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Wednesday, May 18, 2011
It's gone, it's gone, it's gone. Nowhere in the wind, nowhere to find. All that is left is the trail of coolness left to remind me that a wind has passed by. What has gone with it? Where have they gone? Where are these answers?
When I look back, I see my shadow on the road where I am no longer present. When I look in the future, I see my body where I am not existing. Where am I? Why am I in this strange situation that presses me so, not telling me who I am, nor what I have been and will become?
I live to need worth. I need to live worthily.
The wind takes it away, or me away from it. It tells me, no.
I do not know what it means.
***~~~Played with the winds at 2.01pm*~~~
Saturday, May 14, 2011
If you don't plan on fulfilling them, don't make promises. Don't make promises at all.
At the end of the day you're just going to hurt others and gain a hilarious amount of nothing. What is the point of raising others' hopes and dashing them? For fun? Do you think it's fun? Or perhaps out of that weathered know-it-all adult mindset, you think it's practical? Well fuck practicality. If practicality involves being blatantly insensitive, I'd sooner throw myself off a building than conform to it like a beggar waving around an intricately ornamented shield. All surface and no depth. All appearance and no value. Such a way of things does not appeal to me one bit, and I will not buy it.
Empty promises. Abandoned hopes. These are all things that we see all around us nowadays but choose to ignore, choose to dwell in oblivion that would save us from the anguish of awareness. I don't care about the implications of your promise. I don't care what your promise carries for me to gain, or what it compromises; what I care about is how you deal with your promises and just how much sincerity (if applicable) you have when you mouth those words.
Those words aren't normal, you know. They bind you to responsibility. They bind your audience to hope. To give hope to others is you giving yourself a responsibility of sorts, and to fulfill it is your mission. Do you mean what you say? Do you?
Don't give me bullshit about just how practical things are if the promise was to be nullified - I don't give a damn, you know, I don't give a damn. If anything you should probably have thought thoroughly before making that accursed promise. You don't go around jolly and gay after which you say, "hey you know what? Now that I think about it, maybe that promise wouldn't work after all", and think that your audience will take it lightly.
You're just another bastard who drenched someone else's mood for the day. Don't give yourself excuses.
***~~~*Played with the winds at 11.03pm*~~~
Saturday, May 7, 2011
I figured I'm gonna change the format of my post titles such that they feature something other than the date. There's no point repeating the date when it's already there in the header, and besides, ten years down the road, dates won't matter anyway. Everything that's past will be in the past, specific details only break the flow of memory.
So as the title suggests, life has regained that immense, unfathomable void-like quality I had tried so hard to shed in the past few months. There was a point of time when things seemed to be picking up and life seemed more optimistic. It now seems that that period has passed, and I'm left standing beside the tracks, wondering where my train of life has gone to - who's controlling it, what's going to happen in it, for it, and to it. The questions are endless, and so are my answers to them all. I just don't know which ones should match. Everything's in a jumble so chaotic I can no longer find orientation in that mess.
I screwed up my Art practical really badly this Wednesday. I like to believe it wasn't due to an insufficiency of skill - no, it isn't, it shouldn't be, because it is in fact due to sheer carelessness that I chose to paint on the unprimed side of the canvas and ended up unleashing hell on it. The end product looked horrible, worse than a kindergartener's, worse than anything for that matter. I was so embarrassed. Yet like in most situations people are drawn by morbid fascination to the misery of another, and they came up to see, surrounded me, prodded the board I'm clutching so defensively to myself and requested to see it. I don't blame them, since it is only human curiosity to wonder about the reasons behind suffering. But it hurts all the same.
I ended up slipping out of class when (I believe) no one was looking, and hid in the toilets a bit, then went to seek reprieve at the pond. If I remember correctly there was a light drizzle. The mud was wet and soft, the rocks slick and mossy, and everything was in a sort of silence that I have always appreciated but not so much. They seemed to understand, you know. They seemed to understand. It wasn't a dramatic show of empathy either; the rain was small and reserved, trickling slowly from the sky, a form of timid assurance that bespeaks so much more than heavy downpours whose melodrama only evokes doubt and cynicism. Just this drizzle, it's good enough. I don't wish for more.
Times like these make me wonder what life really is, if I don't all the time. While I cry for horrid events I believe I am actually crying for something else, taking that chance to let things out, taking that opportunity of justified weakness to tell myself, "it's okay, you can cry now, nobody knows what it's for anyway". I'm not deprived, not really. I have a lot of things in the world that people would die for. But to me they are a matter of quantity and numbers, superficial statistics that fill up the hollow of deprivation, and there are no seeds sown for real things of quality that take root deep in the heart.
I have parents who do in their own ways love me. I have friends who love me and are absolutely lovable. I am living in a world where communication is convenient and prejudice has been scaled down. But why do I feel so absolutely, frighteningly alone?
Sometimes when I stand underneath the little patch of visible sky by the pond, it feels as if the whole world's watching me, and I watch it back, just the two of us, each not participating in nor caring about each other's affairs. At times like this I can't help but feel as if everyone is suddenly so far apart, each an unreachable universe of its own world and dimension. I don't know why. I don't even try to find the answer to it, because it is so vast, so elusive, so meaningless. There is no point trying to give myself an answer that will distance myself even further from others.
Maybe I am a loner trying to be social afterall. It's so easy to plaster a smile on my face when others show concern or accidentally blurt out something that offends me but not to their knowledge. It's so easy that maybe "plaster" isn't the right word to use at all; it comes naturally, a reflex of the muscles to pull the face into good shape to present before others. Hiding is an instinct, man does it all the time. But don't you find it funny? I hide my emotions physically, but here I am typing away like a weary, bereft soul hoping to build myself a stage for expression out of empty cyber air and uniform typewritten letters. It is funny so. It is funny so.
I have told my friend before that I will not be surprised if I really go insane some day. Even now I get times when I feel my mental horizon tilt like an unbalanced beam high in the sky ready to plunder to earth, and sometimes it would quiver unsteadily as if trying to suppress a quake underneath the surface. Sometimes it flickers like an old bulb on the verge of fusing. At other times it churns up a blank sheet of paper with chicken scrawls over it in splashes of vivid colour, that would meld away into a deep black something that swirls, and swirls, and won't stop swirling. Nothingness, nothingness. Blank reminders of my memories that pass by in a wildering blur.
Nothingness, nothingness, nothingness.
***~~~*Played with the winds at 11.54am*~~~
Thanks to all the blogs the designer referred to (countless) for html code help :) (esp. cyn' and sixseven)
Adobe Photoshop Elements for supernatural abilities
