if i had one opportunity. if i have one chance.
i will, like now, regret not seizing it.
i miss myself. and i hope to see her soon.

why dont i ever get tired travelling in the vicious cycles.
why dont i ever get headaches twirling in the currents.
this time around, whatever comes, comes.
whatever goes, goes.
i say hi to the stranger.
and bid goodbye to the strayer.
tell me, what should i do with you.

i am trying to remember details. for so many people get torn from their sleep. slumbering off into the heavens. details are like the sweet bitterness, the aftertaste you get from a latte. details are like the feel of the heartbeat without the sight of a pounding heart. its like hearing the close ones whisper, without their presence. remember not my face, not my height, not my eyes. but my thoughts, my cries and my soul.

there we stood. five in a room. one has to stray to the window. four pair of eyes temporarily blinded. four pair of ears temporarily deaf. one pair searching. one pair watching. one pair wondering. one pair crying. while the rest, fall numb to the moment. we. say make love not war. yet we make war when we love. we. say time flies. yet we try to kill time. we. say we have to seek what we lost. yet we find, then forget. we. cry and laugh with the same pair of eyes. we. love and hate with the same heart. we. speak good and bad. with that tongue. we. are truly strange.

questions. answers. i am lacking both these days. feels like a desert. feels like the sahara. i fathom a new stream passing the desert by. like Ballard's sahara. i lost myself on the walk to the oasis. i lost myself in the cemetry. i lost myself to gravity. i lost myself to the mass produced you-s. i lost myself to myself. i can no longer hide. and i thought i was just playing my game. but i guess not. i wasnt even game.

and so they say. stop when you arent making sense.

i cant stand a string of voices.
my ears ring when a conversation moves on incessantly.
i roam into the outer realms.

i need junctions of silence.
i need silence to contemplate reflect ponder.
cos i babble off, when we continue on the journey with our tongues.

i prefer words written. typed. scribbled. sketched. doddled.
not spoken.
cos spoken words are at times impulsive gestures.
to impress, to lie.

i lack a magnetic personality.
a status whore, i am not.
and never will be.

*peace. love and hope.

"i am a yellow, woman architecture student, now, hear me speak"

we are counting down to 1916.
or are we still in 1984.
tell me. this is not the 21st century.

i was forced to get a hotmail account. in as much as i try to be alternative, i guess the big brothers out there give a betta support.
at least they dont shut down within months. sorry pals, please update moi's new addy: crumbledtoast@hotmail.com

For all the sensory stimulation with which our world of mass-mediated images provides us,
the net result is an anaesthetization rather than a heightening of the senses.
why does it take the grim, grisly details
to spur the senses and motivate the questionings of our surroundings and existence.

I am sorry.
i unknowingly insulted someone and i still am feeling sore about it.
sorry. i havent even gotten your name.

*disgustingly ashamed and convicted of first degree paranoial.
crumbled

they came. they stayed. they left. like so many before them.
hours, minutes, seconds
years, months, days
you said time flies
you lied
they more than fly

thanks to those who have been faithfully clicking by. i know this blog started to relieve myself from my umpteen repetitions of this low lifer's drama rama in victoria.
havent been on a revelation or writer's spell lately. so pardon the many words less spoken, but treasure the few words expressed. will find time to get a decent blog out soon. have urself a overly bloodsuckingly commercialised V-day!

free your gaze from its narrow focus
dream the impossible dream
own the most futile ambition
be promised a most extraordinary existence

paz. sueño. vivo.
peace. dream. live.

why does it takes noise
for appreciation of silence

why does it seems impossible
to get home by sea

why cant i take the less travelled track.

for S,

life has only meaning in the struggle,
triumph or defeat is in the hands of Gods.
.... ....
can you put up a struggle, for us. please.
and celebrate the struggle.

*i hope to see you,
fight again.

paper on desk. paints on palette. brush on hand.
you told me to paint a self portrait. its been years, but i still havent.
crumples of sketches tossed into the bins. paints washed down the drains.
formed the perfect sculpture piece, titled 'failed self portrait'
how should i paint my face.
how do i want to be seen.
how can i allow my hands precedence over my face.
how can i make a presentation, not an ostentation.
why do i drown in introspection, on my search for a presentation.
how true it is, a self portrait hides and reveals.
and i still am painsakingly trying after 3 years
to paint my (self portrait)

*stay kind.

i tell the little lass stories with happy endings.
i tell the little lad stories of the good's victory over the evil.
you tell me i should stop my. lies.
you tell me you seemed to have lived in the middle.
all your life. never close to the sweet ending.
the middle. where life's uncertainties aplenty.
i believe.
it is the possibility of a happy ending that motivates the middle.
that drains off its stagnant waters.
and determines the shape of the story as a whole.
no movement. no risk. immediate death.
thats what a disbelief for a happy ending brings.

for S. whose bleak outlook on what we term, life, is taking a dangerous dip.
you have been an inspiration, will continue being one.
i cant take another demise. be it a physical or spiritual death.

*promise me, stay alive.

t h i n k t h e u n t h i n k a b l e.

*parasitical crumbled

once upon a time, there was a girl called Liand.
for many years, you had theories.
(theories)
which deck the world in a perfect stillness
visible only to the elect
(theories)
the corpse of time
butchered and bottled in truth
i think i might have taken one of your theories.
dressed it up as a story and wheeled it out in narrative form
and called myself the storyteller.

*to all, else i forget, thanks for the new year messages, emails etc.
i have a small request though, chummies, please sign off with an initial or the such when using the El Cheapo means of smsing (aka icq).
still deciphering the authors to some sms-es. somehow, i think i am being fooled once again.with some more than festive greetings sms-es.

esperanza del amor de la paz

we are most of us disgusted by ourselves
and would do anything to be allowed not to look.

being still, means war
love is cheap as a word
show it, not hang it by your lips.

*paix, pace, Frieden
p.s: i have a inkling that my interestingly melodramatic neighbour has departed from the sacred 7th level, together with his myraid of chummies, chicks and chefs.
the Crumbled wishes Rob the best in his future endeavours and may he share his smoke,grim and noise to other less previledged folks. (now scram for good! muhaah)

in a bit of a predicament.
silence is the day's fragrance.
*peace

was chatting with some friends yesterday, and a few said that i sounded alittle morosed and despondent. was i missing home during this festive season? i shuddered at the question cos i never missed home. i only miss people. miss their speech. miss their disposition. miss their little actions, the sweeping of hair, the gentle carasses of their dresses, the slur in their speech, these things, i miss.

maybe you are a prophet. i slumbered into deep sleep with a smile that cant be wiped off easily. i woke up, to be greeted by disturbing news. there have been so many constant reminders for us to cherish life recently. i always believed that people in third world countries appreciate the fragility of life more. but in times like these, we, the previledged ones, have to learn this lesson fast. that life is like a drop of water, precariously perched on a stone, open to the forces of nature. at any moment, you might be sliding down the pits of death, at another moment, you may be soaring to highlands, the winds are your commanders. accept the fact that for the many things you can control, there are many more things you cant.

shouldnt we sit still for a moment. are we doing what we are passionate about? cos so many of us dont. i dont dream of living long. i dont see myself living long. i say a prayer of thanks for having lived past a day, i recite a prayer when i have fully breathed in the essence of the day. its about how you live, not how long you live. in these times of adversity, quality is what counts. i breath every breathe, as if its my last, knowing that if it should be my last, i should depart with no regrets.

my condolences to the crew of Columbia,
Space shutter, Columbia, falls to earth in pieces, killing all 7 astronuts onboard
you departed when the dream was close to the finish, before the curtains came down, before the applause greeted you, you left.

and if I should ever go away, well then close your eyes and try, to feel the way we do today
and then if you can remember, keep smiling, keep shining
knowing you can always count on me, for sure, that's what friends are for
for good times and bad times, i'll be on your side forever more
well you came in loving me, and now there's so much more I see
and so by the way I thank you
oh and then for the times when we're apart, well then close your eyes and know
the words are coming from my heart, and then if you can remember
keep smiling, keep shining, keep being you.

the melody that so made us close.

in remembrance of my good buddy, andi sarjono.
everytime a festive season looms, i see you round the bend, smiling and shining.
knowing that i will catch you in a while's time.
rest in peace.

another one of my frat crap, since its the weekend, i shall make everyone's day.
thanks to nicholaus.

what achievement are you most proud of?
how my life reads like a good book. though some pages are tarred and tainted, most speaks very well of me.

your claim to fame at school?
at 10, started a cult, with a following of 5 and growing, till the teachers came.
at 15, had various detentions for participating in yet another 'cult' kulture.
at 16, successfully aced my major exams, despite being the one who aced at skipping classes as well. *this is in my year book!
at 19, successfully ceased the partying, and got myself a spot in uni.
at 21, and still fame hungry. *muhaaaha

what makes you happy?
the 5 senses, breathing, listening, smelling, eating (veggie n vegan of cos!), touching.
watching the poor fight poverty. watching the poor fight the rich. watching the poor come out the winner.
reading, writing, thinking, brooding, contemplating, recalculating, reminiscing.
architecture, the arts, music, smiles, soy latte and counting..

what makes you angry?
people, the rich, the snobs, the straightforward, the blunt, the inapt, the gaffe-producing machines, bush, howard, blair et al.

when was the last time you made a fool of yourself?
i am the fool. always fooled, but never fooling others.

name your least favourite cliche and why you dislike it.
i dont have one.

what was the last movie you saw? what did you think of it.
the quiet american. was fantastic. go read the reviews. period.

what are you reading? is it any good?
john binias, theory of flesh.
peter sheridan, 44.
milan kundera, ignorance.
various architectural writers, non-plan.
claire colebrook, gilles deleuze.
all friggin awesome!

describe the last dream you remember having.
wasnt a dream. a nightmare, of me eating meat. thats creepy crippling!

whats the biggest issue this country is facing at the moment? why is it so important?
which country? i shall state both.
singapore: over protective folks, harbour their kids, feeding them well, educating them, to find them hidden behind the hugh boulder, on their path to life.
australia: the gees'. bushie's lackey, meanie howie.

if you were prime minister, what are the first things you would do.
deny my post.

*peace