i once knew a boy.
now i know him like not before.
ciggies. booze. and all avenues of hidden agendas.
is where i found him.
snippets of your past glory still clouds around
next time around
stare hard at the puddle of booze
and tell me
are these what you want to lose

no fixed agendas.
yes 24 hours.
no must dos.
yes 60 minutes.
yes. life is still rolling in action.
framed by breaths.
sweet retardation.
bodies jostling in the crowds.
where do i stand.
whilst we all seek others to blame.
for the yet to surface sinners.
fingers pointing in all directions.
the usher directed me to you.
he said you are the answer.
i tried to build bridges.
i tried to build a relation.
but you are on another realm.
at least, thats what they told me
yesterday outside the church.

maybe. you might have guessed who you are. maybe you know, its you i am searching for. to lead and light the path. to thread on the right paths again. crouching in the corner. crumbling by the booze. aging by the ciggies. is not for you. those talents you own, might not shine just yet. but why stop them from glistening, when the sun shines through at times. why dig a hole, and fall right through it. i remembered, you telling me, a long while ago, that you still dreamt of golden pyramids and azure waters of the amazon. why now, this then?

here i sit.
thinking what you are doing.
hopelessly desiring.
maybe i should have been.
there. here. everywhere.
except the places i been. the places i am in.
this insatiable want.
this locked up circle.
simply a vicious cycle.
when i see you again.
let me know.
what you did.
when i wasnt there with you.

when the clock strikes 75.
what will i , where will i,
be when these tresses grey
maybe without a lapse of luxury
maybe richly endowed with material possessions
one thing's for sure
these muscles & skin
would desire for manual work
whilst voices would yelp
whilst eyes would stare
this body of mine
would crave. an insatiable want.
for movements. for sweat. work i cant do without.
let me justify my existence
before i lie beneath these red soils
in a cold wooden box.

time for rest. for some. time for transitions.
time to breathe in slow. time to hum to life.
time to slumber more. time to watch the clouds glide past.
for me. time to hear more voices.

i just have to learn. to live like a kid once again.
the real world. has sadly made me.
think. act. dream in ways i choose not too.
i want to waddle in the mud. bake in the sun.
i want to not ponder about this world.
i want to befriend the old. not the young.
whose hearts are hardened. ears are shut. and eyes see nothing.
i want to renew my ties. with this life.

life used to be lived in minutes,
life is now lived in seconds.
soon nano seconds.

yesterday i cried
a hundred billon tears
on every channel of thought

yesterday i cried
for all the plans i made
but never found the time

so many places we crawl around
so little places we explore around
down on fours
but never realising
kissed the ground
never really breathing
life. just breathing to stay alive.

instant indication, maximum appeal
it dawned on me like a child
everyday is passing by
moments past me by
didnt feel a thing
could almost hear me sigh
time to change, make it past
those days go by
at the speed of life


the weaning brain. these helpless thoughts. those fallen dreams. watch the incessant tears. taste the bittersweet regrets. i sort of see this coming, i sort of see myself lamenting. excrutiating. lying in the pool of stagnation. the refusal of moving a limb. the refusal of thinking straight. the conduciveness of free time. to entertain foolish vices. to entertain huge bubbles of day dreamings. with eyes wide opened. i continue harbouring these thoughts. knowing that time turns no back.

i stared at the mirror. to see myself blinking

the path ahead. sees no end.
the road up next. sees no bend.
yet once i am on it. potholes. bends. and humps thrive.

everytime i clicked on my inbox.
i await. i anticipate. i reinterate.
in my head. it arent your character.
and so i rub those falling tears.
and so i stroke that thumping heart.
to pull those high hopes down.
to gravitise. to de-imaginise.
to burst the soap bubble.
bubbling and jostling.
with common sense.

is god your puppeteer. or is he your puppet.

weather's too conducive for deep ponderous thinking. i am imposing a severe censorship on my thoughts.

5 seconds, playing the electronic god

the advent of technology
the fallen of mankind
the new mode of relational
the new search for lost
the new meaning of serendipity

i log on. i surf on. i pounce on.
i savour on. i drool on.
the glitsy. glam shots.
the juicy. the savoury.
i am indeed the voyeur.
like we all are.

after the voyeuristic journey.
shower me, with sweet testimonials.
entice me, with diverse interests.
allure me, with circles and circles
of varied faces.

i am taking a hiatus.
playing the electronic god.
i see the familiar.
i taste the unknown.
i open the pandora.
i saw the you-s.
i wake up.
to know.
i still have.
the same relationship circle.

regardless. of this technology tentacles.
the octopus of oddity.
insightful. you say.
insidious. i loudly proclaim.

i remember
the sharp dressing
the eloquent speaking
the crowd pleasing
the glam looking
the extravagent spending
to look the best
to show the rest
the beauty i digress.

the morsel of belief. the growth of faith.
the sprouting of love. the speading of the word.
the journey of truth.

do brothers and sisters in christ, need that much of constant support.
have we in our tunnelled view of the world
turn blind eyed to the real world
i see, beneath the well pressed suits
i see, beneath the leather bounded bibles
i see, beneath it all.
the futilities. of a good cause.

leather shoes $119
well pressed suit $535
leather bound bible $99
thinking out of the tunnel. priceless.

the above are simply and solely personal views. they might not go down well in your throats. but last i know, this was still a free country. instead of fighting my words, why dont we sit down and ponder. the cause of this all, the cost of it all.

*peace*

we mirror ourselves
after biblical characters
the marks, the johns and the peters
the sarahs, the esthers, the ruths

either we gave ourselves such names
or our parents bestowed them to us
in lieu, that life would be
lived like them.
how many of us do
well. lest you say, at least
we tried.

i saw you again.
this time around in a skimpy red number.
when you burst through the iron gates
and emerged in public
showered in glam & glitz
i murmured nothing.
i question some things.
when i saw you again.
i thought our relationship
was over.
it arent. when you feel a thing.
for the things you see, experience & hear.
of the past.

so many times, we say and bid farewells. to people, to good or bad relationships. to path changes. to changes in desires, aims and wants. my belief system has indeed changed. some say i have back sliden from the One. some say, i have succumbed to the pulls of the world. and what have i done. left the church, concentrated on my studies whilst peppering my speech with non god spewing phrases. no room for regrets, no cause for digress. but free speech still rules.

so many times, we say that once we bid farewell, that road ends. but many a times, the new road you are on, offer glimpses on the old path. at times, the old and new routes join, you get pulled, compelled, should i stay with the new or stick with the old. i never was taught how to use the reverse gears. if i f**ked something up, then, it got f**ked in my hands, i take full responsibility. from the day, i told dad, i didnt want to stick by his ways, to see life through his eyes, i knew, even if i fell, i had to get band aids myself. sometimes i lie in puddles of blood, evidence of life i tumbled through. sometimes i soar in cloud nine, evidence of life, i glided past. there are no regrets. only consequences.

i should be writing on how appalled i am on reading a certain article.but i think, i should chew on my thoughts more, before, i begin, talking about Others. i sometimes think, people oriented blogs, tells alot on the blogger. simply shallow. language, and strings of words, should be a celebration of the experiences of life, the nature of objects and not polluted, by people oriented bitching. and so, i remain,

silent.

when the silence
gets punctured

will we appreciate
what good we used to own

what strange dream will i fall slumber to
what strange words will i mumble to
what strange lands will i fall rumble to
wondering while crumbling

+peace+
god* bless me n my paper.

gesundheit trent.
how i constantly brand it, how i hope it really manifests right now.

take care nigel.
cant kill much of ur boredom, but i was told to be all sugar & spice n everything nice.
maybe silence from me is more than sheer golden, it is me being the 'bestest'!

stay stinky nichk.
got ur latest msg! check ur mail. enjoy!

i should really get going,
although i see myself
staring at the skies
scratching my eyes
seeking for answers
whilst pondering
why do i even try
for a good night's slumber.

good night world.
dream on, i retire early.

passionate on living
to surpass sheer mere existence
making turns on the wrong bends
experiencing all the better

days stayed longer
hours crawled past slower
whilst memories lingered
slowly peeling like an age old bark
years they take
how much reminiscing you do
whilst supposedly studying

i have certainly indeed
lost the drive. lost the need.
forgotten and forsaken
the desires to excel for exams
maybe at least for the things i do
what really counts
arent exam smartness
a fusion of creativity & passion
works for me
sorry mom.
they dont do assessment books here.

i should be blanketed by notes. yellow ones to be precise. amongst laws, regulation and clauses, i find a bore. architecture, afterall, minus the glitz, glam and geekness, still involves gambling with the public. the you. so, i fully comprehend the need for my exam: architectural practice. brought up in an environment, where grades, schools, family backgrounds, took precedence over, ingenuity. this is what the machines of education churn out, fantastic regurgitation devices. now available in a wide selection of colours and sizes, and the regurgition speeds have increased.whilst creativity & individuality dipped to the pits.

this year's memories log would be over whelming. i certainly crawled and dragged myself past the pits. reluctantly, i swallowed reality au natural, albeit still being choked by the burpings of truth once awhile. maybe, like everyone said, i am better off, soaking myself, in sour reality. in lonely serenity. i always ring nana from the airport. i always pop by nana's no matter how late i land. i always. i always. i always. i always drown myself in sweet denial. i always fail to accept this facet of truth. life and death, part and parcel of life. only some know, why i am still questioning. still not accepting.

i was about to start my 'if's. sometimes i wonder if, 'if' is a vulgarity.and so, i choose to stop.

passionate on living
to surpass sheer mere existence


felt like i was going somewhere with this, might get back to it after lunch.

awwwww* look nichk! i finally found this piece!

Calle con almacén rosad
Jorge Luis Borges
Luna de Enfrente, 1925


Ya se le van los ojos a la noche en cada bocacalle
y es como una sequía husmeando lluvia.
Ya todos los caminos están cerca,
y hasta el camino del milagro.
EL viento trae el alba entorpecida.
El alba es nuestro miedo de hacer cosas distintas y se nos viene encima..
Toda la santa noche he caminado
y su inquietud me deja
en esta calle que es cualquiera.
Aquí otra vez la seguridad de la llanura
en el horizonte
y el terreno baldío que se deshace en yuyos y alambres
y el almacén tan claro como la luna nueva de ayer tarde.
Es familiar como un recuerdo la esquina
con esos largos zócalos y la promesa de un patio.
¡Qué lindo atestiguarte, calle de siempre, ya que miraron tan pocas cosas mis días!
Ya la luz raya el aire.
Mis años recorrieron los caminos de la tierra y del agua
y solo a vos te siento, calle dura y rosada.
Pienso si tus paredes concibieron la aurora,
almacén que en la punta de la noche eres claro.
Pienso y se me hace voz ante las casas
la confesión de mi pobreza:
no he mirado los ríos ni la mar ni la sierra,
pero intimó conmigo la luz de Buenos Aires
y yo forjo los versos de mi vida y mi muerte con esa luz de calle.
Calle grande y sufrida
eres la única de que sabe mi vida.

had a vocal translated version of this. and i could easily have made it my favorite spanish poetry. i just need to get hold of a translated collection of Jorge Luis Borges works. but as with every piece of original, a translated version will never quite make a mark. but still a good read no doubt.

talking to god*
or talking godly
any difference. thousand oblivions.

did i used to speak strange
did i used to speak in lingos
jargons. fervents faith uprising.
did i even make sense.

do they speak like you in moses* age
do they challenge like you in jesus* time
did they ask for faith and blessings
in monetary terms
in biblical days

he* never let me down.
he* never did me wrong.
i never walked astray from his* path.
i merely took a curtail
that turned into a retirement
from the company of the faithful. the god spewing. the faith uprising.

punctutions of faith.
punctuations of god lovingness.
i knew i was never cut out for godly fame.
my insatiable desire for good.
is the more immediate & visible torments & hurts
in the third world country

yes. i heard. you got a bible for musar.
last i heard. he cant read.
last i heard, he asked if he could eat.
the bible.

but what could i say.
desires. goals. and wants are different.
individuals to individuals.
even as i write.
10 bibles get delivered.
5 babies got delivered in africa.
15 living went deceased.

whats the deal?
who, and whats near?

*caps to be added where indicated

p.s: get well soon nigel. nichk & i got u a - - - ! shld b reaching you soon!

i cant remember dates well.
big days. small hours.
birthdays. anniversaries.
not even of close family members.

come last week
or even weeks back
impressions were etched
somehow it feels like an important date was approaching
minus the current stress and work pilings
really am in doubt
to whats brewing

went down the road
past the witchdoctors
the the psychics
consulted the stars
searched the almanac
nothing. everything futile.

till someone whispered.
it was your birthday.
what will i be without your existence
who will i morph into without your love
so much for medical science
so much for prayers
so much for taking care of you
so much for reassurances
if anyone was reading this
let them hear my disappointment
in their duties
in their promises
that i will be able
to greet you in person
cos i flew back
only to see an ice cold body

regrets rolled in
remorsefulness sunk in
days will go by without you
but nights toil by without you
being a manifestation of your struggles
thats my desire

happy birthday nana.
i will see you round the bend, in a while.

while writing the above, i do realise that for the one great regret i have, when one takes a step backwards, one gets a clearer picture of the entire scene. i never cease to be thankful for who i am blessed to hang around. i needed a major distraction, needed a change of focus, a sharpening of lens, a shift of apertures. thank you for entering my life. in as much as i keep saying, it started with a crawl, then a walk, and now a run. dont know where these feet will take us, but the support and pull ups are nice. thanks t.

while writing the above, i do realise that i would be hunted down n shot if i didnt mention a particular individual. you know who you are, know what you have done, and i will always be thankful for you just merely being you. thanks nichk.

for everything i do
for everything i lay my eyes on
i desire to do, watch and act with passion
for the choices i made
for the moves i exercised
for the words i said
i desire to be the most transparent

many a times
i place others before me
tearing for them before their own tears even trickled
drowning for them before they even reach open waters
in the course of doing so
i do. break down.

and in times like those
you realise that you are never a sole entity.
limbs. heart. eyes may be yours.
but sometimes you move with others.
almost many times, you see through others.
and how could i not feel from others.

the next week seems unsurmountable for myself.
in terms of work loads and duties i have to perform as an individual.
you who know me, knows i wouldnt do anything without interest.
and without passion, i refused to embark on a journey.
chose the path. got the map. missed the train.
and at this moment, it seems like a trek on the barren red land
in search for my oasis.
relief would come. soon enough.
for now. i am living by
that which does not kill us, maketh us stronger

i bite on this often
and hope this blesses you who reads
and thank you for simply being you

:a letter to you:

dear you,

cackles of dissension
greets the tyrant's return
from an incorrigable voyage
into the pitholes of
human nature

your appeal is short lived
your vulnerability has ceased attraction
now lets preserve all good memories
from the ravages of time

promise me.
live. not lead.

you know.
i yearn.
for sweet nothings.
i desire.
lotsa dreaming.
i prey.
on intelligence.
i never learnt to walk
backwards
i never desired to return
to the start
i never realised
that you were waiting
picking while waiting
munching while waiting
caring while waiting
all along the way
choosing to be clothed
under invisibility

said, and i will say again.
it all arent worth the wait.

counting down to singapore.
1.5 years. 0 yearning. 0 desire. 0 memories.
point blank.
maybe sweet denial is the answer.
maybe i may be greeted by the usual on touchdown.
foolish fantasy.
fantasy fibs.
far from faint.
and so,
i took a balance.
and tried to find an answer.
cant balance. no tally.
i couldnt even find the counterweight.
no reasons not to return.
one reason to repel the return.
realisation.