Wednesday, March 30, 2005

King And Queen II

Author's Note: This post was written on the 26th March. The night after King and Queen I. But time was not right, and he never dare to publish this. But the time is not now. And hath been past.

Dedicated to his one and only, Shuhui...

"Til the sands of time runs dry we'll n'vr part"

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He had always like the seasons. Especially the part where it morphs from one to another. The slow transition from one to another. The turning of colours. From golden red to white. And watching it with her. That was another plus. More of a big big plus.

It had always felt comforting, sitting together on that cooling stone bench, too engrossed in one another's world to care about the other trespassers that idled around the park. Nosey fellows all of them. Some came with a voyueristic slant, intent on getting a little action that happened in the park every day, or night if one prefers. Some came with their bawling children, so young yet heavily overweight due to a strict diet of the ubiqitious Macdonald's. Others came walking their terriers, or their Dobermans, howling and crying and one another to show them that that was their territories and no dog should pass. Unless it happens to be the opposite sex.

But all these distractions couldn't even put the slightest dent to their fantasy world. So deeply lost in each other's minds they were. Like Siamese twins, some of their schoolmates talked behind their backs. They couldn't bear to part from each other, even for the longest second. In school, they applied for the same modules together, had the same group of friends, did everything together. If they could live together without censure from their traditional parents, no doubt it would have be done long ago. They were the most loving couple one had ever seen. Seeing them from a distance was enough to put a hundred by hundred square of goose pimples on you.

He was dreaming no longer. No longer snuggling in his bed during rainy days and building castles in the air. He was actually holding her in his arms, protecting her from the harsh winds of reality, showering her with all the love that he could pull out of his soul. Never before had he loved a person that hard, that deep. That kind of love was dangerous, a tiny voice at the back of his mind nagged. Very dangerous. What if she withdrew? What if someday she was gone? "No it wouldn't happen!" his mind screamed back in frustration. He would always take good care of her, and nothing untoward would ever happen. But what if? Would he crumble to dust then?

She was like his moon, and him her sun. It would be what marine biologists called a symbiotic relationship. Mutually dependable on each other. And if one is gone, call the ambulance, call the Marine Corps! It's a national disaster!

He didn't really mind. No matter how near he placed himself over love's precipice, such that just one tiny push would cause him to go freefalling, he would still love her as hard, as strong. Freefalling would be good as well. Interesting. A shout of exhilaration and before he knew it, he would have already met his watery death in the foamy seas a thousand feet below.

Love. Such a wonderful feeling. It makes even death feels like nothing.

Tuesday, March 29, 2005

Some things I'm considering whether to post it here. It's kinda a bit outta taste, but we have to applaud this guy who is so courageous, and the NUS lecturer who is doing his part as a Singaporean citizen to promote Love Singapore.

Yes a bit crass I know my dear readers. I'm ready for the tomatoes.

Here goes. Fast forward to 57th minute.

NUS Lecture Webcast 29 Mar



Your servant
Aristocrat

Sunday, March 27, 2005

Outcast

She was only fourteen when she got her first tattoo. Her parents were gonna kill her. But she didn't really care. Oh yeah, she wasn't past the legal age After all, she hadn't start caring since four years ago, when she dabbled in everything that her parents disapproved of. Drugs, sex, alcohol-binging, you name it, she did it. She had the scars to prove it as well. Her slim forearms, once beautiful were now pockmarked with the scars of needles that she used to inject herself.

She didn't really like the fact that her parents were filthy rich, and that there were some kids out there who had to beg for their every meal, or even take to robbing the convenience stores while her parents were splurging money on unnecessary stuff.

And so, she became rebellious. The inner goodness in her wanted to strike out against her money-minded parents. Always hankering after money. They had never cared about her, about her feelings. They were only concerned with making more money and thought that by giving their precious daughter money, she would be very happy. How wrong they were. There were some things that money couldn't give. She had learnt that from young. Being the only child, she had craved the attention and love that she had seen other parents showering on their children. How joyful they were. Look at the happiness and love that was showing up in their eyes.

Ironically, by that move, she had sunk herself deeper in sin. She got involved in bad company. At least, that's how the tv commercials spin those lines. Don't get involved in bad company. Keep clear. Stay free of drugs. Bah! All social propanganda. If society were that perfect, there wouldn't have been such things hitting the streets.

By sixteen, she was completely wasted. She dropped out from her high school, and a good school at that. She was very intelligent in fact, and getting good grades weren't exactly a hassle. It was just too much of a chore to go and take exams. And so she decided to skip them.

She hated how the society viewed her, as a childhood delinquent. Yes, she fitted exactly into the stereotype, but that doesn't mean she is one. Stereotypes. They were everywhere. Prejudices. All of them one shitload of crap. Whenever she went out in the shopping mall, not that she frequented it anyway, people would steer clear of her path. At her block of apartments, neighbours would pull their precious offspring away, whispering dark comments about not coming close with bad company. What was she? Trash to them? She was a human being for God's sake. She was moulded from God's image! Give or take a few sins in the past, yes she was bad company. But no longer. She had changed! Cou;dn't people see it?

Oh God, why did people always see others with such falseness? Did they not ever take time to discover the inner goodness in others? Do they only judge people by the surface? Why wouldn't she be given another chance?

She had already proved herself. Proved her very worth. Wasn't getting into university enough? Mind you, do social delinquents go to universities? But still, she wasn't able to change people's mindsets. Friggin' bunch of muggers, they could go to hell for all she care.

By the looks of it, she was one big walking emotional baggage in the waiting area. And all she ever wanted was for someone to come and check her out. Check her out of the waiting area and bring her home. Happily ever after. But that was all a dream

Just her dreams.

Autumn I

Autumn. A word that he likes the most. Of the seasons, where the leaves on the trees turn to shades of red, reminding him that life, like all things, is transcient. Autumn. Such a beautiful word that leaves a sweet and bitter aftertaste on the tongue. Sweet that one has seen such beauty, yet bitter that the beauty has to pass from this world. He sat there alone in the park, dressed in his favourite hoody and black jeans. He had always felt comfortable in black. There was no need to worry about matching any colour with black. A

Alone. That was how he liked it. In his own personal world, a paperweight world where Autumn and Winter is the only season. His two favourite seasons. If anyone had come to sit in the empty space beside him, he would give the person such a glare that the person would think he had rabies. What was wrong with that? After all, he had wanted his own personal space. Not like he was robbing.

Always, the transcience of human life struck him. Perry had mentioned that the other day as well. And that topic had struck a chord in him. All his life, he had wanted to be something different. Something that he always wanted to do. Not like what his parents or relatives always advocated. Be a doctor, be this be that. Doing that will earn you big bucks they say. And where does that take you?

He had to admit, big bucks seem quite a good draw. With money, there is nothing to worry about, life will be good. But will it be satisfying? No one really knows. Sometimes, he gets really envious of the people born with a silver spoon in their mouths. They do not have to worry about anything. They get clothed and fed well. Everything that they want, they would most probably have it.

But what about him? He had to scrimp and save everywhere he went. Even for his education. It was quite difficult raising that large sum of money but he finally did. And even then, he had to watch out for his spending. His parents had not much money. Living in an apartment built on loans had already eaten up most of their life savings, and he would rather not add to their heavy burden. It seems after each month on the 26th, where all the bills would come in, they would age another year.

Rather envious, sometimes to the point of jealous, he might add. Why is God so unfair? Why are some people more equal than the others? Did God meant for him to do something else? So many questions, yet nobody had the answers. Perhaps the answers lies in the stars glimmering in the dark canvas above him, making a mockery of him. As if he was utterly useless.

Perhaps he might do something different after all. Rob a bank? That would be very different, with the added advantage of its monetary rewards as well. But money is transient. And so God speaks.

Is that to placate the poor? So that they would not rise up against the filthy rich? He always had a nagging suspicion that it was the case.

He had wanted to be a writer. To be an author. To major in linguistics. But he was ill-advised again it. And when people asked him what he was majoring in, he simply told them Economics. Economics, you say? Wow, that is a very good choice. Everyone said almost the same thing. But what was so wonderful about it?

He liked linguistics better. And he felt guilty when he said he was majoring in Economics. Like he was betraying someone. But then, that was just him. An insignificant piece in the major scheme of things. And who was to care that whether he would major in this or that? Probably no one. Like some transient being. Like what Perry said, insignificant lives in the space of the cosmos. Or something like that. He didn't really have a good memory.

The scheme of life. What did God have in store for him? And what about those leaves that are gently floating to the ground? Are they entangled in the weave as well?

Saturday, March 26, 2005

King and Queen

The heat of the morning/afternoon air slowly seeped through the Brazilian blinds that were once blue. Now, it just looked grey, coated with inches of dust. Stubbornly, he snuggled deeper into the coverlets of his bed once more, refusing to look at Reality in the face.

He didn't want to wake up. Not today, where a drudgery of mundaness face him and there was nothing to look forward to. He wanted to go back into the realm of his dreams, where everything was perfect, where they were always together, never apart, always basking in the joy of their love. His dream was like an evergreen meadow, where flowers of every kind bloom, where the water gently runs through the mill, where bluebirds sing and dance in the air.

But Reality chose to throw a bucketful of water that smells like the water that some old hag with leprosy had just washed her feet in. Not that he had anything against lepers. Just that, well, it was a generalisation.

God teaches Man to love his brother, so he should really love them. But sometimes, God demands impossible things. How can he love his brother when his brother always squeal on him to his mum? Would a person ever love such a squealer? He couldn't forget the time when he snucked some money from his parents to buy something for a girl. And the squealer of his brother saw. No brownie points for guessing what happened next. His father dealt him a good licking with his prized leather belt. From that day onwards, it was kinda hard to love his brother anymore.

No he didn't want to wake up. Not to squealers. Not to a place where his love was not around. He was no longer too young for love anymore. Eighteen is a proper age. He had already reached maturity. And it's not too young an age for love.

He loved it when she smiled. Her pearly whites glistening, her silky hair covering the delicate oval of her face, accentuating her perfect features. The pale skin of hers, looking so smooth and inviting. She looked so fragile that he wanted to hold her in the arms, to protect her from the darkness that was surrounding her. He wanted to cuddle with her, to dance with her in his evergreen meadows, to protect her and to love her. To grow old with her and watch their kids playing joyfully around them.

But the moment he woke up, all the traces of his dream vanished. Not even a whisper of it left. And the tinge of happiness unlimited was too much torture to bear. He went to sleep thinking of her, and woke up again thinking of her. Life was beginning to get insufferable.

Ah yes, the cool comfort of the rain. He could smell that rain was in the air. He loved the rain. How sweet it feels when he stands in the rain, drops of water pattering around him, the sound so ever soothing to the troubled heart. And he snuggled deeper in, trying to shut out the thoughts of her invading his airwaves.

Lazing around bothered him. There was always work to do. But God never said anything about throwing lazybones into the pit of sulpur. So he guessed it should be alright. And so, the sound of rain slowly lulled him back into the castle of his dreams again, where he was always King and she was his Queen.

Together.

Friday, March 25, 2005

Can it be? In the sultry heat of the afternoon, when one should be avoiding from the glare of the sun, hiding in the confines of the squarish cellar, one still can feel the burden?

I should have feel cool in the comfort of the shadows, but then, still, a heavy burden weighs more upon my heart, and the faculties of my mind has been sent spiralling. They are no longer functioning as it should be. Fruitlessness, as I spin towards oblivion. Why? Why indeed...A question that has no answers.

And in the heat of this unexplained feverishness, I added a
guestbook to my tomes. Dear visitors, please leave thy name if thou art willing.The link is below the below the music player.

Merci.

Your servant
Aristocrat

A Song?

Did you ever know did you ever realise
Did you ever see that one person
Someone was always there for you
Standing right there by your side

Lurking in a deep dark corner of your sight
Buried deep down in your mind
Ever so willing ever so happy just to bask
In the warmth of your presence
Doing countless numerous things ever so in a subtle way
Hoping just hoping he'll ever be seen
You let him feel like he has arrived in heaven
You let him feel like what is to love
No you didn't know you didn't even care for that one person
You let this one person break down
And it breaks my heart just to see this one person
So cast down so cast down that he'll never look up again

Did you ever know did you ever realise
Did you ever see that one person
Someone was always there for you
Standing right there by your side

So heartbroken so hearbroken that he'll cave
What did you do to him oh what did you do?
For I cherish you I cherish you
Just give this one person one chance
Stave my heart from this bleeding from this terrible choking
For I can hardly breath with this embers smoking
Water has been poured upon this burning flames

Did you ever see that one person?

Thursday, March 24, 2005

My head is heavy with weariness and yet, the day is not yet done. The candles are already burning low, throwing flickering shadows upon the suffocating walls, like wayang kulit. Whence forth will this insufferable pile of work end?

Have you ever wonder how majestic the Night is? How lonely it is? The silence of it is so deafening that I could hear the dripping of the water from the minature fountain. Coupled with the occasional caws of crows that cannot sleep, it is wondrously peaceful and weirdly, in a meditative way.

Though Sleep still beckons to me through the soft folds of her cloak, hiding mysteries behind the thinnest of veils, I cannot yield. Be stedfast and soon it will pass like another nightmare.

I have to turn back to my tomes now. They are waiting for me to pore over. And before I take my leave, a hello to my Estonian friend over yonder. Thank you for dropping by. Your attention is verily much appreciated.

And as a last word. You do know what I am going to say. Its on the cusp of my lips, yearning to come out, but fearing that you would be pushed to a decision, I will stay my tongue.

All this comes out too weird. Perhaps I shall make further changes if the mood satisfies me.

Till then.

Your servant
Aristocrat

Tuesday, March 22, 2005

Tribute

As a scribe for so long, so long since the ages past, it is always gratifying to see your works being recognised. Always satisfying to see some recognition that people pay to you. Though in the first place, one doesn't demand that. But to be the Thread of The Week amongst the other notable poets and writers, it certainly gives a sense of accomplishment. Though I was not the first, perhaps I was the fourth since such a thing started in the dark voids beyond. I must say that I feel honoured. Once again, thanks to those spectres lurking in the dark voids even though I was not exactly a regular.

Merci.



Your servant
Aristocrat

Monday, March 21, 2005

I do believe in returning favours, and so, there are new links to terra firma now. Close acquaintances all. Changes have also been made to the soundtrack here, with Within Temptation, a Dutch band being the star of this week. By the way, if my dear readers don't hear anything, please do not be alarmed. Nothing is wrong. Just that this file is rather large and I only have limited bandwidth.

And.

In all faith, I do pray that butterflies survive in winter, don't I? White butterflies, how nice it would be. There are some boundaries that I cannot cross here, and til then, my lips are sealed. But faith, have faith. And so, in deep thought, I pray and hope.

Ave Maria.


Your servant
Aristocrat

Sunday, March 20, 2005

Can Butterflies Survive in Winter?

Another post that I cannot and will not put up. 'Tis for eyes only. Something on a more positive note now. Sleep is denied to me. But I shall attempt it once more. Can butterflies survive in winter?

Au revoir.

Your servant

Rigor Mortis

I lie limbs askew
The black skies above me
A bell sounding in the distance
My death knell is it not?
For I have fallen
From my once inassailable height
An arrow in my Achilles's Heel
The pain throbbing incessantly
Though invincible I was
So did Achilles
And he still passed
From the Wheel of time
I see among the tombs
A stone for my Name
Prayers for my soul
Alleviate my damnation
From the grasps of ghouls
The colours I see no longer
A landscape of sepia to me
Come and claim my soul
And lay comfort to thy servant
Where thy soul was found wanting
Forgive me!
The downfall of your servant
Regret seeps into the very bones
Where I lay in the soil
Like moisture into the corpse
Decomposition lays herself upon me
Inevitable rigor mortis settling in
Come take me away
From this world of pain
Let thine soul depart
Without a tinge of regret
Let not them mourn
Let not tears be shed
For I was found wanting
Short of the perfect measure
And so I stand
Ready to be judged
My Heart lays upon the scales
Against a Feather on the other



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As always, one is one's worst critic. So thy servant is no different.

Your servant
Aristocrat

Fly Me To The Moon

Yet again, I slipped more into the dark abyss of darkness, ever so little. Inching closer and closer to the pitch black Valley Of Death.

Out of the shell I have stepped into the blistering light, and I am dead certain of my decision, and I will die trying if so need be. A reach for the unassailable moon hung up high in the midst of the twinking stars.

Dead sure.

The Heart is a burden don't you think so? Weighing you back, holding you back. If only I have no heart. Alas, I have one. And that makes me vulnerable to certain fallacies of Man.

I am Fallen. My name now lies among those fallen ones, those that laid nameless, forsaken to the four winds. And so, perhaps, i shalt be forsaken as well.I am not strong in this aspect. I dare not claim that I am. For once, I was invulnerable but now Fallen.

But still, I have to be dead sure.

As usual, I speaketh in metaphors. Decipher that if you want to dear readers. If not, please leave me be.

Your servant
Aristocrat

Saturday, March 19, 2005

Prologue

The forest was teeming with life. Exotic birds flew overhead, making darting forays into the trees and crying out their happiness as they feed upon the thick clouds of insects in the air. Monkeys swing from trees to trees slowly, as if they had all the time in the world. Golden rays penetrated the foliage of the forest, adding an unholy glow to the surroundings, almost elevating it to another realm unbeknownst to Mankind.

If one could have enough patience and take a closer look, it would have been obvious that the dust mites that one thought was floating in the air was actually sunsprites, mischievous little beings that are often spotted in the sun and mostly mistaken for dust. All was in order, and peace was kept.

Without warning, a flock of birds suddenly took to the air, screaming their displeasure at some unknown intruder that had stumbled into their sanctuary.

“Forgive me my little feathered friends. I had no intention of disturbing your peace.”

A mumble of apology and he was back on his hurried way, bursting through the thick undergrowth like it was less than paper. His faded jeans and chequered shirt had already grown muddy and torn with abuse.

For weeks, he was endlessly hounded by his pursuers across the continent. They had used every method possible. From tracking his scent to aura, everything imaginable and unimaginable method was being thrown at him just to stay on his trail. Who knows how many bodies of his pursuers laid behind him, spent effortlessly like mindless minions just to snare him. Throughout his escape, he could think of no other thoughts than survival. To do otherwise would just make sure his pursuers’ pincers inch closer to his neck. Doubling his concentration, he wove his spell of Unlight and prepared to cast it, forgoing the complicated rituals that he had to go through to get his worn body ready.

“Now is not the time. Payment would be made later. Help me my Angels, now is the time. For better or for worse.” He invoked the Land’s living awareness, tapping into the ley lines and drawing the power along them. In this place as untouched by Man, the lines pulsed powerfully awakened. One with magesight could see the throbbing blue veins of raw power in the land. With that power behind him, he cast his spell, a mere decoy to mask his presence and deflect the bloodthirsty fiends that were out there. Scavengers, these fiends always waylaid the unsuspecting traveller along such ley lines, using the body as a conduit to them, and drawing the powerful energy into them. With time, they would grow stronger. They go by many names, and Succubi is one of them.

Hoping that the spell would throw his enemies offtrack, he begun to trudge wearily towards no particular direction a discerning eye could pick out. At most, they would only be delayed by one hour before slashing through the decoy like a straw scarecrow. They were that powerful. Yet, he was that weary too. He could not last long. He had been on the run for far too long. All sense of time was lost, and he only knew that it had been weeks since he had pursued. Movement was the only constant here. And the key to survival as well. He had to raise the bugle call again for help. He lifted his head ever so slightly and would have been mistaken for daydreaming except for his godforsaken attire. With his mind attuned to the frequency of his kind, he sent out a mental plea. “Help! One of your kind is in mortal danger!” Yet as always, silence greeted him.

“Where are the Old Ones? Where could they be hiding?” he thought in exasperated silence. “No time to dwell on that for now. If they don’t answer, there must be a serious problem afoot. Survival has to come first.” With that, his flight begun again, rested enough to fight off another encounter with his stubborn enemies.

Thursday, March 17, 2005

Farewell

As the world continues in its path
As if nothing as happened
The cherry blossoms on the trees
Had all but faded into nothingness
Transcience

I sit in the dark corner
Watching the traffic goes by
A white rose clutched among my fingers
How can roses be white?

My heart feels like its bleeding
Tramautised beyond repair it is
Better have a pump than
To have a heart

The burdens it brings, neverending
Emotions it has, overflowing
And the cup runneth over
Who shall clean up the mess?

Man is absorbed in his own sphere
Busy pursuing everything
But who will notice the little boy
Crying in that little corner?

All he needs is another hand
A comforting touch
A heart to heart embrace
But as roses can be white
And so the boy continues to bleed

Dying would seem as sweet now
For the other half of my soul has been ripped
Crudely taken away from my very arms

I am never alone because I have Loneliness
And Drink is never absent from my lips
Whilst Sorrow sticks to me like no tomorrow
Why are they all around me?

The white rose needs life more than me it seems
It wouldst be cruel to deny the rose a chance
When I want to give it up

There! Rose, be red and strong
Live in my stead and see the world
And perhaps when I see you again
You can tell me stories of what I missed

Wednesday, March 16, 2005

Company in Solace

Ah so many thoughts so many thoughts on such a day, a white day filled with pale downy roses it seems, of white petals that are barely hanging upon the stalk, clinging on for their dear lives. With such a clarity I see things, almost like an oracle, casting the bones for my future. It has never been so clear before, like a mist lifted right before my eyes. It is true that with age comes wisdom, and with wisdom comes more ignorance. You realise you are more ignorant of all the ways of Mother Nature.

How beautiful the music, the litany of the voices drumming into my celebral organ. Ah, the release I seek from this painful world. In fact, this world is just fine. It's just the two-legged beings covering every spot of this globe that makes things pathetic, that makes me want to puke. The softness of the guitar, the drums, everything becomes one big orchestra. And the world is the stage. But where hast the conductor gone to?

And the night, how I take to Night like fish to water. It seems that Night understands me the best, offering me solace, leaving me alone. Yet, I do not feel alone at all. I feel removed from this world, viewing this starry little city from the high heavens above, a truly wonderous sight to behold. Only in Night I feel comforted. A world of poets. I need sustenance. I am running dry again. Oh Night, sustain me with your blanket of darkness. Don't abandon me like the others. You are the only constant in my life. As sure as Day, there will be Night.

I have made my decision. Yes I have. Perhaps it may be the wrong one, or the right one, who knows. Repercussions would be felt, this I stake my soul upon it.

And dear readers, if up to now, you still cannot comprehend what am I scrribling in my tomes, try reaching a little deeper. Everything is on a different level here, a little bit higher than those suffering below, or a little bit lower. It all depends on what perspective you view yours truly. Perspectives. Paradigms. Whatever. You see it your own way in here. God? Satan? Up to you my readers.

Your servant always
Aristocrat

Oh my I must be raving mad again. Lady! Where art thou? Three writings in the span of half a day, what has become of me? What is the alienst thing that tis ravaging my very soul? Oh the flames of such torture, if only I could let it out. I'll let them burn to hell with me if I must, truly. For there is no other way. My soul has been taken, it has been unduly ripped from its very vessel! Prithee lady! Return it to me! Do what with me if you must! But never my soul nor my heart!

I am condemned oh yes I must be. For to write such things, to write of such topics, one cannot be pure of the heart can we? I am damned, damned if you must have my soul and my heart Lady, and thoust not realise it yet, right?

Where art Salvation to be found in the midst of darkness? Where can thy Servant find a speck of Light? Spare me your preachings please! Hush hush. Now is not the time. Do not even try.

Your servant
Aristocrat

An Eulogy For The Angel Down There

I feel languid. As if I was drowning in water. My heart is a burden to me. With it, I cannot be free of all the fallacies in this world. I am yet tied to this terra firma. Is there a utopia out there where I can fly to?

I see it sinking, perhaps I should really hand it over after all. These affairs are bogging me down. An eulogy for my heart perhaps? Soon soon. Soon the time will pass.

Play a song for me ma cherie. Sing of the golden dawn that heralds everything. Sing of the past glory that was. Of the wonderful times that were had. Of the blood shed and of lives given up. Just so that all could be that it was today. Is this our farewell here?

A sampling of my mad rambling once again.

Yours truly
Aristocrat


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An Eulogy For The Angel Down There

As the bard sits in the old corner
Of the drab little inn called The Old Goose
He plucks the strings of his golden harp
And he began to sing of a mournful tune

One that was already forgotten in the Wheel of time
Thrown to the dogs and buried under dust
Scattered across the far winds
To the four desolated corners of the earth
Where Sorrow, Despair, Anguish and Hope stands guard

And he weaves oh what a beautiful yet tragic pattern
Like a master craftsman lost to the Old Ages
And you could almost see wings beating in the air
Are those the fairies you heard of in tales
Can the tales be true after all?

And as the tune weaves its magic
It reminds you of your own burden
Deep down in the dungeons of your heart
Locked away in that barless prison

A tribute to the dead a song for the living
And that is how he sings it, no effort held back
A swansong for him it seems, a legacy of memories
Unlocked

The sadness for the lost, the forgotten heroes
Of what they stood for, valour and honour
And what they were returned in the currency of treachery and sorrow
The death of the brave

And on that day the heavens broke the trumpets sounded
For an army was about to
Multiply the ranks in heaven
But woe to those below

His vocals quivered, his brows narrowed
Exertion casts a pall upon him, draws him nearer to the precipice
But he forged on, unbending against the wave of destruction
Sings

The sadness in the air so palpable
Hangs thick like the winter frost
And the inn fell silent, the drunk dumbstruck
And for a moment there was such a peace

Lo behold another heavenly voice casted into the fray
A roaring soprano building like a tidal wave
Gently holding up the old man
As his eyes glinted with the spirit of the warrior

And as the song weaves, the voice dances gently
Upon the air they together complement each other
Blending two forces into one
As the song reached a crescendo

The room began to tear
Touched beyond what they would ever realise
Hearts unbroken again remade
Like a master bard

As the song draws to a close Time stood still
Not willing to intefere for Awe was present
And never again will the world hear of such
For he was the last Master Bar of the Old Ages
And the mysterious voice was nowhere to be found

Tuesday, March 15, 2005

Darkness is here again
She wants my heart so she says
For it is useless and without want
What do you need it for my young sweetheart?

Give it to me for eternity
And I shall see you have immortality
Hand it over sweet and gently
Without a sound I'll leave you quietly

But if I don't have a heart
How is my blood supposed to be pump'd
Without that which we call flesh in a bold pink lump
Wouldn't I die much faster in time

Will I still be human without that lump of flesh
Could I still eat drink and make merry
Most important of all love and be loved
A dance with my fairy

It really sounds good to hand over to you
For you look all nice, prim and proper
But you smell all wrong and sour
Much like what they call the Rafflesia flower

I still think I should keep my heart
Perhaps I'll give it away some other time
But definitely not to you dark maiden
Who is not even worth a dime

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How wonderful that these little scribbly and scrawly words seem to dance before your eyes when you have much work to do, much deadlines to complete and with that, a splitting headache to boot.

Muse, my dear muse, stop making so much noise up there. My world is splitting into two if you are going to continue at that rate.

Melancholic moods are much harder to come by now.

And I'm not even speaking in coherent sentences. I'm much confused.


Yours truly
Aristocrat

Sunday, March 13, 2005

Autumn Monologues

Artiste: From Autumn to Ashes

Oh why can't I be what you need?
A new improved version of me
But I'm nothing so good
no, I'm nothing
Just bones, a lonely ghost burning down songs
of violence of love and of sorrow
I beg for just one more tomorrow
where you hold me down, fold me in
deep, deep, deep in the heart of your sins

I break in two over you
I break in two
And each piece of me dies
And only you can give the breath of life
But you don't see me, you don't

Here I'm in between darkness and light
Bleached and blinded by these nights
where I'm tossing and tortured 'til dawn
by you, visions of you then you're gone.
The shock bleeds the red from my face
when I hear someone's taken my place.
How could love be so thoughtless, so cruel?
When all, all that I did was for you

I break in two over you
I break in two
and each piece of me dies
and only you can give the breath of life
But you don't see me, you don't

I break in two over you
I break in two
and each piece of me dies
and only you can give the breath of life
But you don't see me, you don't

I break in two over you
I break in two over you, over you
I break in two
I would break in two for you
Now you see me
Now you don't
Now you need me
Now you don't


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Some lyricists are just finger licking good my dear Amstat. FATA is one of them. You should tutor under them for some time I think. Does good for me and for you. For one, I wouldn't need to hear that Mary has a little bloody lamb every sunset. And you can sing for me as well hah! Wouldn't that be fabulous?

You don't agree? Then you better shut your mouth everytime you arise then before I send you back. Yes? Ah, it's good that we reach a common agreement on such affairs you know? Things tend to get a little bit messy when I'm pissed off.

Why do you look so shocked? I was just pulling your leg my dear kid. Now why would I want to dirty my hands just to ruin a young street urchin?

Thursday, March 10, 2005

Swansong for Solace

Burn all ye in thine heaven mocking us
From thy high perch looking 'low with distaste
Aghast at the mortals dripping black lust
Sends forth majestic Death clothed black in lace
For the verily bountiful harvest of souls
Shards of blood decorates the delicate
oval
Beautiful Hope mournfully in her hole
weeps
Frame of face that is to the dark palate
Sickeningly sweet and fatalistic
Her sharp wails like nails on a chalkboard
Pretty litanies for the metallic
dead
We trod'd on playing Heaven's gameboard
Oblivion laughs in t' face of Apocalypse
The dice decides who faces the guillotine
Sins amok til the shameful moon eclipsed
Indulge in our feast of absinthe
A salute to the overt powers that
be

Wednesday, March 09, 2005

Another Letter Found Titled : Confessions of A Tortured Soul

Amstat, don't just sit over there sippping your lime-laced water ever so gracefully. Can't you open your goddamn eyes and see that the room is a tad too bright for my liking? Please go and extinguish all the candles. They are hurting my eyes. Light, the bane of darkness. Casts too much light on everything and you see the horrors and foibles of humankind.

Ah that's better my dear fellow. Thank you so very much. And for that, you deserve to get yourself a glass of bourbon from the shelf over there. Please help yourself.

You know Amstat, I dislike humans. They have too much foibles for my liking. Too many weaknesses and too little strengths. What do they know of the Wheel? And the Wyrd? Or even the Traditions for that matter? They focus on all the little minutae things that are of no importance to them. Whenever I see them, Rage enslaves me in chains and robs me of my sanity. I would thus go mad if it were not for Sorrow. The only constant in this wrecked world.

I am getting weak. Yes. Apparently I have too much contact with this weak race. And I suspect that their foibles have passed on to me. The dream had plagued me again, giving me no quarter. Muse herself has fleed from me, abandoning me. And it is all too true, too true. I am sinking deeper into quicksand, with no idea of how to pull myself out.

I no longer can keep a distance. No longer can I afford to be aloof. I do not want to break the rules Amstat, but you give me counsel, what should I do?

A Letter Found

Hello my absinthe-sipping friend. Today is a drab day indeed that you have decided to pay me a visit. Woe betide me! What brings you here? Bad news? Or worse news? What tidings from my fancy you bring?

Ah before you open your golden mouth, let me tell you what news I bear! It shakes even the very core of beings such as us. And it portends no good. I see no good coming out of it.

I see Confusion, with his whole bronze-plated armour and his coat of arms, rearing upon me in his wildest horsebeast, looking ever so merciless. And the sword! Ah the sword! Ready to smote my very head and separate my ever lovely body from its celebral organ! How ghastly it is.

These are the very images that I keep seeing everytime my lids closed upon. Confusion. He is everywhere, omnipresent. What am I supposed to do? I am helpless without my kind. The fury has gone. The fire extinguished within, not even mere embers left. I rant. It is meaningless. I know. Yet I have to go on. For the mercy of my senses, for the very well-being of the vessel of my damned soul!

And I see another figure behind the rearing horse, a small cherub it seems. Its ego does not matches its size apparently. For it smirks with evil glee that can only be called demonic. Wherefore does such a cherub come from? Aren't they all supposed to be brimming with goodness? The world has gone wrong.

As always, the cherub swiftly draws out one arrow from out of thin air, and strung it against his short bow. Short and stubby, but mighty. For I have seen many of my kind succumbed to such fatalistic instruments. Only but it need to pierce the very epidermis of your vessel, and you will be damned. It looks at me triumphantly now, as if I am the very fly that is caught in the spider's web. Like a predator looking at its prey.

And it is at this exact moment that I strive to flee. Using the best of my bestowed powers from my Bloodline. I plane-travelled. From the first to the sixth. I shapeshifted. Everything in my arsenal I tossed up at them. I might as well be a little boy trying to push the wall down. They pursued relentlessly. And much to my anger, I was toyed with as well. Whenever I was close to being struck down, for one reason or another, I would be given a chance to flee. And so the Hunt continues. Confusion, with his army of minions, and the fatal cherub darting from tree to tree.

And this is the dream that I have. Without fail, as good as clockwork, it happens everytime I close my eyes. And I don't mean once a day. What malady do I suffer young Amstat of Tevir? Tell me so! Send for me a physician!

Yes I know they can't treat my kind. Nor can they even lay eyes upon me and know that I was ever there. But for such beings of stature, to be reduced to nothing simply upsets every fibre of my being!

Alright, alright, I will heed what you say. I will calm down and react rationally, and I don't even argue the fact that logic does not hold water in this illogical world.

Ah, pardon me for my poor manners. I shall get you a glass of water for the sake that you have travelled such long leagues to see a poor fellow like me.


Monday, March 07, 2005

Hounds of Hell and Tomes of Tears

Ah, back to the warm bosom of my tomes I lie, always greeting me with open arms and never a dagger hidden behind a smile. Always the sincerity, always so humble. You who are so willing to give me the proverbial listening ear when I need it. I'm back.

My apologies ma cherie, for having been apart for so long. Almost a week wasn't it? Back to a lover's embrace, that familiar feeling, the warm fuzziness lying at the bottom of your heart.

I had to put to rest the hounds of Academia, for they were chasing me and nipping at my heels mercilessly. No doubt I would fall apart and vanish into nothingness if I do not fully concentrate on the task of dispelling those socerous mongrels. Be gone to Hades. Join ye own kind Cerberus in guarding the Gates of Hades. At last, these foul four-legged firebreathing matter had been forced back into their own realm and I am free. For now. For now I suppose. It is only a matter of time before Cerberus comes himself to collect the debt. But that is another story for another time.

It has come to my attention that many mortals are saying that these online tomes mushrooming all over the so called internet are mostly bearing sad tidings.

Well, I say, it all depends on what kind of sad tidings you bring. Or scribe. If it belongs to the classification of the mundane and boring to hell, by which I mean your everyday events, your love life and so on and so forth, well then, I am not going to spend more than what is respectable for it. Which is to say none at all. I have no patience for such mortal sulkings. Please do it somewhere else. And don't let us see it. Heaven forfends.

Back to the topic before I ramble on and on again. My my, I do have many words to spew forth don't I? It comes from being silent for a long time. There is always a catch. And so, if these tomes do not bear sweet tidings, then what for are they, I hear you mouthing that. Do not worry my dear reader, I am not going to swallow you bones and whole. At least not today. Today, I am in an uplifting mood. Now now, I divert from the path once again.

Alright, sweet tidings. Do we look like those sweet mopey types to you? Maybe, who knows. But let's just reiterate the point. No tomes bear sweet tidings, for sweet tidings need no sharing. But the pain and the hurt of the machinations of the cruel world peaks to such an extent that we all need a shoulder to turn to, open arms to lie in, ears to whisper into.

And therefore, we have our Tomes. Our Muses. Without them, life would be sad. Sounds a bit contrary don't you think? I leave that for you to ponder over my dear reader.

All would be made clear in due time, all in due time, patience patience young one.

Au revoir


Yours truly
Aristocrat

Sunday, March 06, 2005

I
I have no idea what to pen
Put it against the paper
It comes out black
Which is reasonable
But not on black paper

II
My mind is a blank
A clean slate afresh
Thinks back to the past
It's all a faux pas

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

Hello my dear reader,

How are you? I apologise for this brief hiatus for I was encumbered with countless commitments to say the very least. There were many matters that I had to attend to, and some that are still unfinished.

Just digging up some old stuff that I had written when I encountered the ever-infamous writer's block. As you can see, it was quite serious. So serious that these things above should never see the light at all. But then, there's always a first time. Right? As they say it best, shit happens.


Yours truly
Aristocrat