Saturday, April 30, 2005

Caught in Between

Ears muffled the head bent in thought
Music plays gently from within
Soothing tones of Overture
Calming chaomile to fraye nerves
Lingering ever so slightly
On the tenterhooks of insanity

Lost in his paperweight world
Turn it over on its bot'm
Where it always snows and all is bright
The sun n'vr sets and ecstasy is
Always the soup 'o day

Unable to confront the cold reality
In the snowing world of his
Of languorous laughter mixed with dark despair
Happiness that was once within his reach
Just at that very tip

Of his fingers it was long
And they said he was not a he
Now it has taken root
Deep in the dungeons of the heart

O what is salvation
Pray thee tell!
Enlighten if you are able
Obnoxious 'n insufferable stranger
By that doorway e'vr do you linger
Looking entralled in someone's bastardly
-Misery

Like a boa constrictor it tightens
A stranglehold on its victims in an instant
No allowances for any weakness

He had shown fear in the face of the predator
And thus became
Its prey?
One of the many, strange faces in a crowd
And received its gift.

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An unusual deviation from what I write. At my very worst I believe. I have said, I am mad. Stark raving mad.

Your servant
Aristocrat

Friday, April 29, 2005

Engulfed

Darkness hath all but engulfed thee
Wherefore art thou, my shining light?
Hast thou abandon thee
In favour of yonder greener pastures
Or 'n search of a smoother ship
Ups and downs thy journey fraught
Gifts and apologies came to naught

Weep doth the heart now
A more sinister organ never before found
Shed its tears of blood within it smother'd doth a love newfound
Streaked across the parchments of old
Left to the laity decreeding so and so
Never again let the heart frown

Apologies

Greetings my dear readers. How have you been these past few days? Well, I hope. Pardon my brief hiatus, for a promise was made that I shalt not step upon these tomes whilst the war was upon us. Or at least, till the Fifth Day of the week. And I have fulfilled it. Till the strike of 12, the promise shalt be considered null and void. And I would have discharged this obligation.

And the war, praise thee, is but almost over.
My Beloved Lady, I do pray that she is doing well, for long has the day passed that we have laid eyes upon each other. The lass, the one shining light in this dark world of mine. For all the time that Lady Luck has turned her back upon me, snobbing my kind, Fate has took pity on me and embraced me. And so I am blessed, to have her as my Beloved.

Thus far, I have made some minor changes to this humble tomes of mine, and sadly in the process, I have to desert my old counter for another, losing about 2000 hits in the process. Sad, but tis a necessary measure as it was slowing down the loading time of this page.


Motivation. Sadly again, one does find that mortals need a lot of motivation to do things that they don't like to do. Tis a bit tautological, as one don't usually do things that they don't like. But by the will of Necessity and the powers that be, one sees that humans are forced to scurry around like rats. Or lapdogs. Hypocrites, all of them. I see you saying, isn't that a generalisation? Let me then show you another view. As one knows, there are many perceptions of looking at things. All mortals are hypocrites. That is the statement of generalisation right? Let me add one more sentence to it, All mortals are hypocrites but some are not. Now do you get it my pretty fellow? Pardon me, I digress again. I am not myself these past few days.

Why do they all indulge in their academic pursuits? For materialistic purposes, what else? Sometimes one such as me does wish that we would have enough bravado or foolishness, if you will, to abandon all such meaningless pursuits, and to go after your dreams. Satisfy your wanderlust. And leave me be, stuck alone in this period of idiocy, the creation of some mad hermit. No doubt, I am mad too, but this crude measurement, this crude yardstick of life is beyond bearable.

I could go on and on, about the perils of society, the perils of being human. But alas, Time is short of shrift. And I have to bid a hasty farewell here.

Au revoir.

May the Darkness be with you.

Your servant
Aristocrat

Saturday, April 23, 2005

Voyuerism

There seems to be more and more problems with Blogger nowadays. Some things just refuse to load, or my archives would load slowly more than usual and my counter refused to load What is happening? Methinks tis time to switch to another site. Liquidblade always looks quite enticing, but the ability to handle Wordpress is but still beyond me.

Blogging. Has it become another fad? Day by day, one seems more and more teenagers, uncles, aunties and scum of the society setting up blogs. Scum of the society. It utterly disgusts me to chance upon their blogs, by no means of coincidence or so. There are still some people out there who I would give a chance just to have their heads take a little hiatus from their necks.

But I digress.

The quality of blogging has thus far, decreased noticeably. With more and more cotton-headed mortals delving into this realm, the corruption is almost unbearable. Day by day, as I passed numerous tomes, I see accounts of their daily events in teenspeak, if there were ever such a term. It irritates the hell out of me. Make that heaven. So does that leave me in Hell? One wonders.


Blogging. Not to say one such as me is against it in all its entirety or whatsover, but one can't help but lament the fact that humans have stooped to such voyueristic levels. Now now, don't refute me with your dictionary.com definition of voyuer. It is something along the line of sexuality right? Who is to say definitions can't change? Language is always adaptive to the society. Speak to Guinvere of mouse, and she would be under the impression of a four-legged furry rodent instead of the wireless mouse that humans are familiar with today. And so, who is to say that voyueristic cannot be defined as an interest in other people's personal lives and their day to day happenings?

Again, I can hear you saying, But they posted it online?!! If they don't wish for people to peek into their lives, they can don't do so. Right? And to that, I say wrong. Fundamentally, it is oft-heard, two wrongs does not a right make. If the thief were to rob you, and you kill the thief for doing so, would the law acquit you of manslaughter? Depending on circumstances, I say no.

What do you have to say to that, lowly mortals?



Your servant
Aristocrat
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On a much more pleasant note, congratulations to the recruits from Jaguar '03 for having ORDed and those who are going to. One hopes that you have learnt something useful in BMT and it is not all for naught. Take care and good luck in your journey of life.



Thursday, April 21, 2005

Incommunicado

Incommunicado. adj, adv.

Sometimes the world is too confusing. And perhaps, out of cowardice, this is the path I have chosen. For now. Till the very end.

Your servant
Aristocrat

Personas. Do we not all exist beneath a mask? Do we not all hide behind this masquerade of life? Each one wears his own mask, glossing over the true personality of the person. To different people, you present different versions of the Self. To your family, the soft and docile child, willing to study law, to your friends, perhaps you are the frivolous one, the pseudo-rebel. Or the one with the most diabolical ideas. But do you really know yourself, my dear reader?

Have you ever really considered who you are? Are you doing what you want to do instead of following the pull of the puppeteer above? Dancing along to every jerk of the string. Follow your own heart and do what you desire, for society is but a useless machination for the rich and powerful. Whatever they want, they will point you in that direction.

We are all just pawns.

Your servant
Aristocrat


Lullaby

A sense of disquiet
Looms over the feeble heart
In its troubles mired
Deep, unlike the bard
Who sits yonder corner
Playing a tune of merriment
That sings of two lov'r
In a sweaty Entwinement

-------------------------------------------

That is all for now. Before I turn to Sleep, a necessity which is even denied to me, like a lost soul in the desert questing for the water, or the Journeyman questing for the Holy Grail. I too, seek after Sleep, which has become a luxury.

Esto Perpetua...

Your servant
Aristocrat


Really really, what a pity. As you can see for yourself dear readers, I am losing my touch. The hounds have yet to ease their pursuit on all beings with two legs. Perhaps, those that seek shelter in other avatars of knowledge have already slayed the hounds who pounded on their gates. Yet we have not.

No sight of them. Nor sound. Not the least movement from those cunning ones at all. The scouts sent out have yet to return as well, and I fear the worst for them. We shall have to be sure and stedfast to pull through this moment of weakness, and hope that, by doing our best and paying attention to the process instead of the result, we would have what we wish for.

But I digress.

These hounds. They have drained the very ounce of life out of me, like the inccubi or succubi, whichever way you prefer to see it. The dark side of this tomes is perhaps lost, the mad ramblings have given way.

The Fool, that begins his journey with but a small bundle on his shoulder, has perhaps met The One, the one that he knows instinctively without, he would never be complete. And so, the Death that was once promised to him had come. He was resurrected. A new chapter. A new beginning. Once again, a new hand is dealt to him. And now the cards laid covered, its contents unknown as he goes through the rites again.

Cryptic, yes I know. But I know you are equipped with the faculties to deal with it.

Au Revoir.

Your servant
Aristocrat


Sunday, April 17, 2005

This post has been removed. For the brief period, who hast seen it, a lament of an unworthy soul. But here, we move on to happier things. Lesson learnt yesterday.

Lesson No. 1 : Do not run in the rain. Even if you want to run in the rain. Don't.

Simple right? Yeah, I did that, and almost came down with a cold. Looks like some troubles aren't meant to be washed away after all. But it was a good time. I almost felt I was back in army. Oh god.

Lesson No. 2 : Don't drink pineapple syrup after you finished running

Or you will get a dreadful stomachache, in which no number of visits to the toilet would help. I committed the sin again, and it distracted me from my duties for a few long hours.

That's all for now. Early in the morning. Damnation.

Rafael
aka
raffy

Saturday, April 16, 2005

Fallen King

It was a bad day. He was feeling guilty. Guilty of arguing with the girl of his dreams. And guilty of many many other things as well. Was this a week of guilt? He did not recall coming across it in his horoscope. Though it said many other negative things. Maybe it was all coming true. He had found such things difficult to believe in. He believed that such things were in the power of the people, and not up to the decisions of higher beings or stars or whatever hocus-pocus crap. All these people were out to cheat the public of their money.

With a sigh, his thoughts turned back to the afternoon's events again. Unconsciously, he had lost his temper at her. He had raised his voice at her. How could he have done that?

He always had a real nasty temper. But he had kept it in check. And unleashed it through some other channels. In a way, he was like his parents. They had a real temper too. And he remembered those days that he would suffer whenever they were unhappy. Those days, he was at the mercy of their mood swings. And it was considered a light one to get beaten with a wooden rod. That was just the tip of the iceberg.

He touched those scars gingerly, as if pressing them too hard would bring back painful memories. And now, he was doing the same thing to his girl. Maybe not to the point of violence. But he had to keep his irritation in check. He shuddered to think of the consequences that his fury would be unleashed. Never, never like my father, he resolved. I wouldn't be such a bastard, he thought as his fingers ran over the scar on his chin as a courtesy of his father when he was six. A first grader. The memories hurt too much. And so he had bottled them up.

He loved her too much, treasured her too much. He couldn't bear the thought of losing her ever. She was already his the other half. Although he couldn't tell how much she depended on him, he knew deep down, in his cold heart, that she had already became his life sustenance. She was his sun, oxygen, the givers of life, and the moon, O beautiful One, all rolled into one neat little package. She had already melted his cold heart, penetrated his steel cage that he had built neatly around. He had feared to step out. But she had stepped in. And it made all the difference in the world.

Did he ever mentioned that she was a spriteful little thing? His little bundle of joy? Like the sun sprites of Eden, ever darting here and there, full of energy. And her eyes, deep soulful windows to her soul. He could wax lyrical on and on about her, the double of Venus but alas, someone had already beaten him to it. He did not want to sound like a copycat.

His wife. He had always dreamt about it. Visions of them, a multitude of colours so splendid that it hurt his eyes just to look at them. Even in his dreams. Esto perpetua, he mumbled to himself in Latin. Let it be forever... Don't ever let this dream end please, he pleaded to God.

He was sorry for all the things he had done, all his ignorance had led to this trough. With a heavy heart weighing upon his soul, he had went out for a run. And before he even finished warming up, the heavens started to open on him. So it seems that God thinks so too, he smiled to himself wrly. No worries, God. I had made a oath. In the future, I would make it a bloodoath. And if I ever break that oath, you can then send me to burn in Hell, God. How you say about that, he raised his face up to the dark clouds.

Nothing happened. The rain only poured harder. Regardless, he began to start his run, picking up stride. As always, it was comforting running in the rain. It had a soothing effect on the soul, as if the hackles on it was raised, and the rain had now washed them down. Mile after mile he ran, the landscape morphing beside him.

With every stride, he berated himself for his flaws. So many flaws he had.

And at the end of the run, he was throughly exhausted. Both the owner and its celebral organ. It had done an equally exhausting run. He had thought things over. How things should be done. With a gleam in his eyes, like he had received enlightenment, he began his journey home, making a silent promise to write all the thoughts down. He had repentance to do. A vow to fulfil.

When he reached home, he settled down in his armchair, opened his laptop and began, "It was a bad day. He was feeling guilty. Guilty of arguing with the girl of his dreams."

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Rafael's Note: Dedicated to My Lady of My Dreams, SH. I love her dearly.
And I find a need to insert a disclaimer, lest parallels be drawn
unneccessarily. Please draw your eyes to the sidebar on the left of this post.
It is mentioned that fact and fiction is blurred here. There exist no such
terms in this tomes of mine. A pleasure to have you here.

Esto Perpetua...


The Case of the Dead Lips and Eyes

Twas a sultry afternoon if there ever was one. And here I am, trapped in the confines of my dungeon, self-imposed confinement for the next few weeks. But I ramble on. For the purpose of this letter is not to tell you about my confinement, but rather, a humbling experience that I had gone through yesterday night.

I was on the journey back to my town, and it was quite near the witching hour. However, instead of the most horrifying spectres or spooks that I could see, I witnessed an even more hair-raising event.

Sitting directly opposite me in the rumbling train was
this guy, aged middle twenties, dressed in blue and purportedly of Indian roots I believe. If not, it must then be a mix of Indian blood and something else. (Disclaimer: I must declare that I do not have anything against them, for God teaches us to love our brothers, and I am trying to do just that)

He was the guy in the middle. Where else fools? The other mortals in the picture are both ladies. So this accused was guilty of staring at the lady on his right falling asleep. He was so caught up with her that he stared for a few minutes. And that, made my hair stood. Creepy perverted guy.

To exacerbate things, after he had his fill of staring at the lady, his brain sent a sublimal message to his finger.

Brain: Eh, the nose is itchy dei.
Finger: Huh? (Slow reaction)
Brain: Butok la, nose itchy. You go scratch!
Finger: Orh, aiya say mah. How I know...
(and Finger proceeds to do the dirty work)

And so, I was witness to again the second catalysmic disaster of the day, him digging his left and right nostrils with apparent relish. Like a Singaporean chancing upon a free buffet of sumptuous seafood and precious crustaceans. Disgusting mortals.

However, that was not about all. I happened to eavesdropped on the sublimal conversation again, and it went like this:

Brain: Eh dei, now Lips itchy ah. Can go scratch?
Same finger: Yes boss. Right away.
(and the same accused finger proceeds to scratch said Lips)

I was now ultimately disgusted by this act of selfish, inconsiderate behaviour. Moreover in a public domain. The same finger, after committing a dirty heinous act, proceeded with gusto to go on and scratch the Lips! Someone cry murder! The Lips is being slaughtered! Not that I really care. But apparently, there was collateral damage suffered throughout the whole crime scene. You can't bomb a building without some decent civilian casualties right? After a certain body count, I am sure my Eyes are among them. And some small part of my celebral organ.

Please my dear reader, please don't ever do such an inconsiderate act in public ever. Even if you have failed in killing yourself, you would have probably murder just about everyone within a ten feet radius. Ten smelly feet.

Your servant
Aristocrat
or is it Rafael??

Lost

Some might say that I am losing my touch, the old feel of this tomes of mine. But it isn't so at all my dear readers. There is but one reason for it, and it is seasonal, so as to speak. I shall not seek to elaborate further. The energy has to be rechanneled elsewhere where it is needed most, and this place can certainly survive without it for a while.

It has a mind of its own, its pulsing heart beating regularly beneath the exoskeleton. It is, by its own glory, a living entity, to which only I am entitled to scribe to. Mind you, tis not a privilege, but in the sense that one can only scribe, leaving one's prints in the immortal entity's mind, hoping, just hoping that it will make an impact. Where and when, it is of no concerned. Like the butterfly effect. Yes, like that.

Taliesen, I can sense that you are near. Why would you not appear before thy servant? But, I am still thankful for my abilities coming back to me. I can slowly feel it, instead of it ebbing out with the moontide, it has reversed. I'll make an attempt soon.

Like now.

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To Taliesen, this is my offering. And to my Beloved Lady as well.

Shouts of joy echoed across
The dusty old square
--A monolithic structure of
Crumbling pillars and
Gothic sculptures yet
No less breathtaking

Friday, April 15, 2005

Judgement

It has been a long time, a long time since the Night felt so serene and full of sorrow. One of my life's greatest regrets is that I have never learnt to play the piano. The consoling melody of it, always emanating sorrow, feelings that I could emote to. And perhaps do a little bit of composing as well. But that's just that. A dream. And nothing more.

Tonight, or rather this morning, I think I would need the melody of a pianoforte even more. The irregularities need to be soothe by this invisible hand of Taliesen, Patron of Druids, Bards and Minstrels. Prince of Song, you being a poet in your mortal life, do you not have any sympathy for us of high emote? Play to me Prince, bewitch me with your unearthly tunes from your celestial lute. Perhaps you have tuned us way beyond the limits for such a mortal life, my laird. I dare not question, but to meekly say, Was there an error?

Anubis, Judge of the Dead. Your servant has come forth, prostrate at your altar. Weigh me against the feather of Maat, and see if my soul is as light, or else condemn me and feed me to Ammit.

I await your judgement Lord.

Your servant
Aristocrat

Thursday, April 14, 2005

Nemesis.
Never before have I had such a difficult module, considering the short time that I was in here. All the theories don't hold anymore. The old school way of studying is banished my dear readers. Even if you study, get ready to fail. That's the beauty of
linguistics. And I'm bashing my head over it. Apparently last semester was a fluke.

Darkness.
Somehow a little bit of that darkness, ever so gleeful and menacing, has appeared again. The cauldron has but been still for far too long, and it needs a respite from the cold simmering heat. Thoughts have again drifted and my mind seems to be imploding. Elevate me from this painless suffering please...

Enough said.

Your servant
Aristocrat

Since I can't put the pen to bear, and words seem to fail me, perhaps Lord Byron cares to write on my behalf?

Your servant
Aristocrat


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She Walks in Beauty


She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

Lord Byron

Cerebus..Remember Him???

Image hosted by Photobucket.com

There's nothing much to be said for the past few dreary days. Everywhere I turn my head, I see people mugging for the exams. And like a foolhardy lemming, I tried to resist. Of course, I was still caught up in my dreamland. But ah well, reality has got to hit sooner or later. And the above was the marginal product of it. *shrugs* Random rambling now, you have gotta pardon me dear readers. I'm losing command of the language as well. What a tragedy.

Oh a few more edits. I have removed the music. And added Flickr.

One fact struck me. My posts are getting more and more normal. Is that good or bad? You decide.

Your servant
Aristocrat

Tuesday, April 12, 2005

Hot Chocolate

There is nothing like a mug of steaming hot chocolate that you can grasp in between your pinkish fingers, the sweet aromo of cacao wafting all around you, heightening your sensory perceptions. And when you look down, you see the still swirling chocolate, from the after effects of you stirring it, a fruitless effort trying to cool it down. Do you see the white squarish pieces floating above it?

Marshmallows, you squealed with mental delight. The best thing to go with a hot mug of chocolate. And you comfortably placed yourself against the window, looking out at the shining vista ahead of you.

The view never failed to render you speechless every time. It was paranomic, the horizon lay unbroken for ages, juxtaposed by the clutter of buildings that were clinically called flats. Nondescript buildings containing a vast amount of life inside. Could life ever be quantified, you wondered?

The irony of the situation struck you, a humdrum of life shelled up in buildings that were cold replicas of one another. The feeble efforts by the ruling party to strike up life didn't really help much. Perhaps they had been too good at their jobs, killing off the necessary deviance in the society. Here, there was plenty of imbalance, you could sensed. It would take many years before this error could be corrected and the ship steered on course again.

As such thoughts drifted to an end in your mind, for you had no wish to depress yourself further, your eyes settled upon the dark landscape of the night sky. How beautiful it was, to see the stars shimmering. For a brief moment, you felt so insignificant in the great scheme of things. The stars up there looked like they know everything, and they weren't going to tell you at all.

And as your eyes roved across the land, still sipping your chocolate, the bustle of the city's night life struck you. You never knew that it was still so busy at night. Cars still scramble for every inch on the precious roads, like they paid for it, and so it must be theirs.

You looked down, and saw that your mug was almost empty. So fast, you thought. As you looked up again, you saw that the view had morphed drastically. The moon had rose, casting an unearthly glow upon the tiny figures below. Somehow, you felt even more insignificant at that point of time. What a pity that your significant other wasn't here to share the paranormic sights with you. You felt as if your the other half was missing.

With a sigh, you stood up, your mug drained to its last drop, and left the room, carrying a heavy heart with you.



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Amazing what drinking hot chocolate in the middle of the night can do to you. *chuckles*

Your servant
Aristocrat

Monday, April 11, 2005

Oh well, I am going to be criticised for being sappy again. But I shall throw caution to the winds. For a chapter has shut, and another has begun:

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

How do I love thee?

How do I love thee? Let mecount the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, - I love thee with the breath;
Smiles, tears, of all my life! - and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning- Sonnet XLIII

Sunday, April 10, 2005


Dark Alleys of Nothingness

A Life At Stake

I
Thy foul deed
Already done
Behind his back
Like a hard knife stab

A twist of fate
A twist of words
Integrity recalled
Witness the fall

Topple from grace
Thy perch above
Doubt shadows his face


Questions all around
The unforgiving crowd
Bays for his blood
Asks for his heart

A pound of flesh they cried
Not unlike the Shakespeare he read
Where could he find
A pound and not yet die?

How sweet they sound
To their own ears
His pleas it fell, blinded by fear
On much deaf ears

Sentenced to death
Pronounced the judge
"No!" a voice cried
A solitary voice of light

Be the fair maiden
Of his dreams
"Come no nearer!" he pleads
"Lest harm itself befallst thee!"

Leave Milady, please leave!
They punish me for my innocence
But let me be-
Let no evildoer come near thee!

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First part of a series my dear reader, let's pray that I have enough conviction to finish them all, not to mention time.

Signed
Aristocrat



Dear readers,

Again, apologies to have been keeping you in the dark for so long. Time is no longer merciful methinks. She is such a horrible mistress to have. Don't you agree reader? Don't just keep nodding your thick head

And Milady, ah, how sweet a distraction is she. Such a bundle of energy and delight to behold, that thoust darkness have been driven back to the shadows. And the feeling that encircles the heart, a happiness that borders so close to pain.

Milady, I thank you for stepping into the dark doors of this poor house, setting your lovely eyes upon this lowly creature that does not deserve of such. You lift the poor servant's spirits, do you not know? You wouldst become the crutch of tis snuff of life without even realisation I believe.

Too much has been said about my servant, and too little time is left Milady. Do your lord a favour, and bequeath him with your glaze that he so deserves. Meanwhile, I have to retreat back to my tomes. Pardon me Milady, make yourself at home please.

Signed
Aristocrat

Wednesday, April 06, 2005

In some ways, he felt that having a long train ride was advantageous. In the beginning, he was rather grumpy about it, having had to spend at least one-eight of the day traveling to and fro just for a few insignificant hours of academic pursuits. Oxymoronic isn’t it? How could academic pursuits be insignificant? But gradually, he was getting used to it. Firstly, it gave him time to catch up on some readings that he wasn’t able to fit into his normal nocturnal schedule. Secondly, it gave him time for reflection. Not that he needed much reflection. After all, if he was going to “reflect”, there would at least be a few hundred ways that needed accounting for. Nah, not reflection. Perhaps thoughts. Yes, random thoughts maybe.

And it was the latter that he was doing now, traveling in the darkness of the tunnel away from the bright glare of the ferocious sunlight. A mild irritant, but still tolerable. He relaxed himself, going into a state of meditation by reflex that he didn’t even realize it. Soon, he was not on the train. He was flying among the stars, breezing through the galaxy, looking for his mentor Red Tiny Whale. It was under his tutelage that he had learnt these tricks. Them Native Indians had a flair for oxymorons. Tiny Whale, he chuckled to himself. Who in the hell was going to believe that?

He was going through the archives of his thoughts the past few days. It had been tumultuous though not unkind. Things were happening to him that he couldn’t bring himself to believe. Perhaps instinctively, though his gene map had changed, deep down inside, he was still a human. Still prey to human foibles. He would only hope that he was strong enough to turn that weakness into his strength.

Something struck him out of the blue whilst he was thinking. All men are evil. It was the most oft-heard phrase he had came across. To him, it sounded much like a sweeping statement. To say that the entire male species was evil was presumptuous. There has to be at least one good soul out there. But as the time he spent on terra firma progressed, his thinking had begun to changed, for the better or worse, he didn’t really know. Perhaps there was fact in the statement after all. He had seen one male after another, subverting others to their own pleasures or making use of them. Perhaps the victims were gullible. Perhaps they weren’t. It didn’t really matter. He had felt rather helpless, like a newborn babe, after that statement was repeated by others not acquainted with one another. The world was beginning to look like a bleak place to leave in. Maybe for the male species of homo sapiens. These deviants deserve to be wiped out. He should have done that, but he had promised not to interfere in the homo sapiens’ lives and just be there as a non-participant. But they were sullying his kind! How could he be still and let that happen?

At least, to his knowledge, there were at least some males that didn’t deserve to have a place in this great weave of life. He should speak to the Weaver some time about her balance of things. Apparently, old age was getting to her.

On a last note, perhaps thinking on the train wasn’t that good an idea. He had just missed his stop again.

His Story

He awoke with a start, all covered in cold sweat. He looked beside him to check that she was still there. Much to his relief, she was very much there with him. He had half expected to find an empty depression beside him. He had just dreamt that she had died in an accident and left him behind, just after they had parted their ways promising each other to take care of themselves. How ironic was that, he mused.

Life was always like that, like a leprechaun out of a tasteless B-grade movie, never tiring of playing tricks on people, tripping them and making them fall. Time and time again it had happened, and he had hoped that it would never happen again. His cards didn't particularly lie very well with Mistress Luck. Maybe because he had sinned too much. Or maybe because he was in favour with Jinx. He had went to church again, for the first time in many years, just to pray to God that it would never ever happen again to them. He had hoped that God had listened to him, even for a teeny weeny bit. Even if God had ignored his other part of the prayer to deliver him to salvation.

He glanced at her away. Her silvery silhouette was outlined against the deep darkness, the gentle curves of her breasts falling with every breath she took. She looked so angelic, even in her sleep. She was the most beautiful thing that he had ever set his eyes upon. Peter might have disagree with him, for Peter was the connoisseur of women, having laid some of the best. But Peter was Peter, and he was him. They were two different poles apart considering that they were the best of friends. From the first day that he had set his eyes upon her, for the first time, he had felt what they called it love. The seed was first sown when he saw. And when he had conjured up enough courage to ask her out, the dates became the nourishment that the little seedling needed to flourish. Grew it so did and they were together in no time, consumed by their neverending passion.

He could almost hear the soft beats of her heart in the silence. She looked so fragile, sleeping in a foetal position. His heart ached for her, the dull throbbing of pain that somehow wouldn't stop no matter how hard he tried. Somehow, he had wished that he would have met her earlier so that things wouldn't have reach such a state. But some things in life were meant to be. He had learnt that lesson the hard way. Very hard way. And perhaps, that was God's way of making sure he appreciate her for who she was, and not what she was. Things aren't so shallow, he could hear God saying that. And God was right. He had to be. If not, He wouldn't be God, would He?

God had sent her to melt his heart. Just looking at her made him fuzzy all over. He had became a cynic after his last relationship. Not that he wasn't one to begin with. But when she entered the equation, she just messed up his whole defenses.

Now? Now he was with her. And that was all that mattered.

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Dedicated to Milady of the Tomes, she who holds the key to my heart.

Your servant
Aristocrat

Sunday, April 03, 2005

Ah well my dear readers, sorry for the prolonged hiatus from this sorry tomes of mine. Time, I'm afraid, hasn't been too kind on me. And I have milady that constantly distracts my attention from this very enterprise. Not that it's bad of course. But ah well, distracting indeed, a very 'pleasant' distraction.

And thank you for all your kind comments here my readers. You have been too kind. Alas, I sense that Cerebus is catching up with me again despite the headway I have made and perhaps, just perhaps, another hiatus is needed. Just for a few weeks.

Some things had happened that perhaps was beyond even one's control. My integrity was questioned. And how disheartening was that. I cannot even imagine that it would happen, and it has cast a gray dull pall upon some people that I know of. Rumors. How dangerous words are. How mortals like to spend their time dwelling on things that they see in front of them, and not the substance that lies beneath. Materialistic stereotypical fools. Some of them at least. Let not my temper rage, for tis already bubbling in the cauldron of fire. And by the way one sees it, tis going to runneth over very soon. Mortals. Irritating pests. My fingers yearn to squeeze the life out of some of them.

They say we are very tolerant of others. I'm afraid those so-called experts on us are wrong. Terribly wrong. At least on me for that matter. I am not tolerant. Cross my line, and earn my enmity forever. And if you earn my trust, you have my eternal brotherhood as well.

And some people, are bordering on crossing my line. Even if they don't know it.

Ave Maria.

Your servant
Aristocrat