Quarter

So it’s my 25th birthday today. Not any time for me to be pensive because frankly who has time for pensive? The truth is that there are so many reasons why today is a good day for me. I have people around me who love me, friends who tolerate me, a roof over my head, food on my table, and am doing something that is quite enjoyable all things considered. I really am glad to be here today, at my quarter life without much of a crisis. Is there anything that I need to figure out? Yeah, but that can wait while I enjoy some cake.

 

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It is an effect

It is an effect of the long nights you kept,
the wrong thoughts you had,
the strong lives you’ve met,
the weak moments you gave.

It is an effect that gave,
you countless maddening thoughts,
countless sleepless nights,
empty desperate cries,
for help, for love, for loss, for longing.

Those blue skies,
you dreamt of,
since the last time you spoke,
to him,
your tangible thoughts,
your intangible words,
they give little meaning to me.

I know not what I feel,
I know not what I’m writing,
The criticism inevitably will point to lack.
A lack of ingenuity, of creativity, of strength, of character.

It is an effect of living this modern life.

– To You, The Humble Honest Reader, in a vainglorious hope that you shall not rip my piece to shreds.

Falling away into insanity’s abyss, as macabre fireworks bloom

I credit Wong Renhao with the title of this poem.

As the flowers bloom,
so goes the flame,
with its effervescence,
the bubbly, the blossom,
it expands to fill the glittering
Shadows of the heart.

The insanity of loneliness,
as she sat in the zephyr,
her chocolate locks,
that drizzled like melt’d cream,
the taste of the spices that
drove me to long,
for one last touch.

As the fireworks fade,
the disgust sets in,
the cloud of smoke fades to reveal,
a night sky devoid of previous beauty,
the disgust,
a beauteous cavity, emptied by the love.

In the end, does it matter at all?
Does it matter to you now?
Or to me then?
For the lack of true fireworks,
I have to content myself with the blue skies
above your head, the same sky that is above mine.

We belong together,
and I hold all that is
just between you and I.

The spirits I hold in my heart,
threatening to be unleashed,
A vodka of Fear,
A 7&7 of Jealousy,
A Cosmo of Lust…

Let me fall again into your gravity,
let me sink into your wretched depths,
let me gaze at the wonders of the firey plumes,
let me dance, for the naked dances of the childish,
let me regale the wonders of your song

How wonderful life is,
now you’re in the world.
I believe that,
I still do,
I must believe that,
For we are all bound by our singular nature.

This poem ends not,
for it its never ending,
insanity’s infinity.
I will never finish this poem,
for as long as I know to love.

Je Suis Fatigué

Its tiring, its tiring to live everyday just looking forward to the next meal, to the next miracle unveiled by the wizards of Techland. And the presence of the lord has given me some solace sometimes, the strength to look beyond this desolate expense of nothingness, to a time of “freedom” from within and without.

I want to get a scholarship, bonded or whatever, because independence from my parents is something I feel I should possess. I know, I got the world handed to me on a platter. But somehow, I just find this plate, this beautiful exquisite plate is one that comes with many conditions on sale. I am not saying I regret it, or feel resentment, I just want to know what it is like to have to depend on something else other than the unconditional love that comes with the package deal. A love that has its attendant responsibilities, and obligations. Ones that have to be fulfilled either way, and yet somehow, knowing that I have options, alternatives is a comfort. One that can soon enough become a crutch if not handled correctly.

Oh why did I make it so difficult.

Saint Valentine

Saint Valentine must be a pimp,
with fish swimming in his platforms,
with big-ass sunglasses,
with syncopated rhythms,
stolen from pink cards

Saint Valentine must be an angel,
Drifting through azure and sangria,
bestowing unbeknown wonders on those who believe,
believe in the unforgettable,
and dream of their deep city dreams.

Saint Valentine must be a sadist,
taunting us, those without,
those who just want to live this day like any other
enjoying the jealous looks thrown,
thrown like a towel into the ring.

Saint Valentine must want love to prevail,
he created this day for you and me,
for him and her, him and his, they and them,
to forget that would be disappointingly human,
and yet I am forced to by exigencies of the service,
to sit this one out, even when,

Saint Valentine’s all of these things,
to all of us,
its up to us to believe,
in this Clausian charecter,
that a rose deliever’d by a burst of light,
through the ether that is Fibre-Optic,
that a cheap card, dinner and 2 kisses,
1 lip/1 cheek,
or just the simple Happy V-Day *Just like in ’45*
still works.

It works. It just does.

Sexy Beijing

Taken from Gadling.

This interesting little vodcast-like parody of Sex and the City, though a lot less… Sex, a LOT more city. I think its amazing that the host speaks such great chinese, chinese that I may be hard pressed to muster. And this content actually is quite good. You go GRRL!

See for yourself the first episode.

Somehow

There’s something in the air,
some change’ed quality,
the darkness that pervaded my soul,
now enters into that space,
where the purity of light,
of time, of destiny,
where is the meaning?

Why does she do what she does,
artfully avoiding,
skillfully turning,
gracefully skimming,
I can only deign to guess.

Is it fear?
Is it me?
Is it you?
Is it them?
Is it too much?
Is it too soon?
Is it complicated?
Is it effortless?

Somehow, for someone,
so used to insincerity,
so used to concealment,
so cynical,
so uninterested.
I’ve got my interest back.
I fear the 5 year old,
will reassert himself,
taking away what little
I have.

Somehow, I must say,
that in the end,
ultimately,
these are just words.