Whispers of A Blue Moon

New Home

2006-09-28T00:14:00.000+08:00

The tomes of mine have finally found a new home with Wordpress. Yes, one is finally shifting there after ages of inactivity. So my dear readers, please redirect your bookmarks to Whispers of Another Moon

Nothing has changed, just the provider.

Gracias

Pretty Week

2006-09-18T03:04:00.000+08:00

In the midst of writing another short story, while reading 2 novels (Virginia Woolf's To the Lighthouse and James Joyce A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man) while holding one more novel to be read (Joseph Heller's Catch-22) is going to signify the start of another week.

It's not going to be a pretty week.

Intransitive

2006-09-04T16:58:00.000+08:00

As the music recedes so do my feelings
Rush like a waterfall down to its snowy depths
Plunging deep deep inside the unconscious
The last shred of my humanity plundered, fluttering in the lonely wind
Like the last man standing on a battlefield won, a Pyrrhic victory

Circling the skies above a hawk spies
In search of its food to delay starvation perhaps
Or to feed its young in that eyrie way up high
As it is always, to deny something, to allow something
By the force of our seeking

Searching I am too for that ultimate bliss
Like the hawk in the sky, eyes scan the world below me
Looking and looking for that sparkle who would bring me
Down back to terra firma where I would plant my two feet

I am searching yes, searching for you
The you in the shadows who I cannot see
The you that is the Other of me
The incomplete you for the incomplete me
That double of me both joy and of terror in my dreams

Ballerina No More

2006-08-31T12:37:00.000+08:00

The sweet tinkling of the little bells
reminiscent of Innocence, lost to us
forever by the pillaging Age
rampant in his devouring rage
and what we see now is nothing
but rust and regret

(picture courtesy of www.deviantart.com)

Wonderland

2006-08-05T04:24:00.000+08:00

And once upon a time in this fairyland
here lives a boy along this lane
who yearns for something
yet unknown to him because the only thing
he knows is that his heart has been aching, aching terribly

And one fine day, along this lane
merrily hops this little girl
a sweet seraph exuding heavenly charm which
might blind the eyes that can see and
stops the heart that can beat

Thank goodness then, you say
for that little boy who lives along the lane
cannot see since he is blind but heaven forbid!
for he feels that which cannot see, through his skin
or his heart one cannot say (for I was never him)

But I see or saw this little girl, who was skipping along this lane
offered to him her tiny little hand,
I will lead you where you want to go, she merrily says
so honeyed was her voice, melodious and inviting that
who could resist but those that canst hear? or those that canst feel?

Sadly and terribly (yes it was very sad indeed for those of you who think otherwise)
neither of these was the boy
and with a resolute yes, he speaks
I will take your hand
and you will lead me into lands unknown and pastures untrodded upon
where we will laugh and make merry in the sweet-smelling fields forever
That was what he said for so taken was he.

Last seen was he holding the girl's pale little hand
walking into the sunset yonder with nary a worry on his back
And for good or bad, we will never know for never was another word heard
from that little boy who lived along this lane.

He's back...I'm back

2006-07-14T02:45:00.000+08:00

And he slipped back in, undetected from the sentinels of the day, welcomed by the keepers of the night. Too many things had held him back from what was to be done, too many red herrings lying in his path.

He had to settle them one by one, banish the ghosts of his horrors forever and setting those dear to eternal rest...

Apologies to the rest? He did not think so...Those of good faith would have stand by his stead and those impure banished. No apologies needed...However thanks need to be given to those who had dropped by with none but soothing words. May

But now, he was ready once more. Ready to go in and try his luck once more. No matter how battered he will be, he vowed never to stop trying unless he's dead.

To cut the long story short, he's back.

I'm back.

Night

2006-04-24T01:55:00.000+08:00

Deep dark depths of the lonely night
this black blanket that threatens to
swallow us all, even those with
wings to fly like never before
we will exchange them for
earthly chains of desires
limiting our flights of fantasy
into the dark deep depths
of the lonely night

proJect pinK

2006-03-21T04:38:00.000+08:00

Updates aren't coming as often as they should, this I know. Don't need to stare daggers at me, sire.

The muse is not here as often as I would like to, and academia is piling up.

Meanwhile my lady writers, please support Elvina on her proJect pinK.

Yours truly
Aristocrat

Part 3: Those whispers that got lost...

2006-03-17T23:55:00.000+08:00

Those whispers of love that I kissed her lips with…
To watch her crescent-eyes morph
To twin orbs of the lovely moon

No matter how hard I plead with Time, no matter what I offered to stave off his onslaught, he still does it. He still tramples all over the garden in the East that we have had lived in and tended to. He threatens to drive me out almost every other day, you know? The garden that you and I used to live in, together, such bliss we had everyday. The wondrous flora that fills the air with amazing scents. And those trees! They were so pleasing to the eye and carried all kinds of food! With those trees we needn’t starve, you know? Jane and I just had to tend to it.

But now I already don’t remember much.

Not all of the two years we spent together. There seems to be missing pieces of my memory, pieces of a puzzle that I cannot recall no matter how hard I try. Did I delete them from my memory in an effort to repress those shards of broken glass from piercing my heart? That pulsating mass of redness which everyone seeks to protect from the alien bodies that intrude first into the outer shell, then slithering through the inner walls into that red mass. That alien thing which we call love, can it really be that destructive? It always leaves behind a slimy trail of pain after it has fed on the red mass. Nothing left behind.

But I digress.

As I was saying, I don’t remember much of the time that we had spent together. To be sure, there are both happy times and sad times. I can hardly remember where we shared our first kiss. As hard as I try to remember anything concerning her, it seems to evade my grasp.

But slowly, it comes to me. I can remember the scene where I first held her hand, under the comfort of darkness where I couldn’t see her face and neither could she mine. All the better to hide our embarrassment under. Where no prying faces could see the torrent of emotions that I was struggling to hold back but failed.

Like now, how my composure fails me as another torrent of emotions threatens to overwhelm me again. As it failed me before, so will it fail me again. How could I suffer under the gaze of Augustine, to turn my thoughts away from nature and nature’s appetites, when my very nature was to love wholeheartedly! One might as well ask the nightingale to stop chirping!

Where the first one was a promulgation of undying love, now this is a call of despair, the call of the dying lovebird calling out for his other half. And as that other half took the first step into the doors of Hades, so does this half, for one could never do without the other.

Those first moments of love I can still remember without any difficulty. I can remember the heart-stopping moment when our lips first locked, signing that pact to love each other forever. Her eyes, growing big with emotions. I could almost see myself reflected in those orbs of hers. How mesmerising it was. That infantile moment of pleasure, those spasms of happiness that ran through our spines couldn’t be false, could it?

But now everything seemed so illusionary, as if I had never met her before. The people that we knew acted as if they had never met her before. For them, life went on as usual. Everyone started avoiding me when they realised that all I wanted to talk about was Jane. I think they had enough of my moping around. But I couldn’t help it, I missed her so bad.

And now here she was, standing down there right in front of me. Perhaps it may be a figment of my imagination but at least, I got to see her in the flesh. For a while.

Part 2: Do you know how much I missed you?

2006-03-16T13:42:00.000+08:00

*Author’s Note: My dearest readers, here begins the second part of the story. Lay back in your chairs, relax and let these words flow over you like the gentle caresses of your paramour. Let it bring you to a deep well of memories that lies hidden to all…*

For a moment, I saw a silhouette in the distant fog, blazing across the neutral screens of my eyes. Seen through the enchantment of the distance, that silhouette looked fatally like Jane. Her long hair, her slightly drooping shoulders, her slight curves. Everything looked so real. Can it really be her?

“Jane,” I remembered whispering. To her, to that shadow cast out in the distance away from me. Far far away.

“Jane? Is that you, Jane?” The resounding silence answered my questions...

“Do you know how much I missed you so? How much I am pining for you, my dear little one?” I was beginning to ramble, to get hysterical. Come to think of it, how unmanly that was. Have you ever seen a man getting hysterical over a girl? No? Now you have.

I started to make a move towards her, to get closer to the dearest thing in my heart. But it seems the closer I got, the further that thing in my heart got away. I began to try harder, to run faster, just for the sake of trying to ascertain whether that shade of hers was real.

Was it real? Or was it a product of my hyperactive imagination? I have been told countless times that I imagined too much, way too much for my own good. A sensitive, you might call me.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a voice called out to me to stop where I was. I was pretty sure that the voice wasn’t hers. I could have recognized her voice anywhere in the world. But was that voice mine? It sounded like my voice yet I clearly remembered I did not open my pale lips.

“She will disappear if you go towards here.” The voice whispered in my ear again. Definitely not mine. I did not have such a rasping voice.

“You know she will disappear if you proceed. Just like all those movies that you have watched. Try it if you don’t believe me.”

I stopped dead in my tracks. Even if that voice wasn’t mine, what it said made sense. She might vanish, and I didn’t want that to happen, not forever. I was beyond caring whether the voice had an infernal or godly origin. They were of no importance to me. Only Jane did. And she was gone. Just like that, in the twinkling of an eye,

One day she was still doing fine, her tinkling laughter reverberating throughout the huge mansion. It always reminds me of wind chimes, the gentle tinkling that comes with the wind. The wind that gently caresses your cheeks and the tinkling that flows over your ears like the sounds of a fresh winter spring, melting from the warmth of spring. If you know how sweet the freshly melted waters of spring taste, you would know how sweet her laughter was to my ears. Or to anyone else for that matter.

All the times that we have enjoyed together, be it happy or sad. I have to encase those moments in time, I have to. If not, I would lose them to the force of Time. Time will wear away all my efforts to make the memory of her stay.

Away, away! Get lost from her, Time! Do not ever trespass my memory of her! She will never fade from me!

Please, I beg of you. That is all I have left of her. Please…

Part 1: Freefall of My Memories

2006-03-15T15:23:00.000+08:00

Previously I had posted this as Freefall of Memories. It was archived under the Prose section at the sidebar on your right my dear reader. Soon, the second part will be up…

The moment I stepped out of the train, I could imagine the smell hitting my senses again, the noxious yet familiar smell that was signature to this area. I have never figured out the origins of the smell, something that borders along the line of coffee with hot chocolate, yet it was too sharp to be so.

But apparently, the smell was now gone. Replaced by something else, something foreign. Maybe because I have been away from too long. It has been more than a year since I have travelled to this part of the country. This part dictated an hour's travelling time, and in this age of instant gratification, Time was too precious to spend an hour travelling.

And here I am. For no apparent reason at all. Actually there was. A very good one. I'm in pursuit of something which brought me right here. As I walked through the dark pathways, an unrelenting torrent of memories came pouring and I was caught unaware. It was as though my defences had been breached; that someone had actually managed to reach the me that was hidden.

I thought of the Saturdays and the Sundays that were spent here. The ones with my buddies. And the ones with her. I walked through the shopping centre, and everywhere I went, I was reminded of her. I could almost see her shadow beside me, talking and laughing as if nothing happened. How insane it seems, to dream of her now when I thought I had already put the dreadful past behind me. It was still too painful to be thinking about it. Let me just correct that. It will never be not painful thinking about it.

As I made one round and walked past the bus interchange, I could still picture myself standing in the midst of the hustling crowd, a lone figure amidst the multitude of figures, waiting for her to arrive. The love of my life. I am still waiting for her. Nothing has changed. But Fate decreed it be so that she will leave me, stolen from me, taken off the face of this earth.

On that fateful day, she just had to meet me. She said it was urgent.

Was it? Now I wished it wasn't that urgent.

Or else all would have never happened.

And I wouldn't be all alone. On this earth.

Facing this, all by myself.

While you look upon me, your graceful figure in the heavens.

It must have been a joke. Someone's cruel joke.

But it was true, and there was no denying it.

******
4.30 am.
For no reason at all, I'm feeling giddy. Was it the lack of sleep? I suppose not. This is just like any other day. Then why am I feeling giddy? I couldn't even finish today's entry.

The solitude is even more heightened now, like a sharp knife slicing into the depths of my heart, seeing how far it can go. Even when I'm surrounded by friends, I still feel alone. Cold and alone. Maybe it was the memories. The resurfacing of them, those terrible nightmares that I still have, even now. They still wouldn't let me go, would they? Not until they drive me to my watery grave.

Or will 16 floors do? I'm on the highest floor now and the view here is terrific. The glistening lights of the port in the distance, even at 5am. It shows how busy we are. The city that never sleeps. Or perhaps, some of the people in the city anyway,

Plummeting 16 floors down has got to be a real challenge. It's almost like freefalling, but more exciting. For it will be the last thing that you ever do. And it ends real fast too. I can't say much about the pain though.

******

5.15am
Now I'm on the rooftop. Surprisingly, it's very breezy here. And you can even see farther. It's like you are looking down at this small part of the world, this tiny red dot.

One step closer.

The mechanical cranes in the distance looks foreboding. Like hands that rise out of the ground, searching for something. Grasping for something in the air. Straws?

Another step.

Can you hear the singing? Someone's playing Sarah Brightman's Ave Maria. I love her song and how her voice hits the high notes. Wonderfully soothing. I wonder if it's playing for me. And her of course. I will never forget her.

The last step.

The finality of things. One step closer towards her. And one step away from this dreadful world that holds nothing more for me. Everything is already up there. I'm coming.Wait for me.

The Eternal Artist

2006-03-10T01:56:00.000+08:00

Lightning streaked across
the canvass of falling rain
a mast’piece indeed

Rebuttal Senryu

2006-03-07T02:05:00.000+08:00

Short and sweet it will
Be my rebuttal to thee
Concern yourself not

Insinuating
Something against yours truly
Groundless claims it be

You insinuate
I did multiple voting
But there wasn’t any

To put it simply
I was locked out of voting
By some software glitch

Neither did I camp
With a cuppa by my comp
Aka GE*-style

I don’t have knowledge
Of what my dear readers did
So how do I judge

One did complain to
Mandy Zhang or Jackson Tan
In their Arts Club blog

But until today
I have yet to hear from them
A bottomless well

NUS** systems are hell
Unless it’s school fees they want
Damn fast and on time

This I bet you know
Through CORS and I-V-L-E
Wouldn’t you say so

What is fair I say
Did your readers do it too?
It’s subjective isn’t it?

Therefore let me say
Let’s just have fun and enjoy
Ourselves in this fest

No point in fretting
Making everything in NUS
Become a rat race

*GE = Incoming General Elections
**NUS = read NOOSE (one syllable)

2006-03-07T01:50:00.000+08:00

In response to Wanting's comment I have written a rebuttal. For those who have not ventured into my Comments section, this is what she said (reproduced in its originality).

"Hey guess what? Several of my voters have highlighted to me that the blogs under the "Most Creative Blog" category at Blogfest 2006 can be voted for UNLIMITED times. This means that the blogs currently in the running may already have several suspicious votes coming in, like 10 to 20 votes coming in at a time everytime the runner-up threatens to catch up.

I don't know whether the organisers would notice this fatal flaw, but I think I would much rather be in a fair competition.

What say you? "

One almost feels that you are insinuating something against the very character of yours truly, no? And this irks me to end. Almost every word in the passage above has a negative connotation. Suspicious? Even to the extent of FATAL? That to me, is a hyperbole even the Italians would have been proud of.

Irked is a mild word in fact. An understatement even. But one shall remain calm since you are a lady and a fellow poet (budding?) as well.

I don't eat my own kind.

Here then is my rebuttal to your comment. Yes, what you have read is not my rebuttal.

And since I haven't written any poetry for some time, it might as well be in the Haiku form. Please do venture to the above post for the haiku as usual.

A Call To Arms!

2006-03-05T02:04:00.000+08:00

On the pretext of sounding repetitive my dear readers, I urge you to cast a vote in favour of my humble tomes if you have not done so.

For those not in the knowing, I am running in this NUS Blogfest for the Most Creative Blog in the tertiary institution. There are a plentiful number of strong contenders for this category and their support has been overwhelming, to say the least.

One does realise that the architecture (if I may be permit to use that word) of this tomes does not conform to the notion of "aesthetics". In a gothic sense perhaps, but there are no fanciful structures here to speak of. Simple is how I run it.

One does realise too, that Poetry only caters to a niche audience, only those who are interested in it. And therefore, the support may not be as forthcoming as the others. For who in this materialistic country does appreciate poetry? Can they earn a living by it? Not here, it seems.

But in a sense, poetry is about aesthetics. Or rather it is "aesthetics" itself, the study of beauty. It highlights the aspects of life that people have taken for granted. It provokes you my dear reader, into more thoughts. It is like what Samuel Taylor Coleridge said,

I wish our clever young poets would remember my homely definitions of prose and poetry; that is, prose = words in their best order; - poetry = the best words in the best order.

Therefore, vote for me if you like poetry as well, my dear readers.Vote for me if you wish to see poetry winning the race. Though I don't epitomise poetry, it's the least I can do by representing it. 100 voters will also walk away with Asialinx Privilege Cards worth SGD$38 and California Fitness Vouchers

To cast a vote, there are 3 steps.

Again, yours truly is under the category of Most Creative Blog. The name, needless to say is Whispers of A Blue Moon@http://tussand.blogspot.com

I hope to see you voting.

Gracias.

Wayward

2006-03-03T00:16:00.000+08:00

Drunk on drugs, the pervasive high
cutting through the numbness, lying under
the beautiful starlit night, terror lies
in those snarled fingers of twigs, hidden beneath
a dreamy fog, I stood shoulders hunched, a little weary
of the road that lies behind me, and perhaps
a little fearful of the one that lies in front too.

Two Ends of A Same Stick

2006-03-01T20:00:00.000+08:00

Looking back at my previous post, one realise that two enterprises of mine were mentioned but only one was elaborated on.

Poetry performance aside, the other is freelance journalism. To put it more concisely, you can call it amateur freelance journalism, the very very amateur type. Yours truly is just like a babe learning how to walk. Stumbles and falls included.

I am now writing for Funkygrad.com, an online student portal that caters to more than 100,000 tertiary students in Singapore, Australia and New Zealand. Feel free to go there and roam around if you like and leave whatever comments you have here if you please.

I know what you are going to do but don't go looking for the alias aristocrat. What will those students, who are of malleable minds, think when I write under that pseudonym? A human still stuck in the past ages? An anti-democratic entity? One has no wish to undergo all that again. Yes my dear reader. I have taken flak for this pseudonym before. All one wish for is the growth of the Arts again. The dawn of another Age.

But I digress.

As I was saying, I took up this opportunity for self-improvement. And now I find myself stretched in ways that I have never been before. Dead ends everywhere and to say the least, it is quite demoralising.

Why so pessimistic? you say.

Ok I take back "demoralising". It probably is too strong a word. But this stretch experience is forcing me to step out of my safety zone, which in a perverted sense, is good.

The Poet's soul is scarred by such encounters with the Dragon. The Poet has never been a Knight and never will be I guess. He doesn't wield a sword screaming bloody murder. He doesn't wear a trench coat a la The Highlander.

In place of the sword he wields a pen. In place of a trench coat he let his words wrap around him and speak for themselves. No need for appearances.

The Knight is everything but the Poet is everything that the Knight is not. The Poet is Nothing. But Nothing excels at being Nothing instead of just Everything being mediocre at Something.

And that is what I have realised. A poet cannot be a journalist, for they are two extremes of the same stick. Both of them manipulate the same medium but for different purposes. The Poet is free to write what he wishes but a journalist has a dragon to contend with. Such limitations bound me but I shall endeavour to find my way around it. And be a Poet at the same time.

Yours truly,
Aristocrat

(Extremely long)Postscript: My dear readers, if you have taken a liking to my ramblings (how that is possible I dare not venture to guess), please do cast a vote in my favour if you have not done so. Yours truly has been nominated for the Most Creative Weblog in NUS (For details on it, click HERE. Though on hindsight, it troubles me a little to be heading mainstream, I am advised that it is all in the name of fun. So I shall let sleeping dogs lie.

To cast a vote in favour, there are but three steps:
1.Create an account at Livewire (an NUS Arts Faculty portal)
2. Login HERE (the password is usually sent instantly. Check your Junk mail folder if you have not received it)
3. Proceed to vote at Blogfest Polls

For those who have taken the trouble to vote, my gratitude goes out to you.

Blogfest 2006

2006-02-28T01:04:00.000+08:00

Event Highlight: NUS Blogfest 2006

Duration: 27th Feb to 27th Mar

Good evening fellows, it seems I have been remiss in my updates again. You must pardon me for I have had the busiest few weeks ever. It would appear that all deadlines have a preference for coming together at the same time. Even now, I am still rushing to meet them. However, let this be a snap update. As you guests have known, someone has kindly encouraged me to participate in this NUS Blogfest. For my foreign guests, NUS simply refers to National University Of Singapore.

It is an event where people vote for their favourite blogs in three categories, namely Best NUS Blog, Most Creative Blog and Funniest Blog.

My weblog has been entered into the Most Creative Blog.

Now this is where you come in my dear guest. You get to vote and decide whether I will win this poll or not. If other blogs in the category rouses your interest more than mine, you have the license to go ahead and vote for them. If not, to me people, to me!

Here comes the tricky part after you have decided who to vote for. Owning to renowned bureaucracy of our esteemed and much lauded University, there are a few procedures that you have to go through. And consider yourself lucky that it is but a FEW only. Imagine the suffering of those who have to encounter the mammoth every day!

Firstly, you have to register at Livewire. This will create a user account for you where you can vote. You will have to provide a userid and your email address and thereafter they will send the password to your email.

With that password, you can now proceed to login HERE. After logging in, you should be able to see a screen featuring other links. Click on the VOTE HERE link.

If not, clicking HERE will take you to the same space as well.

Where am I? I see you asking...

Well, there are 3 categories there and I am to be found in the middle, NUS Most Creative Blog. Click there and you will find my weblog address. Be sure to vote for the correct person.

Now now, I see you shaking your head. Fear not, I am not passing myself up as the mortal with the most creative blog in NUS. I do think that there are others out there who are better. No worries on that score.

Before I end, don't forget to vote for me! And there are many more updates to come, for instance spy something new in this weblog. Two in fact!

Till then, gracias.

Postscript: The best thing is, you people can vote DAILY, which means a vote a day!

Event Highlight

2006-02-24T11:45:00.000+08:00

Event: Evening of Poetry and Music
Date: 25th Feb, 4pm (this Sat)
Venue: University Cultural Centre Dance Studio
Dress Code: Smart Casual
Miscellany: Photography/video-recording allowed, no food and drinks

What's happening:
This revolves around the NUS Literary Society's annual Creative Writing competition, where the prizes will be given out to the winners on that day. Additionally, there will be poetry readings and performances by Leeson, with an Open Mic session at the end. Cyril Wong our local poet, will also be there.

Sadly, I would not be able to make it to the event. But keep in mind next Tuesday's poetry slam at Velvet Underground. I'll see you then.

Yours sincerely,
Aristocrat

Postscript: If I may suggest something, here is a map of the location to aid you in your travelling.

Poetry Slam

2006-02-20T01:22:00.000+08:00

Ahh, finally I have time to sit down and catch a breather. Do pardon me, for it has been a whirlwind of many weeks. Yours truly have entered into a few new enterprises, that's why. One gets bored when nothing happens. With the academic work piling up too, there was hardly any time to write.

These minor details aside my dear reader, do you smell the wind of change? I tasted it. Yes, tasted the wind. Think synaethesia. Somehow, I do believe that the period of darkness is almost over. Aristocrat is dying. And perhaps, there is no need to sustain it any longer, but to let it go.

To face change, that's what we are all afraid of. But I find it to be strangely exhilirating and re-invigorating, in fact. Not to change with the times, but to change, to improve in other words, when one feels that stasis is near.

I am bored. Bored of writing the same things in the same way over and over again. One needs to learn new styles of writing, of presentation. And that is why, I found myself in a poetry slam workshop. To learn more about performing poetry, as opposed to reading or reciting poetry. This poetry performance is more well-known as poetry slam in the States.

Poets go up to the stage to perform his or her own piece of work. It must be within the span of 3 minutes and the judges are usually 3 people chosen from the audience. And when the poet performs, you can feel the intensity, the emotions of the poem, the super-charged air rather than someone standing in the library reciting a poem. I had just done an unofficial slam in the workshop and came out all the better for it.

Learnt new things, made new friends. Still no longer.

Poets performing. Who would have thought of it? I wouldn't. But in case you are interested in Singapore's Poetry Slam, please do drop by:

Event: Poetry Slam
Date: 28th February (held monthly, on the last Tue of every month)
Venue: Zouk
Time: 7.30pm to 10.00pm
Price: SGD$10 (includes one free drink)

See for yourself what Singapore poets have to say besides the usual crap of politics and what-nots. Listen not to a recital, but a high energy performance. However, if the poet chooses to perform a quiet piece, I am not to be held liable for anything.

But I will be there too. And then you can have your chance to sling mud at me.

Poetry du Blanc

2006-02-09T18:44:00.000+08:00

Event notice: Poetry du Blanc/open mic sessions

Where: Books Actually/ 125a Telok Ayer Street
Contact: 62211170

When: 11 Feb '06 (Sat), 2pm

Price: Admission is FREE

What: Books Actually and NUS Literary Society are having the 1st Poetry du Blanc open-mic session on the date and time mentioned above.

Recite a prose, a poem, a letter, a page, a paragrap, a sentence, a word (one has no idea how to recite a word!) - anything at all. The only condition is to keep it wordy and of course, no songs. An indoor picnic happens at the same time so patrons are advised to bring along a cushion, a mat, a newspaper. Drinks and tibits may be purchased at the bookstore.

Traffic

2006-02-05T01:53:00.000+08:00

He stood there quietly, as if waiting for someone. Or something. A figure cut out from the dark shadows, watching the traffic whizzed by and by. Until it was almost a blur. Until those faces, whom might be his neighbour, his friend's parent or someone remotely related to him, became those vehicles in which they were in.

Something struck him about those faces. Something about a story behind every one of them in fact. Who was to know that the person driving the Beemer wasn't rich, but in fact, belong to the nouveau riche? The Singapore nouveau riche, not those established tycoons. These people were just living on borrowed time. Or who was to know that the young kid (that looked 20 but was actually 27) driving the Toyota Celica was no silver-spoon-in-the-mouth kid but a young entreprenuer who sloughed his way through to get to where he was today. Or that budding artist on the public bus with that exuberant look, who had struggled for years to get his art exhibited and had finally succeeded today.

Who? Who but him to see all that? Those faces hiding behind a facade of vehicles. A facade of traffic.

One car, two cars, three taxis, oh that's four taxis now. Not three. A Harley over there. An uncommon sight. More cars coming now...He gave up counting them. It was a fruitless effort. Fruitless to distinguish Much like what those people in their modes of transport were. Fruitless efforts of creation. Traffic. All heading in one direction. Destruction.

With a deep sigh, he took out a cigarette and lit it. In that brief moment, the flame did its best to drive away the enveloping darkness. But as quickly as it was taken out, it was extinguished. No trace of it remained. And the darkness insidiously reclaimed what was rightfully its.

The cigarette smoke snaked slowly upwards, making more rounds above his folded arm. He took a deep breath and puffed out the remainder of the toxins. No wonder some wanted to save only the animals and not humans. No wonder Atlantis was sunk. But who remembers that now? In this age of science, no one really cared for anything anymore. What advancements are there now? No Leonardo da Vinci, no Chopin, no Shakespeare. Only Dolly, the cloned sheep.

Another sigh. This one much deeper, as though he was attempting to physically force out his depression from the depths of his liver. The cigarette, now almost to its end, dropped to the pavement. And without any attempt to stump it out, he stretched out his hand and flagged a cab.

To fade into the traffic beyond...

2006-01-30T01:40:00.000+08:00

They gathered during every festive season, to exchange news, to catch up with one another. Some gamble, some talk, some watch the tv set. There is always someone doing something.

Someone caring for somebody. Someone talking to somebody. But no one seems to be around, even when everyone is there.

Everything, even when up close, seems so cold and distant...

...to me

The MRT

2006-01-25T00:51:00.000+08:00

On this they called the MRT
Everything is fastforwarded, this much I see
A Malay couple sitting right in front of me
Poking fun at each other, damn lovingly

I do also see a Chinese PR couple
Parked neatly next to me
It seems the Huanghe runs in between
For that which I cannot see
Since they sit so far apart, I presumably thought of it

All the way from Clementi to Tampines
The Malays continue poking, the Chinese keep stoning
From Clementi to Tampines, in just 40 minutes

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

For my dear foreign readers not of Singapore...

MRT = Mass Rapid Transit
Huanghe = Yellow River in China
Clementi = a small town in Singapore, west
Tampines - another small town in Singapore, east

8 Characteristics

2006-01-21T02:17:00.000+08:00

My my, today was just splendid. Good news came to me from the Society, that there is an event soon. What joy there shall be there! An intellectual feast for the minority! And my other persona as a bartender had it good as well. Very good. Sometimes one does regret that this other alias of mine is only for the time being, liable to disappear into the thin air anytime. Much like how the morning sun tends to evaporates the gauzy mist hanging around.

And there are more things that I have to tell you, but time is again, of a constraint here. And more about dream interpretation as well. But I shall just proceed to the second 'tag' of the week by Shy.

Herein are the details of the 'tag':

The tagged victim has to come up with 8 different points of their perfect lover.
Need to mention the sex of the target.
Tag 8 victims to join this game and leave a comment on their comments saying they’ve been tagged.
If tagged the 2nd time, there’s no need to post again.

Somehow or rather, I am still against revealing too much on this public dominion. 'Tis just goes against the very grain of my nature. But one shall again, throw caution to the wind. Just for the fun of it, my bad angel tells me.

1. She should be emotive, not to the point of wearing her emotions on the sleeves, but not exactly bottling everything inside her as well.

2. She has to be there for yours truly when needed. More importantly, she has to sense this herself. One should not have to go up and verbalize in her face, "I need your support now."

3. One should be able to let down his guard completely in her presence. No need for pretense or anything perfect. Normalcy is much preferred. Very very much.

4. Criticisms are one thing. But when she cannot accept one for who he is, then bollocks! Cease or desist. The probablity of changes is always larger if she accepts him first, then perhaps he would be touched enough to change for her. BUT if one loves her enough, and she HIM, enough. She wants the moon? One will get her the moon, accompanied with a few stars as well.

5. She should be able to understand one's interests. Given that he is a fellow with a weird and individualistic streak to boot, it is very highly unlikely. Never mind if she does not understand. She is most certainly forgiven. BUT to criticise something which she doesn't understand, that surely takes the cake. One's man meat is another man's poison. Enough said.

6. A confidante. She should be one who one can confide in. Objectively. And subjectively if the matter is about him. Probably subjective. Not forgetting that one wishes to share her burdens as well, so yes it goes both ways. She should feel comfortable to confide in him too.

7. If she shares the same interests as yours truly, all the better.

8. Finally, chemistry. I almost thought I would never get to the end of the list. Realistically speaking, though looks are important, but relatively speaking, chemistry is the most important factor. The importance of looks does not even come close when spoken in the same breath as chemistry.

Finally, thy deed is completed. And for eight other mortals who shall suffer the same fate as me,

1. Elvina
2. Melis
3. Jnet
4. Jackal

I think four will be enough chaos for now.

Au revoir.

Yours truly
Aristocrat

Postscript:
And on retrospect, perhaps this deed is not such a waste after all. One realizes that one has just gone through a self-realization process. A realization of what one desires. Very interesting.

Weirdness

2006-01-20T00:50:00.000+08:00

Hello my dears. I am back, at least for now one supposes. I see that I have to apologise, yes I can see your smug face over there, thinking that oh here he goes apologising again. I do owe you an apology I suppose. After all, the fracas over the sorting of mundane chores that came with the re-opening of the new academic term has finally ended.

Now, one can sit back and relax, at least for a while. For a short while. Before things start to turn chaotic yet again, as if Hell had descended upon Earth. Come to think of it. It does look like Hell on Earth now. And perhaps, I shall soon possess my own version of it as my work comes by the truckload. Four modules of Literature I shall be taking and so are there four ways to die. One module per se is already heavy enough, what with the number of required texts in it. But no, I have to take four, just to see how I will die terribly. A bloodbath? Most likely.

But I digress. I shall not be so rude as to impose my insignificant and mundane rantings upon you, my precious reader. For I believe you have other tomes that can give you such entertainment.

Before I try to arrange my thoughts into a coherent manner, I have to settle another chore. It seems dear Velvet has decided to shoot me with a most undesired arrow. In this dominion, they call it a tag. Now the whole theme is to share some of your unique weirdness with others. Somehow, that just sounds so wrong to me. Weirdness is only a matter of one's perception. What seems weird in one may not be weird to another. Simple as that. But I shall endeavour to complete that task.

My first outlandish behaviour. Since those days when yours truly was still studying in a junior college (eleventh grade to others), yours truly was already given the label as an anti-social. Imagine, a verb becoming a noun. How presposterous of that! But given the flexibilty of language that my contemporaries uses today, it may not be surprising. Given that I wear a face that discourages anyone from coming within five feet, I was not amazed to learn that I was tagged with that label.

Even now, I still do have people coming up to me or to my acquaintances saying that I look like an assassin. With regards to that, I do not know whether to be pleased or sorry. Probably more on pleased.

Now for the second weird characteristic...

...

...

I am trying to think of something here, so do stop staring daggers at me will you? This is not easy, not easy at all.

Perhaps my second weird characteristic will have got to be my dress sense. Love it or hate it, I have a wardrobe that is three-quarters filled with black clothes. Many people have already commented on that why do they always see me in black and not in other colours. I guess I prefer black. It's such an easy colour to match with. You just have to match black with black. Voila!

And as I was writing this, another arrow came. Courtesy of shyloh. This is really unexpected. Now I have two arrows on my hand. Depressing indeed. Very. Sigh.

I was just kidding. It's cool ha.

Now the third one is with reference to my taste in music. Unlike people in my country who generally listen to either English songs, which means R&B, hip hop or ballads, or Chinese sweet love-me-till-I-die-and-I-love-you-too ballads, I listen to Japanese visual kei. Or what is known as visual rock. And some other rock bands.

Many a times people have come up to me and asked me why waste money on music that you do not understand. Before you jump to judge me, let me present to you an analogy. How many people attend Italian operas today, where those performers sing in Latin. The answer is many. And how many of those people actually do understand it? Not many.

Then you may ask again, what do they actually listen for? One reason may be that because they appreciate it. They may not understand but perhaps, listening to visual art may drive them to be apprentices, if not masters of the language. Then inevitably, in the later stage comes greater appreciation.

The same can be said of me.

I appreciate the vocal ranges of those singers, who are much more versatile and has a wider range than those of English and Chinese. When I say this, I refer to all those boybands and what-nots that the young generation listen to nowadays.

I appreciate the music. The riffs. The percussion. All those which are sadly absent in the common songs that can be found on radio.

I appreciate the efforts that these Japanese artistes have put in for the sake of art. Truly art and not being commercialized in any sense. Though one will argue that in the language of English, there are underground bands as well. Therein lies the last factor that I crossed over.

The beauty of the Japanese language. The phonetics of it. All of it sounds so wonderful rolling off the human tongue. Like a matured wind to be slowly savoured and sipped.

*edited*
Lastly, Japanese music was what got me writing poetry in the first place. Without it, I would never have been writing, The Glass Rose would never have been written, and Whispers of A Blue Moon wouldn't have been possible.
*end of edit*

Alright alright, I'm getting overtly defensive here about my taste in music. But that is just me.

Now for the fourth weirdness.

I do suppose that being nocturnal is weird? No? Usually I only turn in at around 3am in the morning. The latest, or rather, in my case earliest that I slept was at 8.30am in the morning. My mindset is that why sleep when there are better things to do, though sleeping would be a much needed good for me. Eternal sleep perhaps.

Now for one last minor weird thing.

Weird because the rest are not.

Weird because I am.

A left-hander is I.

Edit: Oh, my memory almost fails me. I am supposed to tag (what an ugly word!) five more mortal beings with this. So my companions will be....

1. Elvina
2. Darkestharf
3. August
4. Jnetsworld
5. keanbon
6. Not forgetting Shyloh, the lady who tagged me!

Enjoy!

Nature's Call

2006-01-10T02:34:00.000+08:00

A thousand blossoms laid aggrieved
At the foot of the giant cherry tree
Paying homage and heeding the call
Of Nature’s clarion and Winter’s scorn

These
With my eyes, out of my window
I see

Yet if I were to be more discerning
I would be able to see, a tiny spot of pink
Hanging there,
Defiant in the face of
Gravity

Celebration

2006-01-03T01:13:00.000+08:00

Greetings my dears. How was your New Year? Racuous and splendid? I hope so.

Mine was, let's just said, hard work and fun all rolled into one. But enough of celebrations and holidays. Do we need a public holiday just to celebrate Life? I don't think so. Then let us welcome the two weeks late Poet of the Week in Poetisphere, Erin Monahan.

Do drop by and pay her a visit my dears. She's a wonderful lady.

For now, au revoir.

Last Secret Garden

2005-12-30T12:46:00.000+08:00

Hello my dear readers. My profuse thanks for all the comments that you have left here. How has everyone been doing? One does hope that you have had a splendid Christmas, what with the exchanging of presents? and the imbibing of the innocuous liquids they call alcohol. Are you going to do the same for New Year's Eve? It will be much more rowdy and happening, I assure you. Somehow the word "happening" coming out here gives a very wrong feeling, but eh bien...

Now now, it seems like all I have been doing recently is apologising for the lack of posts. Sad, but true.

My alternative persona has fully wakened from its slumber and one's afraid that there's no stopping it. There has been too much things that need doing and too little things that needs thinking, thus the awakening of it. But slowly, as Winter's Solstice passed and the Moon wanes, one can feel again the lessening of it. For once again, the great horn blows in the distant fields, calling out to me.

With the awakening of it, my muse has also fled the realm and with her, my thoughts. As if there was no Aristocrat in the first place, no Whispers of A Blue Moon. The pen that resides in my left hand lies there, restless. Yes, I'm a left-hander, a solitary soul among those right-handers. A solitary soul that canst find belonging in this world. And I have taken the first step into the unknown, the first step of the road less taken. It shall remain to see whether it will make all the difference to me as it did for Monsieur Frost.

And with the awakening of it, my secret garden has also vanished into thin air. My secret garden, the one where I retreat to when I'm feeling overwhelmed or when I need comfort. My harbour, my hotel solace so as to speak. Elvina will know what I am talking about.

A place where one lies back in comfort, listening to the rushing fall of water, the peal of the birds in the lush trees and the gentle wind caressing your face. An explosion of colours and serenity, more peaceful than you can ever imagine. Sometimes, just sometimes, I might see a little girl in frocks sitting on that garden swing, her pearlie whites flashing at me, swinging ever so slightly in the breeze. And I might just give her one of those idiotic grins, telling her she's welcome. And it so sets the heart at peace with the world. It gives you the feeling of invincibilty, as if nothing can touch you here. No sadness, no happiness, no longing, no love, no hate.

Just peace.

Poet of the Week

2005-12-14T11:16:00.000+08:00

Pardon the lack of updates my dears. The nocturnal persona of mine has just resurfaced recently. And now, I have to work most nights. As a bartender of course, and sometimes as a waiter. Where else can you indulge in excesses and get paid for it? Where else can you meet such interesting humans, be it irritating or friendly? Where else do you get tips that comes up to more than your pay sometimes?

All at my workplace. Free drinks and a familial atmosphere. Almost like my second family, I dare say.

And during this relatively long absence (yes to me it was long), a surprise came up. I'm Poet of The Week at Poetisphere. Lo and behold, I was shocked, needless to say. Long has it been since I wrote any poetry, though the rest of my works are to the right, listed under poetry. Makes one feel guilty for not writing any.

Tsk. Humans.

The Price of Everything

2005-12-06T14:42:00.000+08:00

When one lives as long as one should, one tends to learn many valuable lessons in life.

For unlike the horse or the bee, where within the first hour, a foal can already stand and the bee can already fly once it chews its way out of the cell. But a human does not. It is incapable of conveying coherent thought to the rest except through babble. And it is not equipped with the instincts for survival at all. It has to learn its lessons the hard way. Slow and steady. Taking twelve to fourteen years to reach maturity.

And one very valuable lesson that many knows not is the law of exchange. Everything on this terra firma has a price, my dear one. You of all should know that. Yes, everything has a price that must be paid for.

You upset the balance you pay. Some call it karma. Some call it retribution. It's called by a lot of names, all a subset of the whole. Retribution only points to negative events. Karma? Not enough either. It's just simply another version of the Eight Words of the Wiccan Rede: "An Ye Harm None, Do What Ye Will". Or the Three-fold Law of Wicca: " Mind the Three-fold Laws you should three times bad and three times good/When misfortune is enow wear the star upon your bro"

But none covers it as well as Hemingway's protagonist in The Sun Also Rises. For he says that in this world, there's a price for everything. Even for happiness. I bet you didn't get that, did you? Your happiness, your well-being, everything that you are enjoying, will be accounted for sooner or later.

That's what one calls balance.

Seven Corpses

2005-12-05T03:15:00.000+08:00

You know something my dear readers?

The dream came again.

Although the vestiges of it evaporated like the morning mist in the sun, I am sure that it was the same one that had been plaguing me for months. There was a certain familiarity to it, as if one could recognise his dreams. Pwah.

It's always been that one. The one where I'm always running, like an neverending commerical. But with more serious consequences. First in a military installation and then I will end up in an airport.

Running from what, you ask? Don't look that surprised, I'm not a mind reader. But your facial expressions give you away easily though.

I have no idea. On the surface, it looks like I'm running away from soldiers trying to capture me. But deep down inside, I have this nagging ache that tells me it's something more menacing than M16-toting gunmen. Apparently your guess is as good as mine.

The first few dreams were the same. Me being a rogue squad member against the rest.

Trying to be a hero, you say. I don't think so. If I am, I wouldn't be in this sad state where I am now. Well to cut a long story short, the ending was always the same, me being surrounded by countless soldiers on the government's payroll.

But...

What was new in this dream, in today's dream was that I'm no longer running. In this dream, I was sitting down at a celebratory dinner with my colleagues. It raises my hackles, that this dream reminds me of those dinners held by the ministers of the parliament. Somehow, I was spooked. What celebration, I have no idea.

Really, you must stop asking me why. I have no answer for it, just like you do. Do you still remember clearly as the morning sun what you have dreamt a week ago? I suppose not. So stop asking and start listening. And if you interrupt one more time, your rear shall have a rare meeting with the tip of my boot. Believe me, it will be much welcomed by your rear.

And I was saying before you so politely interrupted me once again, I was sitting alongside with his colleagues, in a celebratory dinner of sorts. The whole event was insignificant, except for the end. All good parts of dreaming seems to happen at the end.

I discovered seven corpses. Now doesn't it struck you odd, that one would find corpses at a celebration. This may perhaps be the key as to why I keep suffering the recurrence of those dreams. I know that they are linked in some way, and the ending has to do with seven corpses, seven deaths. Or perhaps seven renewals.

Somehow, I vaguely have the idea what those seven corpses stand for.

Closure.

Death Be Not Proud

2005-12-03T02:57:00.000+08:00

Just not too many days ago, a young lady of many talents perhaps, took an earlier step towards eternal sleep. She wasn't related to him in any way. He never came across her tomes, never read what she had written, or even talked to her before.

They were just that, two strangers in a small little island spanning over 40 kilometres. Perhaps unwittingly, they had passed by each other before. On the bus, in the streets, in the malls or maybe in the clubs. Who knows? Maybe it was just a casual brush or a apolegetic nod for bumping into one another. Maybe it was just a disinterested glance by either party, taking note of his or her surroundings like any other day. Seeing who's who and tagging a self-imagined story to the face.

"She looks tired. Probably had a hard day at work."

Whatever it was, they never met. But fate and technology dictated otherwise.

The news hit the community fast.

"She's gone."

"Huh? What you mean gone?"

"She passed away, from a rare blood disorder I think."

Speechless and stunned the community was. They didn't expect this. Moreoever from a healthy young lady.

He wasn't affected in the first few days. Because they didn't know each other, that's why. But the more he read, the heavier the heart became. He could feel the emotions pouring out from the wounds. The hurt, at first trickling, then soon it became a torrent, threatening to engulf anyone who was caught in it.

And he was caught in it. The tragedy and the transience of human life. How fragile it is. So fragile that it has almost become a cliche. He felt their pain and their loss, perhaps not as much as them, but he understood.

Fare thee well, Sondra.

He understood, that was for sure.

2005-12-03T01:43:00.000+08:00

Sorry for the agony on your eyes earlier on, dear readers. It was a terrible mess to be sure. But the revamp's done and now, it looks much neater than before. Just in time for a new beginning to be sure. Some little things still need to be tweaked here and there, but one can't convey to you the AGONY of fitting the code for both Internet Explorer and Firefox.

Needless to say, I would view the partially completed HTML through Firefox first. And later, when it's almost done, throught IE. What makes one steam is that it looks COMPLETELY different in IE and Firefox. IE doesn't render HTML as well as Firefox. Generally, trying to make it compatible in both browsers almost drove me nuts.

Sometimes, I would really like to tie Bill Gates to a stake and burn him as an offering.

Which brings me to the thought that was dwelling at the back of my mind: whether I should ban all IE users for a day and make them download Firefox. That might be another way of blocking those unwelcome eyes here as well.

An experiment perhaps...

It'll be fun...

Apart'Ment

2005-11-28T04:11:00.000+08:00

THOSE apartments a distance away
Devoid of movement and light
Creates an even bigger crevasse
Between
Him and those Singaporeans
Since his was still lighted and
Very much in ambulation

Eyes Only

2005-11-25T16:55:00.000+08:00

A new post was up. But since there are eyes here that I do not wish them to see, it was only up for 5 minutes. Had to let everything out.

These eyes makes things more difficult to rant, more difficult to write.

If only Blogger had password locked posts.

Silent Screams

2005-11-24T04:10:00.000+08:00

A silent scream out into the night
Vibrating through the fibre of the soul
Like a soul incarcerated I was amongst the human crowd
Yet alone I still felt, the unmistakable fear
And slowly the gentle touches of the wind cups my face
A welcome change in the humid night, if one is observant
One sees on the breeze dead petals of cherry blossoms
As they struggle to hold onto, the fabric of their existence which
Was torn violently from their beings
Restless now they are, in search of that final destination
Those lovely red petals, dancing violently in the wind
Caught in the warm currents. like a thousand shards slicing
Into my heart, piece by piece I see them fall,
Those petals lying, trampled by the passer-bys
Uncared and unspoken for
The beauty forgotten
Abandoned to the winds
Not unlike my heart

Departure of Persephone

2005-11-22T16:52:00.000+08:00

Cold

From the moment I stepped out of the doorway, I could feel the chill in the air. The cold bite in the air that snaps at your heels once you are out. The cold bite that heralds the departure of Persephone, otherwise known as Proserpina, back into the arms of Hades. And the mourning of Demeter. What is she possibly doing now, I wonder? In this very age, what form does she take that hides her from the eyes of mortals? An old woman? Or an Alpha female somewhere commanding a legion of subordinates and teleconferencing with eight other CEOs at the same time?

But I digress.

In this place where I reside in currently, there is no spring, no winter. Demeter has no hold over this region of Earth. Over here, only Apollo matters. No disrespect, Demeter. Only the harsh winds of the monsoon, bringing torrential rains over this little island. But tis still cold enough to remind me of the time where I spent a month in a place under the influence of Demeter.

I have fond memories of that place. Very enjoyable it was. The novelty of being under the influence of Demeter seems to have no bounds. The cold air coming out of one's mouth every time one speaks. The hard chill that envelopes the body everytime one steps out, so hard that it warrants a few layers of clothing. The golden warmth of the Sun shining, warm enough to make you appreciate it, and cold enough not to let one sweat either.

It was simply soothing and mesmerizing. Perhaps this warrants a trip to the hinterlands soon. The itch to travel is back...

(C)Image courtesy of Fire Serpent Tantra: Kundalini Mystery School

Epitaph Of Eros

2005-11-21T15:41:00.000+08:00

HERE it begins
A purge of everything gained
Those foreign substances in his veins
All associated with pain
Out of the vessel they go
All the things that were once
Good, but the label there another story told
Good, but only for a few months
And herein after that, it expires
No matter, it wasn't him they say
Follow what we say, and you will be free
Those naysayers preached

So he did,
Accordingly to what they say
And dug a very deep hole in a fit
To put in those alien objects treasured most

Up till now, this very day
There lies the hole
"Here lies Eros"
Says the stone
Dead from misadventure
Reads the epitaphios

*****************************************

There we go Elvina. The plan for Ops Purge. Comprehendo?

And on a sidenote,

Eros - Go figure my dear readers. Not someone I would care to elaborate.
Epitaphios - Greek for epitaph

A contrast of some things

2005-11-21T06:41:00.001+08:00

Some things, no matter how hard you try to build a wall around them, it keeps coming back to you. One day after the third red wall is up, it just has to be torn down by someone again. One after another, it gets tiring...

Some things, no matter how meaningless or painful, always contained an ounce of delight or remembrance in them. That however meaningless, it was at least something to be treasured. Like the photo ages ago that dropped out (of all places) my calculator manual as I was reading up on linear regression.

Sometimes I am contented ... sometimes I'm not.

Some things are just meant to be the way they are...

Like humanity is simply irritating

Tis time to begin Operation Purge again.

Old ways are definitely better.

Mad Prose

2005-11-20T02:51:00.000+08:00

NOW now, that was a pretty long rant. Was it not?
he most fertile plot of land can do wonders
to even the wilting flower. But enough
o'such dreadful stuff. Tis a weekend, a day, a day
for cheerily fluff and for indulging in one's excesses.
Excesses to the contrary, a little drop
-In potency it belongs Dutch courage it's called-
of the potent liquid is enough to do
wonders for numbers as one plus one becomes three
and the the gold seems to be in the midst of the rainbow.
And something for the little narcissist in everyone, including
Aristocrat yours truly.
A dance of magick, twirly and swirly under
the deep dark nights. As we invite the Moon
to come down to earth, lucid dreaming we do.
"Enough enough!" Cries the Other.
"You rant you rant! Bring down the Moon you do say. Bah what rubbish is this! Spits an Other.
"But but..."
"Surely no more buts, young'un. Show them what you truly want
Come on fella, don't be shy. A little always does more good"
Nod nod goes the Other.
"Listen to the wise one you bag of wool for brains fool"
And bit by bit, gingerly tenderly
He took up the sweet little sign which says
"Gracias, Velvet."

****************************

Some weird prose, for the weird Other in an Other.
Some weird prose, for the Night that stands by the Day
At the same time
In the same place
They stood.
The Other's face melted into an Other
And the Night becomes one with Day

Revelations

2005-11-18T01:39:00.000+08:00

As I was lying in bed, a relevation suddenly dawned upon me. Perhaps that was why I always couldn't sleep at night. I had said this before, if I remember correctly.

The night is always the time where my mind is the most fertile, the strongest spot has to be my bed. Everytime I lie on it, images of anything and everything will swarm over me. Thoughts will come unasked. Everything becomes a whole mess of information and pictures, and it is always up to me to sort it out. To sift throught this mess.

Usually, I would be too lazy to pen it down, letting my muse slipped away, her persuasions wasted on me. But tonight, I decided not to. It was a huge relevation for me. Probably triggered by Aldous Huxley. By his book, Brave New World. It was mildly disturbing, to say the least.

It was suggested in the book, by Mustapha Mond, one of the World Controllers, that art (and science, but not relevant here) is the nemesis of happiness. Where art exist, happiness will not exist for long. At least, that is my reading of it.

And in a warped sense, it is true.

Art (and science) is the equivalence of knowledge. And what cliched saying comes to mind when the word "knowledge" is mentioned. The more you learn, the more you realised you don't know anything. And when you realise that paradox, what comes next is unhappiness. Is knowledge ever associated with happiness? I only know of instances where it is associated with unhappiness.

The rat race for one. In the quest for the paper chase, are people truly happy doing what they love to do? Only for an elite few who are perhaps rich enough to take the other side of the road. And for some brave ones.

Poetry is another. Now I do realise why I have become what I am today. Perhaps I was shaped by my poetry. The more I wrote, the more sensitive I became. Overtly sensitive to others as well. Perhaps that was part of the deal. I could almost hear Apollo (the god of poetry) saying, "You want to write? Fine, I'll make you more attuned to the emotions of others." If not, maybe I wouldn't be able to bring out the raw emotions in those pieces of work. It would then become another piece of mediocre writing by another mediocre individual who is more suited to numbers than words.

The more I wrote, the more unhappy and melancholic I became. What I wrote, I saw it happening in the world. The unhappiness of it all. Happiness seemed to have vanished. It was entirely insignificant compared to the amount of unhappiness in the world. The words gave me the ability to see the complacency of those people in suits milling in the streets, working from 8 to 5. And after that heading home. Just to get ready for another day that is the same as the rest of the 321 days that had passed before it.

Where is the meaning in that, you tell me? What about all those beautiful things that poetry proclaims? Are those suits really thinking the same thing. The answer is probably a resounding no, unless someone cares to stand up and prove me wrong. Such are the abilities of the art and sciences, the ability to improve our lives, yet they have the ability to destroy it in the happiness quotient as well. A double-edged sword, no less.

And that leads me to think, perhaps I should abandon the arts for now and be like any other robotic individual who studies all day for the grades and does nothing else.

Like the drugged citizens in Brave New World who are misled into believing that they are happy and contented.

Because I want to be happy too, like any other person.

But at the expense of being dumb?

Perhaps...

Unexpected

2005-11-17T19:38:00.000+08:00

Like the dust in the breeze
Silent and sudden...
His muse pays her visits
Upon the unsuspecting one
Unwary, as the breeze dies down
Caught up in the tomes he was
Only left to wonder
What a cooling wind just now...

ほうき星...

2005-11-12T05:50:00.000+08:00

It has been a long time. A long time since he had cast his glance on the early skies of the morn. The early darkish purple coupled with the cool night air. The gentle night on the cusp of day. His head felt like lead, laden with thoughts that shouldn't be there. Speaking of it, his whole body felt numb.

It was a chore to move even a finger.

He just felt like lying there on the grass patch. Staring up into the starry heavens above. Looking right into their very depths. Those incomprehensible depths. What was going on up there, he wondered. And for that matter, what did it even look like?

Those twinkling stars...to be wiped off from the face of the sky once the harsh sun rises. He was trying to enjoy them while there was still time. While it was still on his side. Though they only vanish from the sight in the day, who knows whether ALL of them would still be around the next night. There might be one less among them.

But who would even bother to care? Much less count...

Falsehood

2005-11-11T02:40:00.000+08:00

He saw. Before he even stepped into the room, he had already felt the animosity emanating from it, like the stench of decomposed bodies that simply wouldn't go away until someone did something about it.

They say absence makes the heart grows fonder. What lies those humans spew from their orifices. Those inane holes in their faces, good for nothing at all. All they know was to complain and criticize.
"Are human lives really that boring?" he thought. Amused yet disappointed at the same time. He belonged to the faction that believed humans were capable of greater good. Never mind that the faction was increasingly ostracized by his tribe. For now, they couldn't do anything. They were not that united. Yet.

Liars, all of them. Not one ounce of truth in their speech. "One must behave as though one is speaking to Loki," he grimaced. Even those Immortals had to step gingerly around him. Let alone a semi-deity like him.

Perhaps Loki was really speaking the truth when he said that he had messed around during the creation of the human race. Tainted by Loki. He shivered. No time to dwell on the consequences of that yet. He was already late in maintaining his tomes, and there was a room of angry readers to deal with.

A Thousand Blossoms

2005-11-08T23:14:00.000+08:00

I do not know what I am writing, just the spewing out of certain thoughts in my mind. Until I make sense of it, au revoir...

La Traviata

2005-11-07T22:53:00.000+08:00

These few days have been rather erratic of late. I smell a change in the air, yet I know not what is heralded. Only the perfunctory smell, the lightness of change hangs in the air. In the mannerisms of those animals, the snorting of the horses and the flight of the birds.

Is it just me? Or is the world changing? No matter as I have been caught up in increasingly outlandish habits, such as listening to operas, particularly Verdi's La Traviata. They never fail to pull me out of my chair and throw me amidst into their story. And not without regret, I must say.

With La Traviata spinning in the humid afternoon, the ceiling fan whirring softly above, a cup of English tea in hand, listening to Italian opera, life is wonderful.

What I Saw (revised)

2005-11-06T00:05:00.000+08:00

Along the path
I see a petal
Drops
From a guilty rose
The threads of Time
Snaps and breaks
As it floats
Down
Into the black cesspool
Swirling
Juxtaposing against
The blackness
A spot of
Red
Or is it white?
Remembrance fails
As it vanishes
Into the void
Just a fragment
Of all in
Eternity

***********************

A new version, after I went through its structure again. Spot the changes and tell me which one is better my dear readers ...

Yours truly
Aristocrat

「Freefall of Memories」

2005-10-31T04:27:00.000+08:00

The moment I stepped out of the train, I could imagine the smell hitting my senses again, the noxious yet familiar smell that was signature to this area. I have never figured out the origins of the smell, something that borders along the line of coffee with hot chocolate, yet it was too sharp to be so.

But apparently, the smell was now gone. Replaced by something else, something foreign. Maybe because I have been away from too long. It has been more than a year since I have travelled to this part of the country. This part dictated an hour's travelling time, and in this age of instant gratification, Time was too precious to spend an hour travelling.

And here I am. For no apparent reason at all. Actually there was. A very good one actually. I'm in pursuit of something. And it brought me right here. As I walked through the dark pathways, an unrelenting torrent of memories came pouring and I was caught unaware. It was as though my defences had been breached; that someone had actually managed to reach the me that was hidden.

I thought of the Saturdays and the Sundays that were spent here. The ones with my buddies. And the ones with her. I walked through the shopping centre, and everywhere I went, I was reminded of her. I could almost see her shadow beside me, talking and laughing as if nothing happened. How insane it seems, to dream of her now when I thought I had already put the dreadful past behind me. It was still too painful thinking about it. Let me just correct that. It will never be not painful thinking about it.

As I made one round and walked past the bus interchange, I could still picture myself standing in the midst of the hustling crowd, a lone figure amidst the multitude of figures, waiting for her to arrive. The love of my life. I am still waiting for her. Nothing has changed. But Fate decreed it be so that she will leave me, stolen from me, taken off the face of this earth.

On that fateful day, she just had to meet me. Said it was urgent.

Was it? Now I wished it wasn't that urgent.

Or else all would have never happened.

And I wouldn't be all alone.

On this earth. Facing this, all by myself.

While you look upon me, your graceful figure in the heavens.

It must have been a joke. Someone's cruel joke.

But it was true, and there was no denying it.

********

4.30 am. For no reason at all, I'm feeling giddy. Was it the lack of sleep? I suppose not. This is just like any other day. Then why am I feeling giddy? I couldn't even finish today's entry.

The solitude is even more heightened now, like a sharp knife slicing into the depths of my heart, seeing how far it can go. Even when I'm surrounded by friends, I still feel alone. Cold and alone. Maybe it was the memories. The resurfacing of them, those terrible nightmares that I still have, even now. They still wouldn't let me go, would they? Not until they drive me to my watery grave.

Or will 16 floors do? I'm on the highest floor now and the view here is terrific. The glistening lights of the port in the distance, even at 5am. It shows how busy we are. The city that never sleeps. Or perhaps, some of them.

Plummeting 16 floors down has got to be a real challenge. It's almost like freefall, but more exciting. For it will be the last thing that you ever do. And it ends real fast too. I can't say much about the pain though.

********

5.15am
Now I'm on the rooftop. Surprisingly, it's very breezy here. And you can even see farther. It's like you are looking down at this small part of the world, this tiny red dot.

One step closer.

The mechanical cranes in the distance looks foreboding. Like hands that rise out of the ground, searching for something. Grasping for something in the air. Straws?

Another step.

Can you hear the singing? Someone's playing Sarah Brightman's Ave Maria. I love her song and how her voice hits the high notes. Wonderfully soothing. I wonder if it's playing for me. And her of course. I will never forget her.

The last step.

The finality of things. One step closer towards her. And one step away from this dreadful world that holds nothing more for me. Everything is already up there. I'm coming.

Wait for me.

5.21am.

********

Gracias

2005-10-30T02:02:00.000+08:00

2004 to 2005. It has been a year.

A year since I was in this same position, poring over dusty tomes for my finals. Like everyone, concerned over how one would fare academically. And delaying the inevitable by putting my pen to torture. Thank you pen. Yes you. It has been hard on you.

A year (and a few months) since that eventful day where I made the decision to pound the dusty road alone. Selfishness demanded me to do so. To stop delaying the inevitable. Perhaps? I was in the wrong, and seriously I did not deserve what I was getting. Life had been too good to me. I am glad that you are happier now. Thank you.

A year (and three months) since the role as soldier was halted prematurely. It had been a wonderful two years and six months. A lot of bonds were made, and of course, a few were broken due to injustices. More importantly, these bonds were carried over into the present. Thank you.

A year (and three months) since I started work at this cosy little place. Though it was hectic and my time was turned upside down, I have learnt a lot since. About people, about service and about many other things that one could not have learn in school. And even if one could, would you really? If you have a choice to start at the lowest pecking order and the middle, where would choose? Thank you, my surrogate family. I wasn't able to give my all, but I certainly gave my best where it was concerned. It has been a wonderful time. Thank you.

A year (and 28 days) since I first started penning. And probably the same for those who had stuck with me from the very beginning. I congratulate you for your persistence even though this is not your run of the mill blog. And thank you to you readers for gracing my tomes with your presence. Technology has truly made the borders of our countries permeable such that I have readers from all over the globe to share my thoughts with. And of course, vice versa. And if it isn't too much to ask for, I hope for you readers to at least sign my guestbook, so that I can put a name to every reader.

Thank you.

What I Saw

2005-10-29T13:50:00.000+08:00

Along the path I see
A petal drops
From a guilty rose
The threads of
Time
Snaps and breaks
As it floats
Down
Into the black cesspool
Swirling
Juxtaposing against
The blackness
A spot of
Red
Or is it white?
Remembrance fails
As it vanishes
Into the void
Just a fragment
Of all in
Eternity

*******************

Another 55er...

Technorati Tag: 55 word poem

Tuff and Gruff

2005-10-27T22:24:00.000+08:00

The sad shuffle
Of feet, and
A key turns...
A void called home
Yet with a gruff
A touch soft
And cuddly
A streak of white
My white knight?
Woof! Warm? Wet?
Fills my heart
Brimming with Joy
And Contentment
Like the sun that
Rushes to chase
The night away
With it's beautiful rays

Photo courtesy of http://pan-cake.blogspot.com/

**********************

Thanks to .:A:
and his 55 word poem tag. Here's my contribution as well. A tad late, but as the cliche goes, better late than never.

Technorati Tag: 55 word poem

2005-10-26T16:14:00.000+08:00

My blog is worth $7,903.56.
How much is your blog worth?

Totally inane and irrelevant to my tomes, but what the heck, just for the pleasure of things. Sometimes, people cannot be too uptight.

「深葬」

2005-10-25T14:48:00.000+08:00

Pray not, fear not the Unnamed deed shalt soon be done,
and thy task shalt be to slumber forever once more.
Retreat into the abyss of darkness,
Away from the glare of the light, away from all mortality
For nothing holds thee, nothing bounds thee
To the symphony of the terra firma,
Once more thou art free, to go where one's pleased
Unlike the inhabitants of terra chained to me

Atlas, spoken to Aristocrat, date unknown

「芯葬」

2005-10-24T16:03:00.000+08:00

Have you ever felt the sudden urge to confess, to unload all your troubles, sins, your mistakes to someone? It could be anyone in your life, the person you are closest to. Or the person that is not, since he or she would most probably have no idea what you are talking about BUT would still go on and nod his head.

I did.

As I was walking along this lonely dark path, the urge to confess came to me in a flash of light. I wanted to tell someone everything. The reasons for it all. Perhaps it was the light, concealing the shadows. Yes you read that right. The light conceals the shadows.

I need a purpose, an overwhelming drive to carry me through all this. Maybe I have found it.

Have you found yours?

2005-10-23T18:50:00.000+08:00

I have been rather remiss in my duties I guess, due to the lack of time and the lack of inspiration. Even the part after Prelude is stuck, after 3 stanzas, the well ran dry. So I reckon you have to wait a little while longer.

But, since I was stuck on that "epic" I was working on, I decided to move on and create a 55 word poem much like what .:A:. had done. Pretty difficult moulding it into 55 words, but the basic structure is there.

Just a few more sleepless nights...

2005-10-13T20:17:00.000+08:00

My apologies to interrupt the story that I was telling. There's a few more parts to the Prelude but...

I have to make a choice again. Whatever I choose, I'll be damned for it..

I believe I'll have to vanish from this face of the earth for some time...

To decide on the road that I'll be on...

Prelude

2005-10-12T01:34:00.000+08:00

Sleep, a powerful drug
In the realm of broken hardts
Is a, much sought after commodity
Where it, denies and soothes
and drives away, the beautiful Psyche

But alas Sleep is yet denied still
To Those who laid in the dust
As much as the chariot is still
Driven across the sky...

Cold

2005-10-10T01:39:00.000+08:00

By: Static X
Cold

We kiss
The Stars
We writhe
We are

Your name
Desire
Your flesh
We are

Cold
We're so cold
We are so
Cold
We're so cold

Your mouth
These words
Silence
It turns
Humming
We laugh
My head
Falls back

Mazing Mirrors

2005-10-08T02:23:00.000+08:00

The reflection of him
In the waters of life
Refracted, sometimes by light
Or else covered
By the blanket of night
Seen by the others
Like the Maze of Mirrors
The one eagerly plays in
When one was a youngling

And now

When one is old
Or probably
Perhaps two
Stuck in the maze they are
Playing a foolish game
Of a piteous masquerade

***********************

Well, this is my first draft again. It's not yet completely done but I guess I would just show it to my dear readers the process of it. Very raw it is, I apologise if it hurts your eyes.

Yours truly
Aristocrat

Survival

2005-10-06T02:04:00.000+08:00

Today has been a good day. To have got back positive feedback from my comarades-in-arms was to say the least satisfying. It was good to know that you have that spark in you to ignite the flames.

Ah, big ego we have here today, don't we? Well, do just let me indulge in myself for a while. It's not everyday that one does such things. But suffice to say that the streak is back. Even for a little while.

And now, it's time to start that engine roaring.

Hmm, a fairly optimistic post eh? Sometimes, I even surprise myself. Now, where's my bourbon?

She sings

2005-10-04T23:40:00.000+08:00

She sings and it was
Like light pouring out
Into the dark voids
One was filled with hope
As the sight falls upon her
A truly eternal beauty
Of fairest skin and palest eyes
And her golden locks
Tender tendrils over her shoulders

Once I saw her
I was smitten,
Knocked deep down and senseless
Trembling with extasy*
My soul took leave of its vessel and
Flew to my mistress’s side
I yearn to see her again and again
Day after day, addicted
I went to the same place
Where the birds sing and the goats wandered

So out of reach she seems
A figure standing by the willows
Awaiting none yet waiting for one
Her stature too high for me
A princess to be, soon it seems
But for me a pauper or a bard-in-waiting
Two rivers meandering apart
It’s meant to be

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As promised, the first revision of "She Sings". It feels much better on the lips now, doesn't it? Smooth and light on the tongue and perhaps you may even taste the citrus tang as you swirl it about in your lips.

Unreachable, the beauty is that we seek after. Yet we still go after it, the lady in the castle, a princess be yet we are just poor poets or bards. Not matching in stature, yet we do dream. And from these dreams rise the most powerful musings. The creativity surges in these times and perhaps, that is the only reason why bards, poets and writers always fall in love with the unreachable one.

*esctasy - as spelt in those ages

2005-10-02T01:27:00.000+08:00

One look at "She Sings" and one can't help but feel that that I have not built enough on the emotions of the protagonist and let my readers have a deeper insight into his feelings. Another flaw would perhaps be the abrupt ending to this poem.

Forgive me, but I am rusty of late and devoid of time. Mayhap I would improve on it, most probably when I am given the time, but this week has been a rather hectic one, driving one to hell. Or am I already in it?

One wonders.

She Sings

2005-09-30T23:08:00.000+08:00

She sings and it was
Like light pouring out
Into the dark voids
One was filled with hope
As the sight falls upon her
A truly eternal beauty
Of fairest skin and palest eyes
And her dark locks
Tender tendrils over her shoulders

Once I saw her I was smitten,
Knocked deep down and senseless
My soul took leave of its vessel and
I yearn to see her again and again
Day after day I went to the same place
Where the birds sing and the goats wandered

But it seems I would never
See her again

Butterflies In Winter

2005-09-27T09:27:00.000+08:00

And so I wait
With abated breath
Patiently and quietly
With a whole lot of faith
Standing beside, in your shadow
Waiting for time to pass
For Acceptance to come
When you will say yea
Instead of nay
And still
I dare not breathe
Nor make a sound
Lest I lose you
And you disappear
Right from my very sight
Vanish from my empty life
The moment you came
Into my life I treasure
A landscape with colour
You painted for me
Unknowingly
I burn
This feeling consumes me
Entirely without mercy
I feel hot all over
And sometimes cold like winter
And I wonder
Do butterflies live in winter?

*P.S: The above is a picture of a butterfly in San Diego during winter.

Cross Street (continued)

2005-09-26T01:57:00.000+08:00

Your memories I withheld-cherished
From the stains of time
In the compartment of-my heart

A figure dances along
The frozen lake yonder
Beauty escalated by thin ice

A figure crosses the street
In the midst of traffic
Contact was made

And just as it was
The beautiful snow flake
A multitude of lights catching it
Made it even more heavenly

Falls onto the ground
And melts
As the sun rises

Cross Street

2005-09-26T01:45:00.000+08:00

It's been a long while. A long while since I have spent a moment with myself, getting in touch with the Inner Self. I am contemplating a few things, and the foremost on my mind is the return to darkness. A return back to Mother, or the Queen.

The Fool, making a circle of his journey around the world, first meeting the Magician and then the rest...

A return would raise problems. Problems of pain and problems of melancholy. One could do without them it seems. So well that even I can't put the pen to bear anymore. Perhaps it signifies something, that I need to step out of my safey zone, into the silence...

Enough of me lamenting again...I have to lament everytime I step into here eh?

But then again, some things still inadvertently reminds me of the past...

Every time I open my door, the keys would bring back a certain piece of the puzzle...

Everytime I pass by the river, and another piece would fit in...

Everytime the bus drives by and there it is again...

Somewhere, everywhere, something lingers...

Some Where

2005-09-19T23:04:00.000+08:00

He walked along the street with a heavy heart. Occasionally, as he passed under the street lamps, one could see that his eyes were glistening. The stronger he made himself out to be, the harder it was to keep out the masquerade. The stronger he became, the more isolated he was.

Why did things have to turn out this way? He had to step outside for a smoke. Staying in the same room was too energy-consuming for him. Facing her everytime, seeing those things that could have been, those should have beens. There was too much pain.

It was wrong. A place that brought happy memories to him now brings him pain. Absolutely wrong.

Why couldn't she let him go? Must she hold on to him so hard? Is it so difficult to let him go? He just want to lead his own life, his own way now. Wanted to walk out of the front door, never to come home again.

Wanted to walk out, walk to where someone would welcome him with open arms and a big hug. Somewhere with a cheery fire burning that's waiting to warm him up. Somewhere that he would feel loved.

Somewhere out there...

Heartlands

2005-09-13T20:31:00.000+08:00

It was almost dark. Dusk was falling upon the city-state, sending the heart of it into slumber to prepare for another battle tomorrow. He was sitting at the void-deck, in the midst of the heartlands, enjoying the serenity it seemed to bring. He needed peace and quiet, needed to slow down amidst the hectic pace of life, to self-reflect and reminiscent. There are times when one needs to be alone and this was clearly it. Besides, there was nothing more to accomplish for the day.

There were so many things going on in his mind now, a treacherous swamp that he had no way navigating around.

A train rumbled along the tracks above.

He took another long drag, hoping to calm his mind down. It glowed uneasily…as if something was wrong with it, somewhere the quality control had went bonkers. No matter, the kick still remained. Only that he had to take a longer time to find it.

Another sound, and this time, it was the old man with the ice-cream van. Right on time, it seems. Time for him to make a move too, into the falling darkness where somewhere, there was a light waiting for him.

And dinner.

2005-09-11T02:04:00.000+08:00

I am gradually losing the inspiration and the drive to write constantly. It is losing its meaning perhaps, and bodes well this does not.

Of course, I do still write in my writing pad, but it hardly ever makes it into electronic form anymore. There are many ideas, many seeds, but I know not how to cultivate them. Trial and error seems to be the only way.

Even my writing now seems discontinous.

And I write like an attention-deficit kid.

2005-09-09T01:15:00.000+08:00

The beginning of a story...

A story not ready to be told yet...

A story that speaks of hope and misery...

A story that is not ready to end...

My Story...

Moonshine

2005-09-07T00:55:00.000+08:00

Things are picking up pace, and life is getting more and more hectic. That is all well and good, for I will have no other time to think on things that I should not be thinking of.

The road is straightening out for me again, or is it just my perception? Is it because I have taken off that particular set of glasses that seemed to cast the straight road into a crooked one? Was I so engaged in self-pity?

Sometimes, a person drives himself so deep into the ground and gets so melancholic that he is unable to appreciate the beauty of the world around him. He moans and groans about this and that, which is all well and true. But remember what came out last of the box that Pandora opened?

Hope.

For she said that if Pandora don't let her out, all those nasty things that escaped would wreck havoc on the earth, and she must be there to temper the equation, to reinstate a balance so as to speak.

Hope, it is the stuff of miracles. For where there is no hope, how can there be a miracle?

Though some might say it is best not to hope, for then you will have no expectations and you will not fall and be hurt. But, there is always another saying.

"Reach for the moon and you will fall among the stars."

I hope this is the fall that they are talking about.

Yours always
Aristocrat

Gratias

2005-09-05T01:09:00.000+08:00

Well, I was astonished to say the least when I read a post that was dedicated to me, a tribute to me in fact.

I'm touched. Touched to see that people do care. That there are still goodness in the world.

......

Of course there are, it's just that we choose to see what is there and what is not.

Running away or digging your head into the ground is never the best solution so I just had to open my eyes and to see what lies ahead on this long winding slope up. Like what D says,

"The time before dawn is always the darkest." Or something to that extent. I can't remember that well. But the core of the meaning is there.

Gratias.

Yours always
Aristocrat

Appreciation

2005-09-03T13:39:00.000+08:00

I have been through a rough patch recently, perhaps the roughest ever to be in this span of twenty over years. I do not suppose that I am the most unfortunate person out there in this vast world since I know of many more people who were dealt a worse stack of cards.

But I wish things hadn't turn out this way. I guess I can't pin the blame on anyone, and if there is anyone to blame, it is just yours truly, for being so entrenched in Romanticism. Yes I do suppose I am a hopeless Romantic, I should have just wished to be born in the era of Romanticism and not in this Age of Realism.

But, since it happened already, so be it. The matter is already beyond my hands and there is no closure to be had at the moment. The sand still trickles downwards no matter what happens. Perhaps I wouldn't write anymore. It just brings back painful memories. Or if I would, it would never again be for anyone.

Someone once said, "Why do you keep on writing about unhappy things?" The answer probably goes like:

"Because happiness is transient. And the only constant is sadness."

Just like your friends. You may never know when they will backstab you, but with regards to your enemies, you will always know how they hold you in their regard. A very pessimistic view? Yes, I do agree it's pessimistic but doesn't it ring true? Unfortunate things do happen most of the time if you care to take a close look at the people around you.

But again, I'll stop being a pessimist for once.

And be an optimist.

It's time to loosen the sails and set off for the unknown. For I smell change in the winds of Fate, and it beckons like a siren to me, calling me, tempting me. Many are the years before me, and I shall seek to discover the treasures that Life holds covered in her bosom...

Heave ho!

Yours truly
Aristocrat

P.S: A very big thanks to everyone who has stood by my side one way or another. All my bosom buddies and all those who know me through these tomes of mine. You have given me the support that I needed at that darkest point in my life and I deeply appreciate it. Ah Suah, thank you for including me in your prayers. I am touched.

2005-09-01T00:01:00.000+08:00

Sorry my dear readers for the long absence...I was busy trying to settle some personal issues of mine. May God give me the strength needed...

Aristocrat

2005-08-19T02:12:00.000+08:00

Sad news my dear readers.

I realised that I have lost my folder of personal rantings and what-nots. All my writings that spanned over a year, all gone. It not only includes those posted on my tomes, but those written for a certain someone as well. Those personal letters that I sent out.

I have no idea what happened. Perhaps I accidentally deleted it one day. Or perhaps not. But one thing for sure is that it's gone. Wiped out from the face of my C Drive.

Treausre those hard copies you have, that certain someone.

Those are the only ones left now...

Comprehendo?

2005-08-17T15:25:00.000+08:00

Now, before you all get mistaken, which I am sure you did (yes you there), I am not missing nor hankering after the past at all. What's past is past. One just thought that things could have been handled better. Now, did I get that out of the way? Comprehendo?

Today, I'll steal a phrase from Melancholic Merriment, which rings loud and true in the echoes of my mind,

"Better by far you should forget and smile, than you should remember and be sad." -Christina Rosetti,

Agree? Yea?

Therein lies the problem. I cannot forget. Not now, perhaps not in this lifetime. After this, no one would deserve more of me. Unconditionally. This would perhaps be the first and the last time.

I shall remember forever. And be sad.

If I am not answered.

I only have but one lady in my heart.

Yours truly
Aristocrat

To Be

2005-08-17T02:42:00.000+08:00

Suddenly, in the middle of the night, I realized why I was an insomniac. All along, whenever I lie down in my bed, my thoughts would tend to wander to the mystical farplanes of beyond. They would wander anywhere, do whatever they want to, all except sleep. Instead of falling asleep then, my mind would be the most active at that point in time. Perhaps that is why I love the night...

That point of time would almost be the time where I derive my most inspiration from. For the most pregnant material comes from such moments, where the "it suddenly dawns upon you," so as to use this cliche in its most appropriate way. Sometimes, I would be too lazy to haul the big ass of mine out of bed and to jot down whatever I was thinking. Sometimes I would be just too comfortable.

But today was not one of those days.

Today, I felt like jotting down whatever I was thinking, though it may not be much. Today, I felt like I had been enlightened, like I had passed a certain crossroad in my life. For a lot of events had came back to haunt me, things which I was sure I had buried along with my past. Those events which I care not to even remember.

But certain present events had caused me to reminisce. Is this the correct use of the verb? I have no idea. No matter.

Anyway, a long long time ago, I was told by someone that I was that someone's retribution for all the things done in the past. I didn't think the retribution would come to pass, but it did.

I did things that were incomprehensible to me. Actions which seemed right in the past, but now, in all its entirety, seemed unbecoming of a gentleman. Actions that I regret now.

Don't get me wrong, I do not regret what was the end result, but I just wished that I could have done better. I knew that things wouldn't work out anyway, but I just wished that I could have seen it better at that point of time. There were so many things that I wished, so many things that I regretted doing. Perhaps I was a hypocrite. Am I one? I can't judge. I no longer wish to judge people, for I am not that angelic. A sinner I am.

The past is one thing that I could have wished I had done better. But people can't live in the past. And here I am in the present, hoping for the future.

The present doesn't look too rosy either. There is simply no clear directions to anything at all and I am afraid I would have to wander around the wilderness for a while more longer. A while in whose perspective, I wonder? Surely not mine...

The present was a gift and perhaps my retribution as well. But with regards to it, I have to say that I have never regret anything at all. None whatsoever. However it turns out, I would accept it, though I wish for a positive response.

For I have already experienced the best things in life.

To be loved.

And to love.

I cannot ask for more.

Yours truly
Aristocrat

The world is a cruel place

2005-08-11T23:20:00.000+08:00

The foolish lovers give their heart and soul
Keeping faith that theirs be a fairytale
How cruel the world is
To twist the dreams of fantasy
Into haunting nightmares

Through fate or circumstance
Or a straying touch
Sometimes a meaningless word
Or a misread heart
A pain inflicted of torment infinite
By a casual hand
Cruelest of actions
Carried out by a gentle lamb

A fair face hides the hand
Of darkest sorrow and deepest pain
Heaven forfend
Such indifferent acts
Such thoughtless pacts
Should break the hearts of mortal men
Of love, it dies
Of hope, it sleeps
Of faith, it abandons
A pronouncement of suffering

******************************

This was written by one of my compatriots. Doesn't it ring true? With every stroke of the brush, it paints such a surreal picture of pain and of being betrayed and let down. The feeling of utter hopelessness, the helplessness of the narrator screams out to the reader.

How such "thoughtless pacts" really "breaks the hearts of mortal men". Pacts made in solemnity, pacts broken just as easily. I know, this I surely know.

"Of love, it dies." Oh, surely, it more than dies. Dying once wouldn't even be the beginning of it.

"Of hope, it sleeps." Sleep it does, and it does more than sleeps. It curls up in a foetal position, once bitten twice shy and to protect itself, it fends off with a blanket of damned lies.

"Of faith it abandons." Abandoned, and for faith thrown out, Venus* it embraces with passion.

"A pronouncement of suffering." Indeed.

A death sentence for thee.

*******************************

(*Venus- for those readers in the dark, please check out the mythological meanings of Venus and what she stands for.)

War

2005-08-10T11:44:00.000+08:00

And once more, as the bells toll in the distant towers, the heralded day has cometh unto them yet again. The day that they spent all summer preparing for it. To face the enemy once more in his own quarters. To give no quarter to him, not even yield an inch should they fail. Should they fail, there is but no choice to give their lives to the honourable cause, lest their fort should fall.The object that the enemy was seeking for must never fall into his hands, for if that happened, all that they stood for would be lost forever.

He was weary. Weary of waiting for it to come. For the great battle that must happen no matter what. He had almost got used to a civilian life, at every break of the day doing nothing but toiling the soil. Or practising arms with the rest of the men. Not that they were very eager to do so either. In the beginning, they practised everyday, waiting with fervour for the day to come. But as days turn into months and months into years, discipline rotted along with it. They had become a bunch of drunken, spineless good-for-nothings.

Now the time had come to prove their mettle again. And he was glad for that chance. For his battle-hardened senses screamed out to him, to join the bloodletting. He was not going to let this chance come to waste, though he might not be making his way back to this homely cove after all this had ended. Perhaps he would have a warrior's burial. Or if they lost, perhaps his head would be stuck on a pike. That was what those barbarians up north did. And now those barbarians were here.

With a smile, he put on his armour and strapped on his scabbard. In the meadows yonder, he could see columns marching towards the borders. And he could see familiar faces in them. Old Scott's son was there. Newly married. As well as the ironsmith's brood. He couldn't remember his name though. He was always bad with names.

No matter, he grimaced. When all this is over, there would be no need of names anymore. Either they would be remembered, or they would be forgotten in the tomes of history. That was the reality of the winning and losing.

Theirs not to decide their fate.
Theirs not to question the powers that be.
Theirs but to do or die.

My Dearest Autumn

2005-08-09T00:28:00.000+08:00

Can you see? No one's feeding wood to the fire. Give it a few more hours and all you can see are glowing embers. Not bad though, those weak flames are casting enough shadows to make this whole place look eerie. Kinda gives it a nice feel, don't you think?

At this time of the night, I'm always in pain. My heart seems to be crying out as if some part was missing.

Mutilated in fact.

They call it "phantom pain". Phantom pain occurs when you feel the pain coming from a missing limb, as if that limb was still there. I sure feel the pain from that missing part, as if it was still there.

At this time of the night, I can't help but be bitter about everything. Or some things. Things which are beyond my control, though within my scope of understanding. Wouldn't it be nice to have things under control? One might as well go on to say wouldn't it be nice to this, wouldn't it be nice to have that? One can't always have what one asks for, that I know. But who, tell me who, could attain this level of enlightenment?

I can only sit here in my couch, beside the dying fire and dancing shadows, and, sip and swish my glass of bourbon coke. And wait for the return to ashes.

Here I come, Autumn. Wait for me.

Love, A Deceitful Affair

2005-08-07T22:39:00.000+08:00

Love, cruel hast thou been
To lead thee on a false trail, up over yonder
These clouded peaks, enchanting beauty no less
Up and down through the treacherous marsh
Promising all of heaven, promising no more sadness
Attached to thee, a pair of wings
To aid thine's flight to the supposed utopia
Unknowingly to hasten thine's demise
For the swamps of Hopelessness
And the bogs of Despair lies just over the
Masquerade of clouded peaks, a pretty affair
And bounded for this destination was thee
Destined to burn in Hell

Questions and Answers

2005-08-06T12:21:00.000+08:00

I was dressed in military fatigues. I looked around me, and it was as if I was in a military installation of sorts.

"What business would I have here?" I wondered. I don't even remember making my way here. It was puzzling.

"Stop right there!"

I looked to where the shouts originated from, and realised that there were soldiers chasing after me. Though I was clad in the same fatigues as them, the look of hostility on their faces did not hide their intentions on as to what they would do to me if I was caught. Probably a military interrogation. I could hear the barking of hounds over the distance, and decided that it was time to say goodbye to them. How I was going to do that, I had no idea. But I just ran and ran, with the sole purpose of putting as much distance between me and my pursuers.

Time seemed to have no meaning here for suddenly, I found myself in an airport. The only indication that it was an airport was all the touristy figures around carrying luggage. I stood out like a sore thumb in my fatigues.

"How did I make my way here?" I had no clue. There was a bigger plan that I do not know about. The powers that be perhaps. I started to run again. It was more and more like the movies that I had seen. A guy being pursued by all authorities possible. This was a hopeless situation. In the blink of an eye, I found myself cornered. With nowhere to run.

"This sucks," I thought. "Isn't there a better way to die?" And like a fairytale come true, I suddenly found myself in the comforts of my own bed, sweating profusely. Or maybe not. I can't recall that clearly. What I could remember was the smell of fear. My own fear.

It may sound like a cliched storybook ending, but I have had this dream for more than once. And this was what really happened. Sometimes twice in a row I believe. What was the significance behind it? What was I running from?

Questions and more questions with no answers in sight...

Reminscing

2005-08-03T00:51:00.000+08:00

Now onto my first meme. My apologies to Tony for not completing your meme, but it was really out of theme. I'll return the compliments to you, no worries on that score.

Rules: Remove the blog at #1 from the following list and bump everyone up one place; add your blog's name in the fifth spot, link to each of the other's blogs.

1.The Babbling Brooke
2.Cannot Be Trusted
3.Every Passing Moment
4.Mistywalk
5.Whispers of A Blue Moon: Tomes OF Tears

Now what I am supposed to tell my dear readers are the top five things I missed about my childhood... For one, I can't even think of any. My childhood memories are perhaps a blur, a blur of pictures set in the past, best left forgotten. A locked chest left up in the attic, all but forgotten.

A problem that one faces when answering this meme is: when does a childhood start and when does it end? Does it start at the age of 5 and ends at the age of 12? What if one's childhood only starts at 12? Perhaps, what really defines childhood is the naviete of the person in question. The naviete and the innocence, of believing only in good and not evil. All children are innocent, don't you think so?

Forever believing and trusting in whatever the adults say. Forever believing and trusting in their childhood superheroes.

"When will they come to save the world?"

"Soon, my dear child. They'll come when you start being a good girl and go to bed on time."

"Alright mum."

So it would seem that different people might have different periods of childhood after all.

A period of naviete and innocence.

A period of carefree days.

A period where everything would always turn out well.

Alright, I see eyebrows turning up. When am I going to start, you say. Right about now?

1. I am going to get brickbats for this. But I miss the innocence of childhood. Yes, the beautiful innocence. No worries. No need to think about the future. No need to worry about so many things that needs worrying. Just lots of playing. Play, eat, sleep and play again. A happy-go-lucky mancub I was, but then again, who wasn't?

2. My street soccer sessions. I play as the goalkeep and usually it would be after my school ends. In our pristine white uniforms, we would play with our hearts out, laughing and making jibes at one another. And in the end, the white would end up grey with dirt, with holes at the knees of our pants. And going home would mean getting a earful again. Weekly earful every Friday...

3. Playing Lego with my siblings. That was the ultimate playtime for me, a theraeuptic session of Lego with my brother. A session of imagination again, of active visualization. I would always imagined I was a particular figure in the scene. A soldier defending a castle against pirate invasion. A policeman in a police station solving a crime. An astronaut fighting against the bad guys. Perhaps that was where I derive my active imagination for. No wonder I have such a soft spot for imagery.

4. Something that's always in my mind would be the first and only celebration of my birthday with all my relatives. I have a total of 40 over relatives, so it was quite a big celebration. Complete with games and dress-up. I remembered I was dressed in some newspapers for a costume competition. Wondered who made the effort to plan all those things back then when I was just a little kid. That's the only celebration of my birthday.

5. Now I can't think of anymore, can you let me off Mystique? This meme is already taking off some of the mystery of my tomes haha...

Alright alright, one last one. My primary school friends. I wonder where they all are now. Are they well? I lost contact with every single one of them. Those happy and carefree days we had, running around the whole school, playing all the stupid games. The girls making fun of the guys and the guys making fun of the girls. Helluva fun.

Finally, I am done. And now for the most fun part: passing this meme to five people. Tony, I promise you, didn't I? You are the top on my list :)

1.Nonchalant Theory
2.A Glimpse of Humanity
3.Exigency
4.Look What Look
5.War Against Sexy Space Sluts

And then, I felt like adding one more...

6.Lim Buey Tor

One looks forward to reading your memes...

Yours truly
Aristocrat

2005-07-31T15:01:00.000+08:00

Crying. It is seen as a social stigma to cry, especially for the male humanoid species. Because crying is seen as weak. Because the society's perception is that revealing emotions, being emotional, is weak.

But a man cries too. A man sheds tears too. After all, he is no different. The only difference is just that they chose to encase themselves in shells, a hard covering for a soft center. And just how deep can the soft center be found, it depends on different individuals.

And there can only be ONE reason for a man to shed tears. Only one. For his loved ones. A man only sheds tears for his loved ones. No other reason is there to.

Quite recently, I have found such foreign objects in the windows of my soul as well. More often than not.

I see Hope, almost gone. I see the candle by the window, its light flickering, almost gone under the strong wind blowing in through the windows, the curtains billowing.

I see Despair. The shadows casted across the walls, dancing a slow dance. And if I look carefully enough, I see someone crouched in the corner, his eyes filled with despair, his shoulders heaving.

I see Weariness. The shoulders drooped, no longer upright as it was. The eyes, they have lost their gleam.

And yet, somehow, I see something. Something in him tells him to fight on. Against all odds. Ignore the pain.

Easier said than done.

Pom lak kun.

MISSING

2005-07-30T13:42:00.000+08:00

Owner is looking for a heart. Missing on the 29th of March. Roughly around 9p.m Singapore time. Last seen in Shaw Towers Cinema. It is slightly bigger than a fist and is purplish in colour. If anyone has seen it, please reply to this post immediately. Any successful help would be greatly appreciated. Suggestions to alleviate the loss is also welcomed.

2005-07-27T00:02:00.000+08:00

Hi my dear friends, I am back. Back from my hiatus of poring over texts, of labouring over financial issues, of pondering over matters that are way beyond my control. Back from my paradise, back into the cruel and cold world.

For this past nine days that I have been gone from this sunny little island, I have never regret a single moment of it. To describe it day by day, minute by minute of what I have done would simply be doing an injustice to the overall beauty of the land, the beauty of the experience, and the beauty of the company that I have been in. Even if they were to do justice to it, I fear it would be too monotonous for you, making this tomes of mine into another "every day every minute" kind of blog. Those kind of tomes that I cannot stand, those kind that tries to act what they are not.

This journey, as I have mentioned, was an apprehensive one to begin with. One that begins with unfamiliar companions, three and a half strangers. Where did the half come from? Only God knows...But I can tell you that indeed, there are three and a half strangers. Perhaps using strangers may be too strong a word. Let's just change them to friends. Casual acquaintances. Nothing more. Three and a half of them.

For me, it began with no end in mind, no purpose at all. I couldn't even see the end of this small road that I was taking. Like any other night in London, it was all foggy. The fatal marshes lie at the outskirts of the tiny lane, and any misstep would probably result in a slow, if not muddy death. For them? Plenty of purposes, plenty of ends. They all set out to have fun, to shop, no holds barred. At least for some of them.

During the nine days, many things happened. Happy things and sad things. More often than not, it was the happy things. I dare to say that every fellow on the journey had fun and thoroughly enjoyed himself or herself. I don't think one would have such fun if one goes with their kin.

As the days progressed, the road gradually became clearer. The sun came out and sent the fog to hell. There were quite a few bumps that almost caused me to veer off course, but it was easily settled in the dead of the night with the other half of my self. No words can do justice to how I feel. Ah, pardon me! I'm weighing you down with all my troubles! How callous of me.

I'm glad.

Glad to make three new friends.

Glad that the fog has lifted.

Glad for everything that has happened to me.

I am blessed.

Cursed, if all these were to be taken away from me. Again. If the fog settles back.

But fret not. Without struggles, life would be meaningless. Just like the newly morphed butterfly wouldn't have hard enough wings to fly if he doesn't struggle against opening the cocoon.

What a cliche.

Yours truly
Aristocrat

The Road

2005-07-17T10:53:00.000+08:00

A road afar
Just beyond the touches
Of the horizon
At times
Long and sharp,
Full of potholes no less
But
At othertimes
Smooth and easy
Just a long road
With a good view
A road that I chose
To walk with her
Her laughter and smiles
Making the road
Seems less sharp and long
Her company
Making the smooth and easy times
Feel like heaven
Though how'evr short it was
She, a miraculous angel indeed!

*written for her

**********

Dear readers, today I will be leaving for a short hiatus... Which should probably be one week or so? For this period of time, I won't be writing, as per expected. It seems like a trip which one should look forward to, but I am somewhat apprehensive about this.

This trip means quite a lot to me, perhaps that is the reason why...

Au revoir

Just Because edited

2005-07-14T22:45:00.000+08:00

Because you are here, that is why I do not feel tired.

Because you are here, I feel that I'm capable enough of anything.

Because you are here, even the insurmountable odds seem surmountable. The odd hand of cards doesn't seem so bad anymore.

The sky even seems brighter, as though you were the sun. And me the earth, lighting up every corner of me, driving away the darkness and despair.

Because you are here. Right beside me.

That is why.

2005-07-12T23:51:00.000+08:00

The fear of failure. As far as possible, predominant in Asians. Particularly of the Generation X.

The fear of failure. Is that why we mortals do not dare to hope for too much? Is that why we do not dare to spread our wings and soar? Why not be Icarus for a moment? Icarus, but not as reckless or brainless as him.

Or was I Icarus for a moment? Perhaps. That moment seemed so long ago. But I shall have my Persephone to release me from the gates of Hell, so that I can walk in the world of the living. No matter.

One mustn't fear failure.

One must learn to have hope.

To have dreams.

Even if God deals you a bad stack of cards, do not fear the odds. Hope is no doubt a double-edged sword, for it deals pain as well as happiness. But only either or.

I saw the chains of fear tying my heart down to the ground, preventing me from flying up high. And so I released those cumbersome chains. To reach my destination.

If ever I should fall, it would be a worthy fall indeed.

Indeed.

Trust

2005-07-11T01:40:00.000+08:00

Trust. What a simple five-lettered word.

"Trust me." Short and sweet.

But when I looked up, the sky was falling on me...

But what the heck, I'll trust you all the same.

Even if the world is falling around me...even if I'm falling down...

All because of a four-lettered word.

Pain, the Guiding Light

2005-07-09T17:09:00.000+08:00

All his instincts told him to turn away.

"Go go go! Turn your head away and move on!" his brains screamed at him.

"No point in waiting, just move on with your life," the others re-emphasized the point. It seems right that he should move on, after all, it didn't seem fair. It wasn't fair that he did so many things and got nothing in return. It wasn't fair that he got treated this way. After all, he did gave his heart and soul.

Perhaps, therein lied the problem, he chuckled. He lost himself when he gave his heart and soul to her, and now, he couldn't really live. Not without her anyway.

In the midst of the mental commotion, something suddenly surfaced upon the deep black sea...

"For the matters of the heart, just follow your heart, why follow the head?"

"Makes some sense," he thought rather grimly. But if he were to follow his heart, he had no doubt that route would bring him more pain and perhaps, he would be burnt rather badly in the process. The other route was to give up and move on, like what his friend said. It would be easier for him as well. And perhaps, given some time, he would have recovered and move on.

But, that was the coward's way out. He was not a coward. He truly loved her. And giving her up to the vultures would perhaps be the greatest regret he would ever harbour.

"Ee ni me ni my ni more."

**********

"Alright, pain shall be my saviour and my guiding light. I shall take that painful route, where it is long and sharp."

"You really ee ni me ni my ni more ah?" his friend said incredulousy.

"Of course not! What do you take me for? I was just pulling your leg for God's sake!" he retorted with a smile.

"Why make life difficult for yourself?"

"Because I love her...that's about it I guess."

"Because the heart has reasons that reason cannot comprehend."

"Because I would want to follow her to the edge of time."

"If she falls, I want to be the one to carry her up."

"If she needs a shoulder, I want to be that shoulder."

"If she's tired, I would carry her and do the walking for her."

"And if she doesn't need me, I would just silently trod behind her."

"I would be her guardian angel."

His friend just stood there, speechless at how dumb and idiotic his friend could be...

Lessons Learnt

2005-07-08T01:01:00.000+08:00

In this short life of eighty or so years, there are many things that Man can achieve. Man has travelled to the moon, conducted space exploration and so many other milestones that advances Mankind.

However, in the beginning, not all Man was that capable. When mortals first take their breath in the world, they don't even have the capacity to store and record much information at all, unlike the otherkind that I know of. Those who are born with the capacity to think and process information immediately, to fight for their own survival within minutes of being born.

That is why, mortals have this repairment process called lessons. Where they are taught the techniques of the world and so on and so forth. When classroom lessons fail, life experiences take over. In a sense, both are still lessons, but life experiences are much more painful and more bitter medicine to swallow.

And so, here I stand now (or knelt, it doesn't really matter), humbled and broken. For many a great lessons have been taught to me, through the painful method of life experiences no less. I have learnt from the past, but that was not enough it seems. Not enough capabilities to deal with the present.

And so, He seen fit to deal me another hand of cards, and this time, it was much more painful. Much much more....

Much like a child lost his twenty cents to buy a pack of sweets...

Much like striving to reach heaven only to find that you went in the wrong direction...

Much like having your wings torn off...

More lessons, more pain, and hence, one grows up faster. I begin to see things in a totally different light, in a more expansive view than the one of mortals...

In a bigger arena, the big picture slowly appears right before my sight...

It almost feels as if my vision has expanded for now I could see beyond the horizons. Even the smallest detail could not escape my eye...

But what use do I have for such capabilities? It does aid in decision-making however, and the one thing I have learnt through all these lessons, however painful is that....

In love, in the most magnanimous version of love, one only seeks the other to be happy. Even if one is hurt in the process, one does not deal back hurt to the one he loves.

For she must be happy and not sad.

For no tears should come to her eyes.

For her lips should not be upturned.

For at the age of sixty, there should be no frown lines.

For at the age of sixty, there should be no regrets for both.

And above all, her happiness should be above the concern of your own.

That is what I have learnt.

And she is who I love.

Your servant
Aristocrat

Sniped Wings

2005-07-07T23:38:00.000+08:00

Pining
As the sea lapped against the sand
Grasping
For the unreachable beauty of land

************************************

For that beauty that was within my grasp and is not within my grasp. Though I was put down again, back into hell....

Fly I SHALL!!!

Soar! Spread my wings, spread them far and WIDE!!

I shall reach for the beautiful heaven again!!!

Bleach

2005-07-06T01:45:00.000+08:00

Wordless...
*courtesy of http://tiana.ravishing.net/?p=24

Kanji
癒えない　痛み　悲しみで　キズついた　君よ
消せない過去も背負いあっていこう　生きることを投げ出さないで

つないだ君の手を

いつか失ってしまうのかな
薄れていく　笑顔と君を守りたいから
響く僕を呼ぶ声さえ枯れ
時に沿う風にかき消されたって
君を見つけ出す

癒えない　痛み　悲しみで　キズついた　君
もう笑えないなんて　人嫌いなんて　言葉そう言わないで
見えない未来に起こる事　全てに意味あるから
今はそのままでいい　きっと気づける　時が来るだろ

錆びきった人のように

重なり合うだけで虚しくて
一人で生きて行けるって言ってた
ありふれたやさしさ言葉じゃ
今はもう届かないほどに　君は疼きだす

つないだ君の手は　なにげないやさしさを求め
Do you remember
痛みを知る事で　人に優しくなれるから
Drive your Life

癒えない　痛み　悲しみで　キズついた　君
もう笑えないなんて　人嫌いなんて　言葉そう言わないで
見えない未来に起こる事　全てに意味あるから
今はそのままでいい　きっと気づける　時が来るだろ

How can I see the meaning of life
消えてく　you’re the only･･･

こわれないようにと　離れていく　君
もう笑えないなんて　人嫌いなんて　言葉そう言わないで
今は by and by　見えなくったて　全てに意味があるから
消せない過去も背負い合ってこう　生きる事を投げ出さないで

You’d better forget everything. Remember･･･ your different Life?
You’d better forget everything. Remember･･･戻らないけど

歪んだ記憶のような　時の中でいつか解りあえるから

Romanji
ienai itami kanashimi de kizu tsuita kimi yo
kesenai kako mo seoi atte ikou ikiru koto wo nage dasanai de

tsunaida kimi no te wo

itsuka ushinatte shimau no kana
usurete iku egao to kimi wo mamoritai kara
hibiku boku wo yobu koe sae kare
toki ni sou kaze ni kaki kesaretatte
kimi wo mitsuke dasu

ienai itami kanashimi de kizu tsuita kimi
mou waraenai nante hito girai nante kotoba sou iwanai de
mienai mirai ni okoru koto subete ni imi ga aru kara
ima wa sono mama de ii kitto kizukeru toki ga kuru daro

sabikitta hito no you ni

kasanari au dake ga munashikute
hitori de ikite ikerutte itta
arifureta yasashisa kotobajya
ima wa mou todokanai hodo ni kimi wa uzukidasu

tsunai da kimi no te wa nanigenai yasashisa wo motome
Do you remember
itami wo shiru koto de hito ni yasashiku nareru kara
Drive your Life

ienai itami kanashimi de kizu tsuita kimi
mou waraenai nante hito girai nante kotoba sou iwanai de
mienai mirai ni okoru koto subete ni imi ga aru kara
ima wa sono mama de ii kitto kizukeru toki ga kuru daro

How can I see the meaning of life
kieteku you’re the only. . .

kowarenai you ni to hanarete iku kimi
mou waraenai nante hito girai nante kotoba sou iwanai de
ima wa by and by mie nakuttatte subete ni imi ga aru kara
kesenai kako mo seoi attekou ikiru koto wo nagedasanai de

You’d better forget everything. Remember. . . your different Life?
You’d better forget everything. Remember. . . modoranai kedo

hizunda kioku no you na toki no naka de itsuka wakari aeru kara

Translation
Injured with pain and sadness, the you that cannot be healed
Shoulder the burden of the past that cannot be erased; don’t throw away your will to live

Your hand that I held…

Will we lose it someday?
I want to protect you and that disappearing smile
The ringing voice that calls me dries out
Even if it gets erased by the wind along time
I will find you

Injured with pain and sadness, the you that cannot be healed
Don’t say words like you can’t smile or you hate people
Everything that happens in the unseen future has a meaning
So stay like this, there’ll come a time when you will realize

Like a rusted person

It felt so hollow to just pile atop one another
You said you could live on your own
Just with the usual kind words
You ache to a point where I cannot reach you

Your hand that I held searched for some simple kindness
Do you remember
By learning pain, you can become a person who can be kind to others
Drive your Life

Injured with pain and sadness, the you that cannot be healed
Don’t say words like you can’t smile or you hate people
Everything that happens in the unseen future has a meaning
So stay like this, there’ll come a time when you will realize

How can I see the meaning of life
Disappearing, you’re the only. . .

So you will not break, you distance yourself from me
Don’t say words like you can’t smile or you hate people
Now it’s by and by, even if you cannot see, there’s a meaning to everything
Shoulder the burden of the past that cannot be erased; don’t throw away your will to live

You’d better forget everything. Remember. . . your different Life?
You’d better forget everything. Remember. . . though, we cannot return

Like in times of warped memories, we can understand someday

Wings of a Fallen Angel

2005-07-01T10:12:00.000+08:00

Fallen angels. Who has never heard of their infamy throughout the earth? For it was told and told, passed down through generations, that in the beginning of time, Lucificer led a revolt against Heaven and God. And for that unsuccessful rebellion, they were cast down from the Light above into the darkness below, destinied to burn in Hell. Though the fallen angels believed that they had their free will and acted out of their choosing, all their individual actions were at God's behest.

That is what I am now.

Not unlike a fallen angel. Perhaps I am exaggerating things a trifle, but well, I do have a poetic license to do so, ain't it? I believed I was in heaven, even if only for a while. Such bliss and happiness is not to be found elsewhere. However, I too, was cast down. Of course, I didn't lead a revolt against Heaven. Hmmm, it seems that I am treading a fine line between blasphemy and poetic licensing here.

A long hard fall from the so called paradise above. Into the bowels of the earth. Am I in hell? I do not know, for there is nothing but darkness around me. I can neither see nor hear, nor feel anything. It is as though I am in a void, trapped in the space of nothingness. Is this a transition?

A myriad of thoughts flow through me, an empty vessel floating in nothingness.

Lessons. However cliched it may sound, rings too true in my ears. However hard I try to drown those voices out, it seems that I am still able to hear them.

The higher you soar, the harder the fall.

How true.

The wounds have yet healed.

On the outside, everything seems fine. Inside, dealing with the pain is still a problem.

Dam it up?

No, let it all out. It would feel better.

Ah, the pain, it's already gone.....Has it?

...

All that is left is a dull throbbing.

At least...I know my heart is still there.

Thus, I would then learn from this lesson, remould myself, strengthen my wings, spread them wide again, and soar into the skies once more.

Back to heaven.

Maze

2005-06-30T00:41:00.000+08:00

Did he just see light at the end of the tunnel? Or was he hallucinating? It was probably more of the latter.

He had already gone for days without sustenance, and his mortal body was slowly wasting away. No matter how powerful he was spiritually, under the bounds of the mortal body, he was just like everyone else, susceptible to pain and death. He was already hearing voices in his head, whispering things that he dare not repeat to save his own soul. Already driven to the very edge of desperation, he had begun to despair.

But he had saw light! Perhaps it could be the end of the maze...at long last! Maybe he was hallucinating, but he couldn't care less anymore. Grasping that thin whisper of hope, however slim it was, he began to make his way in the direction of the light again, not knowing where it would lead him to.......

Memories

2005-06-27T12:16:00.000+08:00

It brings back wonderful memories every time I see a set of No. 1. And today was no different. Along with my other fellow PCs and friends, I was invited to the wedding dinner of my Boss to be his sword-bearers.

In the midst of preparations, I thought back to those army days. I wouldn't say all of us had fun, but certainly we did learn some lessons that couldn't be taught in the classroom, and in explicably, lasting friendships are also forged. We hadn't gathered ever since we had ORDed, or perhaps that may be me only, what with us being busy with work and school. As I was fixing the faux gold buttons upon the pristine white uniform, I was reminded of the last time that I wore the No. 1. And that was for our graduation parade, where everyone of us was so excited that no words could ever describe it. There was a sense of bubbling excitment in the air, and everyone could feel it. Finally, our nine to ten months of efforts were going to pay off. We were going to see the fruits of our labour.

Fast forward to two years on. It seemed so distant in the past and if I haven't had drawn that No.1 from SAFTI MI, perhaps these memories wouldn't come back at all. They would just stay locked at the back of my consciousness. It seemed so different from the lives that we are leading now.

And for that brief period of time when we gathered, we had fun again. Through the few rehearsals we had for our sword drill, it felt like being back in army again. Almost. Because half the time, we were talking and laughing, throwing discipline and caution to the wind. At least three-quarters of us were civilians already. Does it matter now? In the future it might, but not at that time and place.

It was heartwarming to see the smiles and hear the laughter of everyone. To see everyone poking fun and insulting one another with such grace. It certainly was a practiced art form. And most importantly of all, it certaintly lightened up my heart to see Boss in such a state of bliss with his new bride, Ivy. Good luck to the both of you, my friends. May the Gods smile on you always.

Your servant
Aristocrat

Thirst

2005-06-25T02:51:00.000+08:00

"Not again," he thought.

He was bleeding again, having accidentally cut his finger. This was not the first, and it would not be the last either. He looked on with morbid fascination as it continued to bleed profusely. Though it was not a big cut, it ran quite deep, and he could feel the flap of skin if he moved his thumb around. He was dripping blood all over the counter and he should try to stop the bleeding immediately. But no, he continued to let it bleed, feeling the sensation of pain in his thumb. He was oblivious to the rest of the world as he stared at the blood. It was deep red in colour.

Thoughts of how it would taste ran through his mind. Slowly he lifted it up to his mouth and gave his bloodied thumb a lick.

Ooh, the taste of his own blood sent shivers down his spine. It was electrifying. It tasted like rust, yet there was another indescribable taste to it. He just couldn't find the words for it. The blood that he had licked travelled down his oseophagus, into his stomach, awakening something that had been lying dormant. Something stirred inside him.

Suddenly, it dawned upon him that he was still at work, and many pairs of eyes were now fixated upon him. With a flush of embarrassment, as if he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar, he quickly began to get back to work. Soon, that incident was driven away from his consciousness, like the others.......

2005-06-24T03:28:00.000+08:00

Mortality. It is always very frightening to you humans, isn't it? The fear of the unknown, the fear of losing everything that you have and perhaps the fear of being judged by another entity. When a mortal passes from this world into the next, he may think that he has everything to lose and nothing to gain. Perhaps not all mortals, from what my experience tells me. For there are some out there who yearns to pass from this world to be with their God.

Whatever it is, I have learnt that people fear Death one way or another. As for me, curiously I don't. I don't fear Death that is. I am not afraid to lose anything. When it comes, it will come, to claim those close to my bosom. Am I afraid of losing them? I have no idea at all. None whatsover. I don't yearn to be put to the test as well.

But for myself, I have accepted Death. No longer do I do things to avoid it. At times, one might even be seen as embracing it. Some call it recklessness or stupidity. Call it whatever you desire then. I am not bothered at all by your thoughts. Not anymore. Perhaps Death's embrace would even be seen as a welcome relief compared to the pain of life. But I'll never yield to that path willingly. It is a coward's path, and a coward I am not.

What am I rambling about? Maybe it's all gibberish. In any case, I am worn out and to sleep I shall turn to.

Your servant
Aristocrat