Refuge - a fragment

Music has been my refuge lately. Not that there is anything so terrible out there in my world that I need to hide from, but rather, music drowns out the constant drivel in my mind…the doubts, the worries, the random hypotheses, the portentous scenarios…yep, music drives the drivel aside and gives me some makeshift peace.

So what cards have been precariously stacked into this rickety shelter of mine? So many wonderful artists out there to evoke a myriad of moods through the tightening of a chord, the piercing edge of a string, the persistence of a bassline or the impatience of drums. And, of course, the unique timbre of each voice crying out to be heard.

A few that have run through my veins lately…
Joseph Arthur – Honey and the Moon: Arthur opens the song with a delicate acoustic, joined almost immediately with his equally gentle voice. There something about this song that reminds me of a memory - sitting on a soft-sanded beach in Langkawi, hugging my knees for warmth as the sun descended inch by inch into the ocean spread before me. Stars joined me as I waited, first hesitantly, a twinkle here, another there, until the full glory of the starlit skies took my gaze upwards from the horizon to the deep indigo above. Whispers of contentment accompanied me as I patiently waited, uncertain of the inevitable and somehow still, safe. And hopeful.
“I wish I could follow you, to the shores, of freedom where no one lives…”

Damien Rice – Cannonball: Maybe I’ve been in an acoustic mood lately. Rice’s voice in this song, however, is not really gentle like Arthur's, but more contemplative. Like he’s undecided, mulling through whether or not the person beside him is the one. Lately I’ve been lying in bed at night feeling such a sense of relief that I am sleeping alone, rather than with the wrong person breathing softly beside me. I remember how I used to go to bed feeling a sense of loneliness that I could not shake. Now, after getting back on my feet, having fallen for the wrong person again, I am more relieved to be without. It’s through these dichotomies that you learn about yourself, though, isn’t it, the wrong one teaches you what the right one should be...
“Stones taught me to fly. Love taught me to lie. Life taught me to die. So it's not hard to fall, When you float like a cannonball."

Howie Day – Collide: Another ballad from a male singer/songwriter, what is my deal? Howie Day’s hopeful ballad explores two people crashing into one another…always makes you wonder, is it meant to be? Some sort of destiny, or just randomness? The romantic optimist in me will always aver that everything happens for a reason, you don’t JUST run into people, your energies bring you together for a specific purpose, big or small, doesn’t matter. Each shift in energy changes you, and those that you collide with imprint you forever. It’s such a beautiful image to me, all these collisions that happen every split second of everyday, people weaving in and out of each other’s tapestries, sometimes a recurring pattern, sometimes just a single thread seemingly misplaced but perfect from an eagle’s eye perspective. Makes you wonder though, when a collision occurs that only you are aware of, how does that thread play into your unsuspecting counterpart’s tapestry? A thread missed, unrecognized, blended into the background, while simultaneously that same thread stands out brilliantly in your own weave, shouting out for recognition.
“Out of the doubt that fills your mind, you finally find, you and I collide.”

KT Tunstall – Heal Over: Tunstall’s voice soars above simple chords, intoning lyrics that resound so true to my heart that I was taken aback the first time I heard this song. She offers to wipe my tears away and I am beside my speaker ready to take her up on it. I know, a sad and pathetic image, but have you heard this song yet? A woman speaking to another woman suggests such loving friendship, the kind that gets you through each snag and bramble in the path ahead. Reminds me of how lucky I am to have the friends that I have now, each having tread a well-worn path straight into the depths of my joys and sorrows, each unafraid of the un-ending torrents of emotion that overcome me, each at the ready with the remedy of the day, be it a word of comfort or jest, massaging deep into the pain I sometimes feel or caressing lightly the bruises I accumulate from the sometimes trying, sometimes trivial travails I encounter daily. Healing me over, everyday. Yeah, you guys know who you are. :)
"And I don't wanna hear you tell yourself
That these feelings are in the past
You know it doesn't mean they're off the shelf
Because pain's built to last
Everybody sails alone
oh but we can travel side by side
Even if you fail
You know that no one really minds"

Gods and Monsters - a fragment

So...many thoughts lately...all convoluted and jumbled up, served on a platter like a plate of poorly scrambled eggs (shells and all)...sometimes my mind just self-entertains and I like to sit back and watch my own internal mono-drama-logues unfold. I got an email from Matt the other day...Matt who is my "soular" ambassador, the one who always prods me to focus on the inner light, the core of enlightment, the seat of the soul, you know what I'm talking about...the ME in me. The last time Matt came around was the last time I practiced energy channeling, the last time I chanted like we used to do in the Tunnel, that underpass in Irvine where we'd sing our overtones and scare away all dogwalkers and jumpsuits straight out of a scene in the O.C. So weird, seems like a parallel universe, the me singing mantras to a harmonium and the me sitting here covertly typing away in my little "corporate" cave, skiving on the work I should be doing. Alright, time for some beautiful Hawaiian skies to take the edge off...(picture courtesy of my big-hearted buddy BLU)


But that's the thing...the day to day life I lead now doesn't really make a lot of room for the chanting of mantras, does it? And so those mantra muscles atrophy, until someone like Matt comes around and reminds me through his cheerful emails...knock knock knock, hey you, looked inward lately? Matt and I had this whole plan, we did...of using music to communicate to one another from the O.C. to Hong Kong, yes I know it sounds crazy but hey, I'm not one to deny my own penchant towards weirdness. It was those hours in the Tunnel though, that I'll never forget as such an important part of my self education, my contention with the gods we have to choose from in this wide world of religions and theories and spiritual guides, you name it. Exploring the tools for purging the monsters within us: will it be energy channeling? yoga and meditation? Tarot card readings? Occult practices? Yikes, ok maybe not the last one. For me, the primary means for inviting more peace into my life was through reading…hehehe, big surprise coming from me.

Matt was the one to lead me to read a book that made so much sense to me that it was as close to “enlightenment” as I’ve ever come. The book is Conversations With God by Neale Donald Walsch and as much as I’m sure many would say his claim of being dictated to by God is preposterous, well, I guess somehow I just was able to suspend my disbelief, get past what seems implausible and benefit from a lot of the explanations and theories provided therein…some would call this a leap of faith, I suppose, and yes it does seem like one. Feelings are the language of the soul; the opposite of love is fear; what would Love do now?; every soul must walk its path – I guess I could go on and on about the points that resonated in me from the pages of this book. I believe Walsch has since reached some sort of cult status worldwide now, but cult-related or not, “Conversations” helped me through one of the toughest times in my life and still guides me to this day.

It’s been more than two years since I’ve read it…hmm…may be a good time to pick it up again, review some of those basics that brought me such peace in a time of need, see how my mind would process it now after two more years of random experiences and emotions. Maybe I’ll even start singing mantras again…Matt, be prepared to break out your harmonium! :)

diary of a madgirl

hmm...so here it begins, my first weblog. i can't say i'm completely comfortable with this whole concept yet, but ah well we all have to take the plunge sometime. i am not sure what this will be for, but i figure some form of release is due for the 27 personalities housed in this skull of mine...hehehe, thus, madgirldiaries in the plural...

welcome and happy reading! i'll be posting from the past and replenishing with the now from time to time...

Reflections - a fragment

It happens all over again, you know, every time I retell the story to someone new. Yup, he’s there again with his “Big Dog #1” jersey on the glossy basketball court floors where I can almost make out my own reflection of helplessness and horror. Comes back everytime. It’s as if my masochistic brain never tires of the image. But two and a half years later, it’s a bit faded, that reflection. Years of dust and neglect. Bring it up, though, tell that story again, and it’s like rubbing on a layer of wax, rediscovering that lost person that was me so long ago. And there he goes, falling over each time in slow motion just the same. I don’t know the exact timing of when the soul left the body or when the heaving in his chest was out of bodily reflex rather than his life force, and I will never know, because if I didn’t know then that he was dead upon arrival, how would I ever really understand it now, looking back through that dusty glass pane of memory?

So I wonder. When I reach out to others who are going through similar experiences, do I make it worse, or even just a little bit better? Last year, I was still scanning the crowds in a weird and slightly disturbed way, still scouting peripherally for tall people in the distance. It’s surprising that in the past few years I have yet to meet people my age or around my age who have gone through similar experiences, meet them and talk to them and relate to them and hopefully offer some mutual support. St Barbara is the closest I’ve come to but his loved one died more than a decade ago.

If I were to observe the reflection on the dusty floor of that basketball gym, what would I see today? I've led a great life in the past couple of years, despite the grief and sadness, or maybe even, because of the grief and sadness, which makes you appreciate what you have around you so much more. The pain has subsided, mostly, and my memories of the one I lost, the one who escaped this world, or this sliver of reality, are all mostly happy...kinda like warm embers at the base of my soul. I haven't "moved on" or "let go", it's not like that at all, really, it's more like...I've survived. And hey, in a weird peaceful kinda way, that's really alright with me. What with all the emotional pitfalls and heartrending challenges surrounding you in this minefield of day-to-day life, survival is not to be scoffed at. Okay, so I've survived...what now?

I met someone recently who was talking about this Indian practice called Atma Vikasa (?), evolution of the soul/self. I couldn't help but wonder what that entails, and what one discovers about himself through this inward focus? And I wonder, would I have the courage to face those demons inside of me, all those negative ions lurking, ready to pounce and remind me I am capable of so much good and yet I choose to lead my life not based on how much good I am doing on a daily basis? I mean, I'm in finance for goodness sakes!

Then there is the other side of me that thinks, well, every soul is experiencing who it really is not, in order to embrace who it truly is, right, which means that we are all entitled to the experiences that we are creating for ourselves on this plane, in this particular slice of reality. Haha, yeah, many would laugh at that and call it some major metaphysical rubbish just to make our new age selves feel better. And there’s probably some truth in that as well. In fact, there is truth in so many conflicting, contradicting statements that we are surrounded by in this lifetime, that is it even possible to really pinpoint what the heck truth is, or is it that simple, really, just to turn inwards and be content, enjoy the experiences you create for yourself each day and decide, make conscious choices in the face of those decisions, good or bad, better or worse, responsible or irresponsible? Deep down I know that each experience I have right now will give me another building block to stand upon the day I do become a teacher or a writer or both. But that gut feeling doesn’t stop me from feeling like a sell-out so often. Well, maybe not even so often anymore, as daily life takes over and ambitions get shelved.

Sigh...so I guess we'll see. The job is taking me to a new bright lights big city, and do I really want to go? Not really. I don't feel like leaving friends and family behind. But will I go? Most likely...another jungle to scout out and attain survival in? Why not??

Doubt - a fragment

Doubt can be introduced so quickly, in so fine a point. The lightning slash of a pickpocket’s blade, the almost nonexistent tap of the space bar in between letters strung into words, the breathtaking moment when sunset slips into dusk.

I think doubt is a self-protective shield for those who are afraid of exposing their hearts. Even upon mouthing the word “doubt” in my mind my expression is contemptuous and disdainful, not very pleasant at all. Why introduce doubt? Nary a pleasant conversation could be had with doubt at the cocktail party of blossoming romance.

Is it because I am a hopeful romantic full of optimism on the possibilities between a boy and a girl? I know what I feel, I know what I don’t feel. That’s the way it’s been and that’s the way it remains, with me. I don’t have a million doubts, no, not when I feel the way I do, which is that there is someone on the planet that I’d like to be sitting next to right now…and carry on sitting next to for a good long time. No, we don’t have to be doing anything mind-blowing or mind-numbing, I don’t really care what we do at all. Just the presence is stimulating enough. That is such a special thing in itself, I do not want doubt to come in and ruin it all. One seed is enough, just one.

Perhaps I have exposed to much too early on, in my writing, in my intense verbiage that has the potential of driving persons away. Ah, but yes, only those who want to be driven away would be, isn’t that true? Those that harbor doubt, those that bring doubt to the forefront, what are they sidestepping? The potential of disappointment? But what difference does it make to anticipate disappointment? You will be disappointed all the same. All you have, other than having potentially soiled the path ahead, is the sick satisfaction of being right. Somehow you were astute enough to sense the impassable walls ahead. But what do you miss along the path when you are busy craning your head forward to anticipate said walls? And that leads to the overwhelming question: which is the bigger risk, to risk happiness by harboring doubt, or to risk disappointment by harboring faith?

stars whisper of soft romance,
planets rise to dance,
supernovas lead in Chance.

- 'haiku #15', y.h. nogi

Love hangs out alone in the rain beside a lamppost, tulips drooping in his hands.
Then suddenly she appears, glances at his dripping eyebrows, refuses the outstretched bouquet, and bestows a quick kiss before dashing into the house.

And soaked to the bone, Love grins in victory, presses wet flowers to his heart, and begins his return home.

- "Matters of the Heart", Johann Nichy Fiergen

emotion is so habitual.

the hand that reaches to pick up the telephone forgets who it trembles for when the phone remains quiet. once you're resigned to the concept of quiet, what was once a constant murmuring at your ear becomes a fleeting thought that accosts you at whim, like various
perfumes from darkened trees in an autumn night.

and once again, slowly, ever so ponderously, the lake settles with the flagging of white capped waves. the ripples reach the shore and turn back again unto themselves. And silence takes me into his arms, once again.

Love never burdens the soul,
rather, it unshackles the spirit,
sends you freewheeling into newfound freedom.

- "On the Banks of the River Styx", Erin J. Fenchan

2004 End of the Year Review

If I were to think about it, 2004 actually was not that great of a year for me. I mean, let’s face it, 2003 sucked big time, but 2004 wasn’t necessarily that much fun either. The reason why I’m coming to that conclusion now is because I’m trying to think of a song for Rememories 2004 that embodies my 2004 “feeling” and I am invariably coming up with depressing stuff.

The theme to Winter Sonata, for example, really does not conjure images of happy fairies prancing carefree, streamers in their hair waving turquoise in the soft breeze, dancing their rain dances in a bug-free forest. Images thrown into the subconscious silver screen may include cool tears rolling drop by drop in a painfully slow manner ceaselessly down the pale porcelain cheek of Yujin-na, female protagonist in said series.

Another song, You’re Not Here by Leehom Wong, sung in Mandarin in his almost plaintive tones, calls to mind a lonely evening spent staring out the window into the humid Hong Kong haze, wondering where my soul was hiding as renegade strands of smoke curled past the window frame to coalesce into the mist outside, already heavy with the stubbed out whorls of pensive smokers contemplating the night.

Drops of Jupiter by Train is the most upbeat yet, and I do feel that it fits in an ironic way. I needed a soul vacation since January 2003 but I never took one. That song reminds me of perhaps what I should have done, instead of filling my life chockfull of new stresses and complications to force out the need of dwelling on that minor chord reverberating relentlessly at my core.

I thought I was happy. Or perhaps, I kept myself busy with happy thoughts and lively activities so as to drown out the low murmurs of my soul’s melancholic discourse. The main problem was exhaustion. I think I was chronically tired from the lack of sleep built up since early 2003. I was tired of waking up every morning to the same nightmare that was my reality. Tired of going to bed knowing that I’d have to wake up to that dead feeling at the pit of my stomach again in the morning. Then awareness slipslided into general anesthesia and I effectively shelved my pain and neglected my grief, except I called it “moving on”. But was I moving on? Not really. I felt that same frozen sensation, where the habitat of your soul has transformed from a cozy duraflame lit, chenille thrown living room into the tiled, antiseptic waiting room of another body storage facility, be it hospital or morgue. Subzero temperatures required to retain the integrity of the body the soul’s left behind. Subzero temperatures holding me hostage in a moment of time I didn’t want to leave behind.

So that was 2004. One random experience after another, setting up a chain of completely unrelated incidents that made up my path of progress, juxtaposed by a chain of completely unrelated literature that made up my means of escape. I read a lot of books in 2004. Must have been 15-20 books I read. Almost all escapist in nature. And all that reading time was facilitated by my physical hopping around as well, traveling almost every single month out of the year either for personal or business reasons. Creating artificial pockets of alone time where I could curl up as best as economy class would allow and throw myself into an airplane featured movie or another complicated plot novel by Dan Brown.

My most prized accomplishment in 2004? The friendships that I’ve made, hands down, no doubt about that at all. I have made ten lifetimes of friendships in the past two years, and 2004 didn’t disappoint, with so many people that I am so lucky to have in my life. The million and one weddings. And two babies to top it off.

***
Moments to remember...

January - Started the year off with the Jacknife Sugartruck gig at Amnesia on January 10th, playing the part of um…a 25 year old Avril Lavigne. Finally fulfilled dream of being a rockstar, can close that chapter now. Back to LA for Ryan’s first year anniversary. Decided in feverish state that it was time to leave LMN and look for less yellow pastures…thus leading me to the skittish frenzy of Finance.

February - Mellow, the hyperactive shih tzu, comes into my life, ringworm and all.

March - started a new job in finance, beginning of my friendship with St Barbara on the Chair day. Matt passes through town on his way to meet Sai Baba.

April - Best memory – In the Mood For Love party on Saturday, April 17. 40 or so close friends all decked out in 1962 gear for a memorable Chinese banquet. Jeremy with his mustache, Alan with his glass-less spectacles, Wilson with his comb over, Matt with his wig that everyone thought was real, Chris with his Afro, and all the beautiful cheung-sams on all the lovely ladies. So much love around the room. Cohibas at Peak Lookout with Brad and Eric.

May - Rememories 2003 published. June gets married!

June - Jenn's Taipei reception and Ros’ wedding at the St Regis Monarch Resort in Dana Point.

July - my brother and Trici get married on the 3rd. Anne’s wedding reception at the Grand Hyatt on July 11th.

August - Marc passes through town and we spend some quality time talking about everything. Tokyo for my first IPO drafting session, aka the Lost in Translation meetings.

September - Missed Kathryn’s wedding in Jackson Hole. :(

October - Missed Dave's wedding in North Carolina on the 9th. IPO in Tokyo. Once Upon a Halloween Eve party as the Fallen Angel Burning in Hell.

November - Totally depressing start of the month with Bush reelected on the 2nd. Excellent performance of Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition amongst other pieces by UBS Youth Orchestra with a very pregnant Connie. Namkungs visit and have their terrible accident with the speakers at Grappa’s at Jardine House. Hawaii for Yidrienne’s wedding. MIT Sports Day with Rach, Sooly, Ed, Jean, Eliza, Mark, Julie, Kyle et al...woohoo!!

December - (Charlotte/NYC/Capetown) Xmas Eve Housewarming Toaster on the 24th at my house. Ed and Sooly’s with Rachel for Xmas dinner. Capetown for Helen’s wedding. And two babies born - Michael to Ros and Kurt, and Ashley to Connie and Tom.

Let us banish fear and guilt,
For guilt and fear are a waste of time,
Time for you, and time for me,
To fashion our own reality.

- "The Preludes", Joy Henrich Finnegan

Mercy - a poem for st. barbara

Mercy

The pain runs through you and through you
A fleet of overzealous electric eels,
Grazing every nerve ending rubbed raw
Over and over, Time’s relentless wheels

Me, a bystander, barely standing myself
From the invisible, intangible tidal waves
Pouring forth from your being
As you cry out to be saved

But who will show you mercy
In such an hour, such a state?
Will new prayers on bruised knees
Move the gods to undo fate?

How many sidelines must you share
For another withering friend?
How many bedsides must be graced
With tears that have no end?

If only these currents running through me now
Can siphon away tears from your sea,
Then I will form a million rivers
To channel your pain to me.

*14dec04*
(for st. barbara)

Hunger - a fragment

I’ve grown so comfortable in this place I’ve created for myself, surrounded by the fluffy down of memory. Walls of my cell lined with frames of you and I, interspersed between bookshelves overflowing with things-unsaid and things-that-maybe-should-have-been-said and things-that-would-have-been-nice-to-say. How can I take these pictures down, these photographs lodged into my being, the removal of which would be like a surgeon going in to the jugular for repairs? I would have to tear myself apart to tear myself away from you. Is it true that when people die they grab onto a piece of you on their way out, a piece which stretches across parallel dimensions like multicolored taffy? My multicolored taffy soul has stretched over a million miles of memory. A million miles of you.

It’s so sunny in this place, so warm and fuzzy without being itchy or uncomfortable like last winter’s sweater mistake. I could lie here forever, reading, rereading, writing and rewriting more and more volumes of imaginary conversations.

But there’s no food in this cell and I’m hungry. I know, it’s mundane. It’s not otherworldly, this hunger. But it’s true. The little “love” gremlin inside me has shriveled up, malnourished beyond recognition. This little monster is dying. It looks out of the bars it’s created for itself. Looks out at the Love Out There and knows its spindly arms cannot reach this coveted L.O.T. So it steps away from the bars, averts its eyes, slumps down onto the cement floor and raises its weary head, distracting itself with the frames, the multicolored frames on the walls until finally it falls asleep. The next day and the day after that. And now the monster, once chubby and burping out loud, has lost its chatter. No strength to grasp the bars and peer out anymore. Slowly the L.O.T. has become another frame, another memory, another distant non-reality. Another dream snuffed out of That Which Is Possible. And T.W.I.P. slowly recoils and begins to take the shape of the perimeter of this cell and its friendly shadows.

I never wanted to live this way. You know that, I know that. So what is stopping me from coming out of this cell, anyway? (In case you didn’t know, this cell is unlocked. The jailkeeper and the jailbird have conspired and merged.) I just can’t seem to tear myself away, just can’t seem to shake free of my taffy web, the more I twist and turn the further cocooned I’ve become in this sticky sweet, funhouse dream. Even I have drowned out my own muffled cries.

*08oct04*

Frozen - a fragment

I am caught in a time that only I can remember, because this time lives only in my memory, my memory and yours. But your memory is gone, dissolved away as you did not too long ago. And it wasn’t too long ago, was it, since the last time you reached out to swallow my hand in yours? Not too long ago, since we fell into a friendship that plunged into a romance, and sent me careening into a happiness I never knew could exist.

And then I was frozen. It happened in a millisecond, or 2.5 milliseconds as you would have put it. The air hangs still. You can almost see the frozen molecules clinging to one another, forming a quiet nothingness that preserves you lying there, and me standing here under two megatons of realization waiting to fall upon my head. I am afraid to exhale, to bring me into the next moment that follows this one: the moment in which you are pronounced dead.

I have been holding my breath for the past year and nine months. Sometimes I wonder if anyone notices. I like to pretend that they don’t, that they cannot have the intuition to know the difference between the me that walks around everyday, going about my business, and the popsicle me inside, dead amongst the living. No amount of warmth from the suns in all of the solar systems out there can melt it. The core of me lies dead with you, interred in a cement grave with a green plush pony, a high school varsity jacket, the biggest watch you’ve ever laid eyes on, a wallet with pictures of you and I (a double of which stands in my living room to this day), and an urn containing your ashes. What are ashes, anyway? Remnants of molecules, piles of atoms reconfigured, a desperate preservation of that which was you. But the dead are most finely preserved in memories. Memories from those who knew you that don’t necessarily correspond with others’ memories or with reality. Wayward, inconstant memories that deceive and give an approximation of truth, leaving the memory-addict wholly dissatisfied, frustrated in its evanescence, pissed off in its perversions, angry in its clarity, and ultimately, fiending for more.

I can live with your blue shadow forever, can’t I? There’s no compelling reason for me to join the rest of humankind, out there in the real world beyond the comforting chill of preservation. I used to abhor the cold, but now I look for love in its twilit corners. Swathed in indigo gauze, this world of you and I keeps me dead amongst the living.

It hurts to live this way. It hurts like when you are holding your breath underwater and your sinuses start to press in and the sockets of your eyes ache because your head is about to explode. It hurts like when someone dies on the news and you realize you can’t feel any sadness for it. It hurts like anticipating the dizzying but necessary pain you will get when you’re about to move an arm or a leg that’s fallen asleep. It hurts like all the pain you’ve ever felt in your whole life compacted into one heavy bullet lodged deep in your heart, all 2.5 megatons of which pull the whole of you down, down, downwards until you fall upon knees already bruised.

*07oct04*

Funny thing, grief... - a fragment

Grief is a funny thing. I wear it around my shoulders every day. Sometimes I flaunt it, a badge of honor for my emotional travails. Other times I draw it close, taking comfort in its familiarity. It doesn’t always match the other items I wear and most of the time it’s a clichéd black wool knit, although the tightness of the knit varies upon occasion. Mostly, the knit is tight.

I often wonder how many others I pass in the course of the day are wearing similar shawls. I suppose some wear veils instead, giving rise to vacant stares or spiderwebbing ‘round squinted eyes. Others perhaps have chain mail undergarments, imperceptible and impenetrable. But mine wraps around me where his arms once were, warms me in the night, my thin armor against the leftover world which barely understands, if at all.

I’ve constructed a special wool that’s non-itchy on the underside, but prickles any hand that tries to find a place upon these shoulders, separating us from them. This shawl allows for a particularly comfortable defensive position as I draw it close around me and clasp my hands upon my sternum, my heart safely defended from them.

*06oct04*

April

“April is always the cruelest month…”

The first tear always comes as a surprise,
Even when you feel your eyes well,
Your sinuses pressing in,
But that first splash upon your cheek always startles.
*19apr04*

I feel nothing, but in a weird, uncomfortable kind of way.
It’s like dead-air on a radio station.
*21apr04*

Unknown - a song

Unknown

you ask me what can you do
you tell me you haven't got a clue
you send me a cut of your heart
a slice of your soul as you depart
what's it supposed to mean to me
i'm not the one to set you free

you're too afraid of the unknown
to know what you already know
open your eyes but it's your call to see
what your future's meant to be
it's not about falling into "we"
and it's not about me

so are you doing your part
or playing the part

you're turning to leave
and trying to believe
you're part of a whole
leaving behind your soul
and a gift of chords
cutting into me like swords

i'm turning to leave
and i try to believe
you're part of a whole
not leaving behind your soul
i don't want another line
i'm tired of seeing signs
>

but i got myself here
let you in too near
open heart and open wings
never know what tomorrow brings
nevermind another day alone
not afraid to stand on my own

it's not about me or you and me
i'm just a mirror for who you could be
no angel

(a song in need of a tune)
*06dec03*

Thoughts - a fragment

i have a million thoughts rushing through this swimming consciousness, bordering on madness
and the streams flow, crisscross, connect, contradict eachother - a million revisions, decisions, indecisions

and i hear all these voices, suggesting, negotiating, placating - all forcing rationalization where none can be had

because what we are dealing with here is emotion, an everpresent web of unconscious and conscious sensory overload

there is no sense in emotion, no stillness, just constant motion charging your fingertips, challenging your heart to withstand it all, telling your brain to shut up - youre just a bystander, step aside

Bottled Prayers - a poem

Bottled Prayers

why do i feel this way,
bottled and corked with an expiry date ahead,
thoughts of you peering through smoked glass
forlorn and trapped within things unsaid.

soon to be pruned and withered,
gasping for oxygen, heaving to be heard,
nothing escapes, not a mote of smouldering ash
that in another lifetime were thoughts of you.

so how shall i proceed, how shall i continue?

staunch these errant proceedings of my mind,
nick these curdling swirls in the nick of time,
siphon them helpless, muzzled and holed,
a million bottles in the basement of my soul.

for you are no longer,
and though thought persists,
my thoughts should not be of you,
forever you.

and in the twilight, still, oh so still,
even the tremblings cease,
a million thoughts brought to their knees
praying a hundred prayers for peace,
and a hundred for release...

*25nov03*

Holding On - a song

Holding On

It's been 111 days since you last smiled at me
Scenes fade in and out, skies change incessantly
And I stand, still, waiting, waiting for you
To turn the corner, come around, the way you used to do

They tell me I'll never see you again
But who are they to know
They tell me time will make amends
But they just don't know

How it only took a whisper
To reach you in the night
Just sitting side by side with you
Made everything alright
In the living room, slow dancing
The world around dissolved
And our hearts beat against each other
As the stars above revolved

But that was then, and now, well, I am
Shouting at the sea, writing in the sand
Talking to the clouds, holding out my hand
But nothing comes, nothing in return
Silence weighs, and the hands turn

They tell me I'll never see you again
But who are they to know
They tell me time will make amends
But you see, they just don't know

How it only took a moment
To realize you're the one
Laughing with each other
Our fears soon came undone
What I'd never dared to dream for
You brought into my world
And with every passing minute
Our life together unfurled

But that was then, and now, well, now I am
Searching in the dark, feeling for a line
Crying out your name, looking for a sign
But no one comes, no one in return
My heart waits, and the tears burn

But have I missed the point,
Missed the signs while missing you?
Finding something to hold on to,
When I should be letting go of holding on to you?

No, I don't think so.

(a song in need of a tune)
*13may03*