking his prey, I am never known for my patience. It is a paradox--a rather telling one I admit, of deeper meanings churning in my mind.

Imagine my disgust at being told to wait for a simple outing because a person needs time to focus on finding himself/herself. What was that supposed to mean? Does one need a body atlas and a refresher course in Anatomy 101? I said to myself that it is just fine; if one wants to play an emotional Peter Pan with one's little green flying suit not far for flights of fancy to the nearest club--who am I to deny that one singular pleasure? After all, I've experienced the nightlife and while it was an enjoyable diversion, such fancies are not for me. Not with my dislike for alien crowds and shallow conversations. One shouldn't look for depths of character in a place where the bathroom walls are as translucent as a Japanese paper-house!

No one would know the harsh sting of grief and loss better than I. I would not presume to lay claim to have writ a book on monopolizing such issues but I am quite familiar with the depressive malaise that follows such cruelties Life inevatably inflicts. La, a lover leaves you for someone else. Death claimed a loved one. Friends turned into rivals, and siblings into saboteurs. Betrayal, disappointments, failures and hatred are the consequences of our own discrepancies.

Perhaps I'm too harsh for those not made as I. Perhaps I'm too much of an idealist in a place where a person's word is worth nothing--just air particles vibrated to produce platitudes that never amounted to much.

Perhaps if I'm not such a besotted fool it would've been translated differently.

Of savage findings

2009-01-26T21:56:00.000+08:00

Often did I sometimes perch myself on one of those pyramidical cylinders at the park and wondered if all I could see was all I needed to know of this life. I lost count what I did back then but I did remember that I was a foolish little boy who once played the truant to escape the humdrum school days. Or the bullies.

I was young. Impressionable. In my pride and foolhardiness I tempted my luck too many times over and have walked away from a past while not filled with regrets, was something I would be hard-pressed to admit I was proud of.

Overly melodramatic, perhaps. Frankly honest, yes.

When I looked back on things now with eyes more seasoned towards thirty cycles of the sun, I feel like laughing at myself. Was I that absorbed in my own self-importance? Lackaday. If I'd met that boy now I would've been spitting on him. And with great relish. In retrospect, it is good to realize that we were once fools. Just that some of us would prefer not to relish the process!

It was a painful realization that I realized that whatever small capacity I had for feeling--save anger and rage--died with someone dear to me. No, I will not name names, for they're unneeded--nor pertinent--at this point. It was even more painful that whatever glimmer of light I chanced upon should tantalize me with a whispered spark ... but I am swimming aloone in these cold depths. Like the Eskimos, I have my Sedna chasing me from beyond the murky deeps.

I would like to style myself as Robinson Crusoe inside my head, that I'll find that lost savage within me and cleave him to the light.

Only when darkness meets the light will I be balanced.

"Drowning for Mako"

2009-01-24T22:21:00.001+08:00

It was a dark cold emptiness
that I had to brave for you
Frayed knots I need to undo

My limbs grow cold and unfeeling
and I start to slip under
Don't let me go, never
let me go without an inkling

Will this be a short journey?
Or am I doomed to failure
floating, floating forever

My bones grow brittle and
I start to break apart
Oh my fragile heart!
Fractured from end to end

The water fills me, it fills me
It consumes, takes me over
And slowly, I'm pulled under

My shell expands like gossamer
And my limbs now move
Like birds in sky above
A most graceful swimmer

Ah bliss! My journey is unending
yet no longer am I lonely
My totem, you're with me

Of losing stupidity

2009-01-20T18:42:00.000+08:00

You remember the poem about Solomon Grundy? Born on Monday ... dead on Sunday?

I forgot how it all went. Handily enough, I have a new take on a certain Solomon Grundy of mine: Born on Tuesday, doped to the gills all the way, OD'd on Sunday, died on--surprise, surprise--Tuesday.

Please, judge me not too harshly for being unsympathetic. It boggles my marbles when an intelligent young man decides to throw all he had going for him for the sake of a few extra milligramme of liquid high. I hoped it was worth it. I hoped his life--what it might have been, what he could have achieved if he wasn't so out of it--flashes before his eyes. I doubt if he was lucid enough but I hope to all that is holy he suffered. Like how his family and friends suffered.

Like those people who picked up the slack--keeping mum about his whereabaouts, helping him through his withdrawal. People who helped him to the toilet when he could barely make it past his filthy, stinking bed.

Is this what it's like in the middle of a hurricane? Standing in the middle of a deceptive calm while everything spins out of control.

Who was it that was spiralling out of the centre? Was it him, or was it us all along?

Did we try too hard to tether a fey spirit, did we smother it with our concern?

It was a life marked by sadness. Not his, for he was laughing and cackling away when we tried to slap him to his senses. No ... he was having too much fun to stop.

Well ... it finally stopped for him. And we're left to pick up the pieces.

Again.

Of animals in the office

2009-01-16T16:43:00.000+08:00

A dear colleague left the company I'm working at for a better offer at Maxis. I would admit that I feel a mite discomfitted at the loss of a familiar face. The selfish prig in me wanted her to stay but the pragmatist wished her all the best in her move. Better things await her I'll bet, instead of mouldering away in a job that I suspect she was beginning to resent. I find myself envious at her windfall. It's only human, I suppose.

It would be conjecture on my part but I suspect that it wasn't just the work she was starting to resent but the persons involved as well.

Pray, am I one of them?

Some were asking me what I would do now that she is gone. I was a bit surprised at the silliness of it all: was I not breathing before I knew her? What did they expect, that I lose it and start going Hannibal Lecter on people? People come and go. Especially in an office environment. Since I dare call myself her friend, should I not be glad she's leaving for greener pastures? La, people are such fools sometimes. They would presume to judge you on only a small aspect of your life that they see in the office and make assumptions--usually unflattering ones. Perhaps they meant it in good clean fun. Perhaps not. I wouldn't dream of calling myself a mind-reader but if what they vocalize is what they were thinking ... do I even want to go there?

Whilst on the topic of presumptious fools, what does it say about your superiors who seemed to be incapable of doing nothing else but gossip endlessly in the office? Or butting in on your conversations with your colleagues? Or kept touching you inappropriately? Or simply put, just congenitally stupid? I usually operate on a slightly jaded worldview but today my mind decided to go on its psychedelic weekend mode extraordinarily early.

The result is that my office suddenly turned into a morbidly bizarre Looney Tunes episode.

The players are:
1. Madame du Viper - A pit viper with a poisonous tongue. The wannabe queen bee. Tendency to backstab, tattle, rumor-monger and bully those too weak to fight back. Could be mistaken for a male of the species when viewed from the back (squat and f-ugly!).

2. The Placeholder Drone - Takes the form of a giant wasp. Can be vicious and poisonous--though not as virulent as the Viper. Rendered impoptent due to second-string status, this one hungers for their turn in the spotlight. Usually found buzzing around looking for scraps of gossip, info, potential blackmail material and such--all to increase their relevance in the office.

3. The Wise Owl - A beneficent parental/mentor figure. Usually sits in the background, but within visual contact of the staff. Tends to rely much on their direct subordinate(s).

4. The Tree Shrew/Rat - As a colleague, this one is DANGEROUS! Usually pleasant of face, dress or demeanour. Credit-stealing is the least they will do. As a superior, this one is an EXTINCTION-LEVEL threat. Utilises mother-hen antics to hide their deficiencies. Suffers from a form of megalomania, can be found running around being a know-all, help-all, handle-all. Much like their namesake, will sacrifice their staffs' or colleagues' wellbeing, sanity, livelihood, reputation and self-esteem if it could save their sorry necks or further their career.

5. The Bear Savant - Takes the form of a honey bear (Think Baloo from The Jungle Book). Smart, knowledgable and approachable they tend to hold their peers' respect as colleagues, and their staffs' loyalty as superiors.

6. The Ducks-in-a-Row - Mostly harmless, they tend to be void of identity. However, the unwary has been known to be pecked to death sometimes--if they report directly to the Viper/Shrew/Rat types. When they do report to the aforementioned, they will usually have carte blanche to do as they will, as their superiors' proxy.

7. The Busy Bees - As workers, they're indispensible. They're conscientous, industrious and knowledgable (if not capable). No pushover, they've been known to attack aggressors with their deadly sting--and they're not averse to teaming up against larger opponents. Favourite victims: Viper/Shrew/Rat.

8. The Funny Monkey - The office clown. Can be counted on to enliven the office. No natural enemies as Owls appreciate their intrinsic value as comic-relief and agressors see them as non-threatening. Tendency to clown around however, lands them foul of the Placeholder when the latter is on the warpath.

9. The Cat - Usually found alone. Can be sociable but erratic. While personable, has a tendency to go from one mood swing to another. Tends to take a neutral stance in office politics. While more concerned with his meal-ticket and creature comforts, can be ferocious when prodded in the wrong way. Has a natural antipathy towards the Viper/Shrew/Rat types. Gets along well with the Bear and the Bees. Ironically, they tend to be at loggerheads with Monkeys, who find their mood swings disturbing.

It is obvious that they don't give me enough to do at work if I can actually come up with this in my head while updating databases!

"Words"

2009-01-07T18:43:00.000+08:00

You can call me your comfort zone
as you rest your head on me.
You can call me when you feel the need
to talk your troubles out.
You can scream and rant at me
if it makes you feel better.

I have but words
and they stumble
upon your tongue

You can hold me, hug me
when the cold night air blows.
You can slam me into the wall
to cushion your thoughtless swerve.
You can be my sun, my light, my life
as I gravitate to the hum of your core.

I have but words
and they echo
unheard in silence

You can remake yourself
yet all I need is the person within
You can redeem yourself
yet all is already forgiven
You can fly unfettered
and all I need is your return

I have but words
and they stumble ...
Like me

Of findings and Cheshire smiles

2009-01-06T20:56:00.000+08:00

I've often been told I'm a study of contradictions. I wouldn't know just how true that might be as the discussions -- so I've been told -- usually takes place outside of my hearing. To give the gossipy folks their due, I would say they are correct but one must excuse me for being uncharacteristically close-mouthed on the exact veracity of their suppositions. After all, it wouldn't do to tip my hand ... I might be misanthropic, but definitely far from being moronic.

I would like to say that yes, I walk around with an exposed nerve. I'm emotionally trigger-happy. I would be one of those that believe the first burst of emotion -- that first reaction -- is always the truest, as it is the most pure. Others would gainsay that you need time to make a proper decision. I usually rebutt that time blurs the true intent. After all, if you already know what you want and/or need ... what else is there to think?

However, when it comes to matters close to the heart --yes, I can hear some poeple snickering there! -- I've always been cautious. I wouldn't lie by saying I've never felt the intense burst of lust or developed unhealty fixations or (gads!) even hormone-driven infatuation ... yet I'm never quite foolish enough to believe them as otherwise. It was with great delight -- and I admit with a healthy dose of chagrin on my part -- that I suddenly realize I've found someone ... and I never quite expected it!

I've been more or less oblivious that there have been times I'm too ensconced in my own head that I don't pay much attention to the people around me. Perhaps that would be the primary reason I'm perceived as aloof, snobbish or cold -- my vitriolic tongue-lashings notwithstanding. La, gushing is not something I'm prone to and I still find myself being a veritable Chesire cat at times. I admit that loopy smiles and I do not usually go hand-in-hand.

I wouldn't presume to know where this will lead, but I'm willing to find out. And the one who made me smile again seems willing to accompany me. Perhaps the journey alone is worth it.

Of peeling my candied eyelids back and diggin' the smut

2008-12-18T17:18:00.000+08:00

Don't you just love technology? The way it makes everything easier from keeping in touch to losing weight, all you have to do is invest a few dollars (or more!) and voila! If we were to chart human activities, nothing should surprise us at how simple it is to amuse ourselves ... Look at me for goodness sakes. I spend my free time talking about myself! It is only my fervent hope hope that readers may gain some beneficial instruction from my endless ramblings that kept me going.

And again, I have to thank technology for this outlet. Purging ourselves of our inner demons used to involve a priest, gallons of holy water and a tub of vomit. Not anymore. Hook yourself up to the Net, become an online Sybil and feel free to pretend that your overweight, stubby-no-neck body is actually housing a hoochie mama in black leather. Or the second coming of Brad Pitt. Take your pick, or substitute as desired.

I was left to my own devices today and developed a startling fixation on sex. I was reading a blog about how Kate Winslet was forever doing nudies and love scenes. Not that I'm complaining, of course. If a beautiful woman wishes us viewers to have an edifying look at what Mama gave her, then the only thing I can say is "Callo, Callay, Yahhooo, Hoorayyy!" Then my thread of thought picked up on Hugh Dancy's turn as a bisexual gigolo in a bizarre menage a trois with Eddie Redmayne and Julianne Moore. Oh the redheads galore!

Hmmm ... talk about them burning bush ...

Hell, to take this fixation and run it to death I, at the urging -- make that violent urging -- of a friend decided to defile my already reprobate eyes and irredemably filthy mind by searching out the many amateur porn sites that litter the cyberspace we sometimes traipse around.

Oh Good Lord! Some things should not be seen by those with hyper-active imaginations. As I was viewing the many trials and free tours accorded by these sites I was gobsmacked and left wondering: People get paid for this! And others pay to see this!

I am quite thankful that I am quite worldly, therefore seeing a bisexual tag-team isn't a gnarly an experience as it would've been for some. My complaint about the ones is see at one of the sites -- one Corbin Fisher -- is that the women featured are butt-awful-ugly!

One looks like tranny on crack. No joke, I'm telling you. Everytime she got flipped over I see her flapjack breast flop-fluppa-flopping around like raw flapjack pancakes. From what I saw I think the two guys tag-teaming her were enjoying each other more than her ... She might as well whip out the pink-Bedazzled dildo and whack them over the head to get their attention.
The pink dildo bit was just me, by the way ....

The skanky smutty artist in me was enjoying the sight of all these bee-YOO-hooo!-tiful people rutting around like lemmings before the grand plunge until it finally hit me just how artificial some of these sites are ... we have a gay-for-pay stud doing his first one-on-one with another guy ... and suddenly he's swallowing sword?!?! How do the viewers ascertain he's gay-for-pay? with a cert that proves he's limp till clams twitter-twatter at his face?

I think I just swallowed my own 10-litre bile ...

However, lest I projectile-vomit onto my laptop I deem it unnecessary that readers have to be subjected to the same pain I endured (ain't that nice of me?). Therefore I hope you enjoy the more desirable of photos culled from the hidden (ass)cracks of cyberspace.

*photo credits to whomever took them! :-P

Of eternal springs

2008-12-10T18:34:00.000+08:00

Aaaah ...

Such is the sound that escapes from my parted lips as I try to puzzle my current predicament.

I would like to think -- that despite my aloof, callous demeanour -- I am not a person given to hate.

I'd like to say that I'm a rather amiable person. That I can be content -- if not happy -- in my current lot compared to the poor swabs around me and not feel the twisting stab as I begin to see washes of red in my field of vision.

Perhaps this resentment stem from my restless nature. Although I can be very patient, the dullness of monotony does not sit well with me. There are times past that I used to stab myself with my name-tag pin in class just so I won't keel over out of sheer boredom.

What does it say of a person who prefers pain over joyful ruckus in class to break the humdrum study hours?

I wish that this hope that one day I might be able to feel won't be just that. That while hope springs eternal I am only mortal. Even the most ardent of force must one day cease. It is the nature of things to wither and be replaced. Will there be hope left if I tire of waiting?

Everyday, I pick at my mental scabs -- countless scores of them -- as I beat and puzzle my way through this sparse expanse of my worldview.

Everyday.

I should be an old hand by now.

Of beautiful defenses

2008-12-05T22:52:00.000+08:00

Silence.

Blissful silence.

Beautiful, blissful silence.

It has always been something I crave. The silence of peace. The solace of solitude. The sense of aloneness when you feel weary of the world--when needs must to place a barrier between yourself and the outside world whenever you tire of it.

Upon the surface, most would be forgiven for thinking that I enjoy the limelight. To a certain point, I would agree that I do enjoy the attention. I would also heartily agree that most audiences are fools. They believe the facade conjured and take it as truth. They insist the public and the private must be one and the same. They demand transparency and take you at your face value that that is all there is to what makes you a unique creature. Nothing is ever as it seems. We all wear masks. We all tell little white lies (Good heavens! You don't look a day above 35, Mrs Wong!) and big black ones (I did not have sexual relations with that woman ... !).

Sometimes the truth is exactly what scares us into such perfidy. Sometimes the truth is boring. Bland. We are sometimes afraid that the truth about us would diminish us in others' eyes. To a person who prides in being known as an Incomparable, Original and Unique this must rankle.

How painful it is to be regarded as--gasp!--common!

Therefore we put on a show. Whether they carry the glitz of Ceasar's Palace or the gritty edge of a Sundance nominee, we perform our little charades. Sometimes the canny viewers will guess at the truth and we abashedly come clean, or we layer another performance--an improv, if you will--on top of it. Before we know it, the smokescreen we had concocted became a point of fact to be appended to us. Our personality, our idiosyncracies--everything!--became a warped image of what we are.

It has now become a guessing game as we all attempt to unmask everyone around us. And it is a beautiful thing to watch. Even as I sit quietly in the far corner of the local coffee shop or a secluded section of a bar--or anywhere for that matter, I smile as I relish the amateur performances before me.

The incompetent boss who covers up her deficiency by obsessing over every trivial minutae. The young father glaring at his wife whilst the recalcitrant child struggles in his hand as he waits patiently for her to finish her shopping--then smiles indulgently at her when she comes out from the store. The backstabbing office bitch trying to cover her misstep with unimaginative small talk. The young man taking a second look at the girl two tables away as his date prattles on about her day. The late evening jogger gorging on food as if it were his last meal. The drunken yuppie enjoying being groped by his gay best friend. The voluntarily oblivious girlfriend who pleads ignorance about her beau's marital status.

Even as I take it all in, I am ever wondering if I am the lone observer here? Mayhap there is someone else lurking in the wings, noting my movements? My smug smirk as I watch other people stumble. Are they near enough to hear my muttered invectives? How would I look to them?

Bitter. Jaded and cynical. Enjoys observing anothers' fall, thinks himself so smart with his snappy comebacks and sarcastic asides. Covers his insecurities with bizarre behaviour--maybe he wasn't hugged enough as a child.

Is that the real me? or just the front that I present?

Is that why I treasure the silence I bind myself in sometimes? That for the few brief minutes, I can just be--without fear of saying the right things, of making other people laugh ... of putting on yet another show.

Garden of Shadows

"If I Were to Walk in Twilight"

Of open letters, Pt. 2

Of songs and such

"Untitled"

You may be the Storm, but I am WinterI will bury your rage with snow and entomb you in ice You are just one pattern of a fickle weather while I am an entire season-- an unchangable, implacable and unending part of Nature.

Of righteous cleanliness and such

"Passing the Same Signs"

Of undefineable dissolution

Of temptations and seductions

9th June, 10:47pm

Imagine Me & You (revised)

"Untitled"

"This Night for Wandering"

Of artistic roughs

Of relations and temptations, Pt. 1

Ghost Town, 4th February

Of suffering little children

Of New Year musings

Of avatars and hilarity

Of Bankable madness

Of sorcery and beauty

"Walls"

"Jigsaws"

Of letting go

Of lawful illusions, sweet wildness and twisted truths

Of cougars and leopards

Of vacillations

"Some Mother's Son"

"Highways"

Of being so over this

Of suitcases

"Running Horse"

"Too Much Said"

Of wantings

Of lost guides

Of asinine statements

"12 February"

Of VD and Misery

Of insults and offenses

"You Are"

Of New Year musings

Of paint-splatters and egocentric divas

Of Life's Lessons

Of an Open Letter

Of vexing timings

Of savage findings

"Drowning for Mako"

Of losing stupidity

Of animals in the office

"Words"

Of findings and Cheshire smiles

Of peeling my candied eyelids back and diggin' the smut

Of eternal springs

Of beautiful defenses

You may be the Storm, but I am Winter
I will bury your rage with snow and entomb you in ice
You are just one pattern of a fickle weather
while I am an entire season--
an unchangable, implacable and unending part of Nature.