yes. i am overwhelmed. and yes. thats me choking by the sidewalks. table for one, at nine.
and i arent surprised, the massive amount of onlookers that gathered, and none, that offered. a simple hand gesture.

i stopped on the streets and asked the crowds, when will we move from ritualisation to performativity. i stopped in the laneways and asked the homeless where will this lane lead me. i stopped in the arcades and asked the waiters what will this latte bring me. for all that people have brought to me, half of those fell out of my pockets and scattered on the streets, a quarter flew off with the wind and the remaining, i lost them. deliberately. cos without loss, one cant seems to cherish the past. we talk about how we love the light, i love the dark even more, without the dark, i shudder to ponder bout the value of light. the heaviness of light.

*peace-breed it from within

dear rye,
yes. been to scott's exhibition. fantastic for a VCE student. i am blantantly impressed.
yes. been to jeffrey shaw's latest. awesome possum, what a ride.
yes. been to the i-place. gotten the crap. all on my desk.
yes. been to the contemporary arty area over a latte.
yes. i am head over heels with ballard-the writer.
no. havent seen some around. and no. dont think i wanna. and no. dont ever say u wanna.
* i cant take echos in the darkest caves, i recognise voices, and i see dead people. half of them thinks they are alive. crippling*

stay up with the peace protests.

its harmony day. i was at scott's exhibition. i was in a room with 9 nudes. i was in tibet for 3mins. i was in brunswick. i was in fitzroy. i was into jeffrey shaw.
i was in every place you think i would not be in.

i question time. you say if we give the red light. we are freeing the people. from saddam. saddam has been saddam years ago. people have been tortured years ago. innocents have been killed years ago. why now, i ask, do you rig up the atrocities to wage war. i looked up old photos of you, i saw you shaking hands, i saw you give the go ahead, i saw you witnessing the tortures, yet nodding your head. in acknowledgement. i am in a dilemma. maybe i arent supposed to look at the old photographs. maybe the search for a reasonable reason for war, is a futile one. i will never know will i, and maybe i was never meant to. its so you, to paint a picture of emotive picture, to conceal the real grostesque images, to present a sanitised. lie.

to echo don ross, a twisted evil logic, which maybe george orwell might recognise:
ignorance is strength..slavery is freedom..war is peace

peace. alittle will do heaps of good.

dont question the impact of what you did. question the impact of what you didnt do. dont you get sick, hearing people yelping, the war's started, bombs are dropping, its pointless, so one merely stand aimless. the globe continues spinning, on that invisible axis, even though bombs are falling, even though children are crying, even though the innocents are dying. life goes on, with or without war, many say. and its true. that i never denied. what i am denying is, the extent of what i can do. sometimes, one doesnt need a visible or tangible matter to realise that a good has been done. many demostrations, many rallies, many protests, i attend. and yes, the skies are still splattered gunshots, but at least, i didnt keep silence.

those coffees and candid chats have morphed into those coffins and cannon checks.

its the time to be out of that muted box folks. peace.

they tell me the skies' the same everywhere. cement coloured skies belting out drops of rain. azure blue skies with outbursts of sun. its not the same from your tiny window. mask at hand. life on a string. what do you cling. when mom says i love you. when dad yells carpe diem. when the days are long, the nights are longer. when fears lost its feel. when the moment's the greatest. it feels disgusting. sipping coffee, slouched on a couch, when blood's dripping, lives are on strings, on the other side of the world. the litter on the streets, the cardboards belting anti war slogans, the voices get washed by the winds, the shouts get muffled by the traffic. alittle too overwhelmed to finish this off, but arent it like war, flip our history books, we learn about the atrocities, the deaths, the innocents , but we still create the atrocities, the deaths and the innocent.

peace-a luxury these days.

photos splashed across the floor. a layer of dust below. filthy hands rubbing those weary eyes. i need new shades. untainted shades. havent you heard the pastor's latest. or rather pastors' latest. end is near. near is ending. the prophets are wakening. the spirits are rising. we are hunted. they are hunting. god's eyes are watching. christ, we say, not that soon, we are still fucking. people are still repenting. i say, we are still in the vicious cycle. the deadly circle of lies. its all still churning. we are trying, alittle too hard, to draw that tangent to that vicious circle.

if my mom calls tonight, tell her i love her.
if my dad calls tonight, tell him i miss him.
if my grandma calls tonight, wake me from my sweetest dreams.
if my grandpa calls tonight, resurrect me from my slumber.
those cold feet of his. stretched on the clean white sheets. those warm hands of mine, reaching to touch the crumpled skin. those lines. evidence of a life well taken. well trodded. well lived. wisdom knowledge creativity satirical remarks, he lived by those. i remember things aplenty. i accept life's cycle, of death and life. i just suddenly, thought of writing about you. again. no regrets, just looking forward to seeing you someday. in his eyes, i am always a kiddie. and in my eyes, he's always living. just in a different manifestation. the seed you have sowed in my mind, is sprouting. and yes, i see ugly boys on the streets these days.

what i am left imagining. who you left lingering. by the empty seats by the train station. whiffs of the old fella's ciggies. voice of the young punk's busking. who's loving the sun. who's dreading the past. who's intimidated by the past. who's denying the present. sometimes, the very things we want to run and shun. we fail. we fall. and we bump. right into those ubiquitous objects we dread.

have you heard the story of the bad fat pig and the 3 little wolves.
you didnt. cos you are still writing the story arent you.
"if you could do just one thing, keep your silence, clasp your palms and pray for me"

hellos fell from the azure skies yesterday. byes trickled down the roof, patter splatter last night. i hid myself beneath the sheets, i gloved my eyes. but i still see them fly.
notice. i havent talked about the looming war. notice. i havent talked about life itself. instead, i have been people talking. people watching. people spying. people perving. people spending. cos war, life, cries, laughters, all encircle and birth forth, from humankind. turning alittle blind. cos you have been turning a blind eye.

if you dont catch me in time, i fly. what do you suppose i should do. wait in anticipation. no longer. dream on. no longer. i took the new bus, that brought me to the new town. which mommy told me, had better tasting apples. which daddy told me, the sun sets at 9 everyday. i packed my bags, left you on the shelves. i should have left her in the cupboard too, so she would cease telling the world about you. the crows on the yarra, the trash in gardens, the you in my mind. these are the things i so wish to throw. into the deep seas. but i always end up, counting stars. breaking your fall. and slipping your hands away.

*folks. pop by len's site. he's humming the exact words i feel at this moment in time. r.i.p andi. and they ask why, i have to bring him up. cos, as i say always, he's not gone. he's just by the bend. and when a shadow passes behind me, i ponder if its my yeh yeh or its andi. either way. i miss both.

take me back to 1988.
taken distance as a safety net. fissures of doubt are revealing. dreams of a future still encased in the back of my head. no more trust, no more friendship. dont even mention love. why did i assumed there ever was. a 'ship' in the dock. merely searching for a safe harbour. to harbour my fears. my thoughts. my desires. my needs. i should have known. should have forseen. should have forsaken. in the early hours of the morning. when the cold winds numb my veins. my nerves. my entire being. now, all dry. all high. alittle fallen. sometimes you pushed yourself closer, yet keeping the distance. many times my mind wanders, yet remembering gravity. maybe thats all you ever wanted. all you ever desired. all you ever deserved. my upper body holds on to the ropes of hopes, maybe. we had something going. my lower body strays from your footprints in the mud, maybe, its all good, that we lead separate lives. maybe its all good, that time leaves us with nothing for one another. maybe its all destined, the distrust that cradles my heart. yes. you are just like one of them. and foolishly, i dressed you as a unique one. sheer childlikeness.

your eyes. your ears. your face. your hair. your speech. your disposition. i promise myself. i will toss them into the trashcans. i just need more time. maybe one more week. so remain in hibernation. dont yell out when you spot me. dont tap me when you see me. just run, run, run, when you see me. and this timearound, i promise. i will not give chase. i will stay rooted. the streets are full of nice little gals. all sugar and spice. everything nice. why did you have to pick her from the crowd. tell me why. i am all ears. all ears. awe ears.

yes. guess thats it. it works in a mean vicious cycle. how strange human relationships are. one moment, i can be spending 24-7 with someone. the next moment, i can be spending 24-7 with another someone. and they say its evergreen. load of bullshitting! by the way, have i told you. i have this idiosyncrasy. i detest hearing about others' affairs. though i bitch alot. spew heaps of crap. generate massive amounts of hot goss. but i dread to be on the recieving end. this days, hearing about others is making me puke. upset. and i might very well lose my cool. please do not relate people to me, let our chats encircle around, more uplifting and glorifying matters. not people. thanks.

no. i dont get it. i dont comprehend it all. i dont get to see the usual people. i dont get to meet the usual people. and i dont get to hear from the usual people. where have all the usual people gone. locked behind doors, chatting some unusual people up. usually, it doesnt take long, for the unusual to morph into the usual. and vice versa. and this may sound unusually me. but yes, this is how i sound usually. people make use of the useful. but i think you mock the usual and deem the usual. unusual. and you still like the unusual, dont you. you shameless slut.

the more i watch you. the more detestable you get. i am sorry, i tried. but you havent. thats why. your side of the dime is filthy. smelly and unworthy of the metal it was cast from.

well. you spill out from the theatres. smiles and laughters. words and idles. twinkle and mingle. your shoes spell the familiar clucking. this time around, theres an echo. always been an echo. always surrounded by echos. i said, Christ Christ, he's long gone. like a filthy dime that taints my palms. i smell the filth. although i turn my eyes away. he started in a bad direction, torn maps. he started with a bad intention, two lost souls. standing at the sidewalks. two lost souls, staring at the crowds passing by. two lost souls, waiting to bump into one another. there's anxiety, yet there's fear. but for me, two spells disgust. what some men will do here for girls. what some girls here will do for men. what man will do for himself. bleeding yet climbing. blinded yet searching. sane sane, they are all insane. i sail tonight for Ipanema, packed my bags, paid my dues, forgot myself. forgot all of you. and i am sailing tonight, to Ipanema.

i beg your pardon. i heard nothing. just mixed signals. the lights blink red, green and yellow. which should i follow. under the watchful eyes of another. i get terrified, paranoid, of the disturbing kind. the film rolls, the soundtracks play, but with a pair of eyes and ears. we make choices, who we choose to listen and watch. sometimes, up comes along a lost soul that attempts to pick up everything from the myraid of films showing on the streets. i say, cease foolishness. knowing is one thing, ability to sync-in is another and being appreciative of the surroundings, arent simple.

as i go out, without you, it seems like its Independence Day. i left my excess baggage at home. i did. the worm's climbing the other coloured tree, the bird is preying the usual tree. now the rain's falling. its pouring. the old man is sleeping. yet, i am bleeding. the rain trickles down, i yelp in anguish. thank goodness, you are not with me. when you bleed, you notice, jack begging for small change. you notice, chris looking for a partner.you notice, the little gal with broken shoes. you notice, the old woman walking with a limp. you open your senses. you drop the jokes, jests and chuckles. you embrace the stoid realities of this place we live in. you realise that so many people lead two lives. many more lead three. i cherish candidness. cos your tail's showing. now would you please excuse me.

the words get stirred in the cauldron. senses get stroked in the wrong directions and laughters echo the tears that fall in the wee hours of the morning. i boarded a train months ago. the first icy dawn of the year. the rain poured, but once i boarded the train, it stopped. why then, are my shoes still wet. dripping wet with january.

we pile lies up
we layer truths up
once awhile i stole a glance
and remembered what lies beneath
once awhile i reminded you of
the sight i had before
no one likes the layers revealed
no one likes the layers discovered
no one likes the peeling
i cry dirty tears
when i peel your layers off
like peeling an onion.
i cry. dirty tears.

the eyes. preys. finds and hunts.
the mouth. stings. bites and stinks.
the ear picks up the mundane.
your senses. alittle unsensible.
unbearable.
*be candid. its gettin alittle extinct.

the stillness of the night wraps around you
the silence of the evening creeps around you
the dreams of the impossible brightens in the darkest skies
come morning
the light pours in, like gravity pulling my feet
down on ground zero again.
been waiting
hopelessly anticipating
roots of last night's dreams surface on the yellow soil
so dry that flowers perish
yet who can explain
the phenomena of the green leaves

i knocked on the door, to be greeted by a four faced janus.
why did you say you would be there, yet i got no answer.

as per friends' requests, a blog on the return of uni:
i have always been anticipating the beginning of uni. cos finally my brain would be put to good use. at least it would be forced to think. forced to argue. to comment. to speak from within. talk these days have turned too polite. we speak with eloquency. with courtesy. with zilch intelligency. maybe not zilch intelligency, but we nanny talk. like babies, we hush hush truths to one another. once awhile, a plato surfaces, questioning the unknown. questioning the ethics. questioning the proven. but often, the sheep lay quiet. like in a deep slumber. we fall into a comfortable sleep with the proven, cushioning our heavy laden heads. some people walk the day. some talk the day. some run the day. few breathe the day.

you have an ability to be remade.
yet you alluded yourself to be evergreen. unchanging.
i seek to mingle. not to pronouce.
who pulled the agoras down.
who tore the stoas down.
who killed the socrates within.
who banished the plato in us.
maybe i did. but while we are at it.
tidy up a nice bed of lies for me.

i cant wake up in the afternoons. cos the inner me tells me the road is filthy then. i cant stare at the box. cos the inner me tells me thats foolish. a little girl strolls past me, candy in hand, teddy in the other. she stares at the escalator. she ponders at the moving stairs. she creeps up alittle. but she hops on to a thread, cos i was behind. i compelled her to move. with an invisible force. her name was tara.

i am speechless in regards to the war. i am speechless in regards to my diet. i am speechless in regards to myself. i am trying to listen harder. i am trying to search for things the eye scans past. i saw a photogram. from afar, it looked like a black sheet of paper. but on close scruntiny, or rather, alittle more concentration, i saw the storyline. i admire the beauty of the things unseen. i have this inate desire. to search below the sheets. below the darkness. below the skin. below the truth. even though there might not even be a matter below. i am sorry. if i question alittle too much. scuntinise alittle too long. i dont know how to answer, when you ask me, if thats a virtue?

words. they get stringed. they get knotted. and soon enough you get entangled. you say something to someone. and nine out of ten times. the someone peppers in some extra spices. thanks but no thanks. why dont we just grab a latte, sit down and discuss. my new scissors has turned blunt again. cos the knots of sheer talk has turned into large boulders. soon enough, i think i might not be able to afford new scissors. maybe then. i shall stay mute. dont get me wrong. i enjoy conversations with you. i enjoy conversations with her. with him. with them. with us. but i detest the 'i think-s'

i am in the process of constructing a new dimension. i hope this works.

*peace.