Something written on the 17th of October,2013

I live
Freezing
All in the name of pw
I stare.
Eyes burn.
All in the name of pw
I scream
Wind howling my name
All in the name of pw
I beg
Fingers trembling; hacking away
All in the name of pw
I collapse
Naked, trembling- over caffeinated
All in the name of pw
And finally
I slump.
The light flickers and fades
PW.
Painful.
Woes.
PW.

Another Late

Late is like life update. So. Hi. Some stuff. I actually was typing this two/ fourweeks ago, but well, never got round to it. I think its a time for change. I need to buy new shoes too lol. And I needa swap and update my playlist. Sigh. After mother tongue, gotta settle the shoes. Props to Potenshiul Chairs for the shoe date last year. So long ago, we struggled. Here I am again though, mother tongue and pw. I'm resigned to possibly retaining or taking mt next year or both. But I guess it'll be alright.

I can't remember what I was typing,but here's what's on my mimd now I guess. As usual. Stream of consciousness ftw.

Also, I hit my 2gb of data. Dayum.

The year has been pretty up and down, with multiple great and multiple horrible moments. Thank you, PDS, for the amazing memories that we've forged this year. For the company of weirdos that formed. Thank you, Skynet Command, for the odd days and constant conversation of the outside world. And a major ILY to all the cliques and bunches I've seen and talked to, friends made over the years. I've been growing, and still keep growing, and I'm ever frateful that you're all not douchebags who hate people unlike you.

Special mentions. Right. I meant these honestly, and sarcasm is to prove a point. Love y'all.

First up, Yvonne. For making me feel less high horsey, for your constant arguments and your bitchiness. As much as I don't like to argue with you over and over, it kept me alive despite life's drear. Kudos to you for causing and resolving conflicts and making my life that much more awesome. A mention here goes to Wayne too, for similar reasons, and the faith you put in me. For the good days in secondary school too. Thank you, the both of you.

Second goes to Eileen. Darling, you worry a bit too much at times. You're an amazing and amazingly lazy writer, but you've been a fantastic friend despite last December's shenanigans. Thank you for being an amazing uplift when things were going down, and injecting a healthy dose of cynicism when I was too high to care. Though I was. In hindsight, I'd probably hurt myself less. But yes, thank you.

Thirdly, Ilyas, Sean, Timothy, Alex. TheFinalSay. Thank you for sticking though another unproductive year, that we somehow stuck together. We gotta jam, nuff said. And that ep won't record itself. I say About Geography is a go, Valley, Katabatic, Vesuvius. Dayum. I look forward to more time in studios and bedrooms with you guys. Shout out to Abdicated Throne here too, for the fun sesh, and Thomas the Death Engine, cuz promotion.

Fourth, for the random people that I talk to, especially whem I'm done. I'm an attention seeking bastard, but thank you for listening to me whine and bitch. This can stack with other towers. Lol. Wait towers? Fuck I'm tired haha! I meant tiers. Lulzy.

Fifth, the dota/debate guys. Dan and myo and kean mun. For the great male advice given regarding life, the fucking amazing company. The cynicism and the realism. Thank you guys for being a fucktastic distraction and the amazing time wasted on not wasting it. Cheers, glhf don't feed and stick around.

Lastly, to you, my dear. Or ex-dear. Thank you, for the five months together. Thank you, for being a close friend, confidant, and for allowing me to be the same. Thank you for the little reminders why I should live. The sadness and worry was worth it to me. I only wish you all the best now, to find your own happiness. Whatever you are, I will still care for you. I still love you, but in the way a brother loves his sister. I'll only miss the memories, good and bad. Thank you, and take care of yourself. You're too harsh on you.

This took forever. Next update soon probably.

A Fantastic EoM

So I couldn't find the link to this on my phone. But here you go!

This article discusses the positive effects of rape such as stress relief and anger management.

Our project seeks to increase the access and choice of rape by implementing mandatory public exhibitions.
Being written by Professor Forcedboney of The Grand University of Fuck, published in 2013, it is very relevant and applicable to my project.

In his article, Forcedboney describes a prevalent problem in rape culture as many people begin to conform to liberal western cultures that raping women is a crime and thus, has harmed our muslim societies here in the middle east. Back then, our brotherhood, untouched by modern and sinful ideals, had the best tool of entertainment and socialization, Rape. In the back alleys of mecca, our forefathers were blissful and our offspring prospered, for the holy gifts that allah bestowed upon us were shared with all women and men alike. Forcedboney has also attributed declining birth rates to the punishment of rape and subsequent economic failure due to the reduced women exports, which he quotes Dr Moneykok as saying that “Infidel ideas make money less for nightclubs and prostitution rings, harming economy of Kazakhstan.”

Now we question how increasing the access and influencing the choice of raping through implementing mandatory public exhibitions will solve the abovementioned problems. The fact that traditional Islamic ideals are the way to go to saving our ailing population and economic needs, is supported by the thousands of years of research our prophet has done raping many many women, eventually scaring women worshippers from entering a mosque ever again, with muslim families breeding like rats in a sewer. With this increase in exportable goods, our GDP rose substantially. Seeing the need to monopolise on this economic growth, our great prophets introduced the greatest strategy of all, mandatory rape.

In order to improve the effectiveness of mandatory rape, my group aims to approach Dr Woffles Wu and provide free breast implants for every muslim community in our glorious empire. On top of solving our economical problems, we may also use these implants as disguises for improvised explosives so we can fully expand and capitalize on the westerners’ stupidity

______________
Lol. A quick disclaimer edit here. I don't approve of racism or sexism or any sort of bigotry, but hey, in the name of a cheap joke, why not? This is what it is, a really shabby attempt at humour. So humour me.

posted from Bloggeroid

Crimson Touch

Writing the poem I'll be using for the collab, methinks. Been writing sonnet-ish stuff recently, for the past few pieces. Hum haw. Hey yellowbutton, does this work?

Crimson Touch I

The crowd laid out before him screamed his name
Calling for another song to be sung
Like rockets they had climbed the charts to fame
Again they took the big stage, banners hung
Behind and the last show keeps going on
Dance steps move the six from stage left to right
To the sharp sound of cheers and chants they won
Rightfully from an audience bathed in light.

But backstage tells us another story
One not so sane, woven from sorrow
Constant touring took its toll and worry
Wrought, weighed down from time he had to borrow.
One more show before the force was too much
Soon he broke and gave them his crimson touch.

posted from Bloggeroid

cityscape II

cityscape II

unexpectedly, on the hottest night
I've felt this year, the winds start blowing in
cool, soothing, calming - coupled with streetlights
glowing yellow, clearing me of all sin.

I would step outside to embrace the rain
and, dance beneath onyx glittering skies
dissolve, absolve myself of heat and pain
but droplets came, heard were not happy sighs.

but deep groans as trees swayed and snapped. to ears
like mine they made me cower, moaning like
one who heard punishment coming since years
before, wrongs piled on my head, on a pike.

mistreat my friends and my own body, I die
on a cold bedsheet, tears forever lie.

~ Jack

So its raining again. Hooray! Lol, poem time. Long holidays suck. Yeap. That's about it. Cya, imaginary reader!

posted from Bloggeroid

cityscape I

07.08.2013
cityscape I

from dawn to dusk we toll away, at our
fortress, impregnable, resigned to just
slave away, night and day, owls, late hours
crunching numbers - they knaw at me like rust

on iron, i am clamped, chained to the wall
helpless except to watch the clock tick tock
a groan erupts, from master and i, all
in hell, with just one escape which panels block

flying between meetings, one wishes he
had taken flight so long ago, instead
he is bound by paper, black and white be
dammed! but the time has past to use his head

he, and i, are all but the same creatures.
youth gone. love lost. time spent losing features.

- Jack


Sonnet above for the imaginary reader who comes for poetry, life update below.

I think its becoming a trend that whenever I send her back, the topic of conversation moves in similar yet unfamiliar territory. Comfortable discomfort. We ended up starting off with a recap, like schoolwork, and stuff, to something like a discussion on gay marriages, sorta, and then prospects in our little island. Here I am though, but five hours later, still wondering.

I never gave it much thought myself, recently at least, if I had wanted to stay in Singapore. Given status quo of our relationship, I might actually consider moving. It is kinda true that the kind of future I wish to pursue would probably be harder here, given our drive for science-y and stuff like law. The whimsical have no place here, not for long anyway. I'll miss it. Or not. I'm not too sure anymore. Its one of those moments where you might have to re-evaluate your whole life due to one or two decisions which define you.

Every year that goes by though, I know that I feel less and less inclined to stay. NPCC has made me lose faith not in the police, not that. No, that the authoritarian leader is still that preferred by our own leaders. By choice or not, we have to snap a salute to those who do things their way, regardless of the emotions you may possess. Because hey, fuck you, you will always be worthless as you're younger.

Age is a good quantifier for experience. But don't dismiss someone simply for their lack of years. Neither should we dismiss or revere our seniors for arbitrary reasons. I know this paragraph could easily be taken out of context, but well, so be it. I know who I speak of, that's you, sirs, and that's all that matters.

But back to the concept of home, I do feel more and more dislocated, as Kuan Hian described in his own blog. It took me two years in retrospection to let me convince myself I was gifted, and I'm still doubting that today. But I'm weirder than most others. Like some bastard child of happiness and sadness, genius and learning disability. Have I truly ever thought this land my home?

My house is, but is the land its built on my foundation?

In exactly these words from Parkway Drive's song, I question "If home is where the heart is, why do I feel so fucking heartless?"

posted from Bloggeroid

Roses II

03.08.2013

The picture drawn just perfect
The red its brilliant ruby hue
The rose is drawn and the artist gone
The entire room is still.

Except for sobbing at the table
Except for that is is quiet
Except for hands which are not stable
Except the wounds won't heal.

Keeping her thoughts within herself
Keeping her silence and her grief
Keeping her anger and her sorrow
Keeping a blade outside its sheath.

The rose begins to dry and wilt
The picture is merely a stain.
Except the part where the ink keeps flowing
Except that part, the rest is dead.
Keeping the picture in full hue
Keeping a memory on paper, outside the head.

Roses, she draws, she draws, she knew better.

posted from Bloggeroid

Roses I

05.08.2013

Drip, the nail scratches out an outline
A flower taking shape.
Drip, the thorns are made
And the blade begins to slip.

Cast, blade aside and begin to sketch
A picture made in red.
Cast, in flesh and blood
An image of the past.

Dry, the drawing begins to settle in
A browning stain remains.
Dry, tears and sorrow
A release and her spirit flies

High above her sadness
Last one awake, she bleeds
Her heart now hard like a cherry pip
When her wrists go drip, drip, drip.

posted from Bloggeroid

Intermediary post.

Well yeah, never got round to ranting about the stuff in term 2. That can wait for when I'm angry again. Hopefully not soon. I'm such a procrastinator.

Recently, a fair bit of my perspectives and thoughts have taken drastic changes, on top of not so drastic ones. Gonna just throw out the few that I have off the top of my head.

Should we mourn the progression of morality?

I REALIZED I'M POSTING THIS REALLY LATE. REFLECT MY ASS LAH WOOOOOO INTERMEDIARY POST FTW. LET'S WAIT FOR LIFE TO HAPPEN AND SHIT ON ME AND I'LL WRITE IT WHEN IT COMES.

Hmmmm...

I notice I usually write about notions of elitism, peer pressure, music and the arts, and sleep. Pretty sure that's characteristic of me. Oh and love and emotions and stuff, but who doesn't do that? Singapore's pretty much just the first four though, as far as teenage-y issues go. That and environmentalism and moral decay. But those aren't THAT fun. Or not. Sex poetry, or something.

I think its a bastardly and ego-centric move, but I think I'll adapt my life into a play. Not entirely of course, and hopefully I could co-write it with a few friends. It'll be fun, I suppose, and a truly grand release. Probably gonna end it off as a tragedy though, with me being dead or something via suicide... Heh.

Open, Passing, Gone. Down, Living, Breath.

02.08.2013

Another poem. This one, a quick one, musing, but I'm forcing myself to stick to a structure this time, a Sestina. Like the rain. Mmmmm, its beautiful, isn't it. At night, right now, contentment is beautiful. Nothing is fantastic, nothing sucks really horribly. Life ticks on, I just started writing my first play, and its raining. Like what Eileen said, float. Feeling really lit-ty now, so let's muse on!
Happy face to Nat and Yvonne, if ya'll ever read this. Keep smiling!


Pitter, patter, piff, paff.

Like solid red lips they part, wide open.
And in flash, like a flash, they are gone.
Exhaling, the cold night air condenses breath.
A fine mist reminds me I am living.
I swallow, sigh, and look down.
The moment of fallibility like clouds in passing.

All my life, failing everything I tried, time ticked by eternally passing.
They said to keep my mind open.
But never did they say to keep down.
Like the wind, a little more and I would be gone.
No longer among the angry, the living.
Shudder, quake, tension released as I drew another breath.

And then another, another breath.
One step too, and I was passing
From the world of the despondent, the living.
My eyes, they could not open.
Like a close friend, I was gone.
And the rain again poured down.

Within myself, deep down.
My lungs creaked, blood flowing in, attempting to draw breath
With length of bone stuck, the pain was gone.
Numb, emotionless in my passing.
But sirens wailed and doors were thrown open.
Out strode a man to bring me back to the living.

Inhaling, exhaling, living.
His heroics threw me down.
Again, have I no escape, no paths open?
All this, because of one breath?
That I took at birth, I cursed but soon white came into view passing
before my eyes, and my hopes were gone

any control I held onto gone
dissolved into that of anguish, remorse, regret living
never passing
any sort of success, defining the archetype of 'let down'
painful, inhale, exhale, but impossibly refusing to breath
staring out into the endless, scary, looming, imminent, landscapes open

Dark clouds, passing by again in the night, gone.
My legs dangling still in the open, the last drop drips down
Pitter, patter, piff, paff. The living draw another breath.

- Jack

Hello World, Its The Death Of Naivety

So, the two of us argued. No surprise, life hasn't exactly been going perfectly. For either of us. Grades is really one huge ass part of it. Practical though. The distance that was somewhat agreed on might be the norm. Not exactly fun, or even borderline positive. But if I want this to work, and I do, I know I can't get too down whenever something happens, or doesn't, appropriately so.

This is supposedly a time of adventure, self discovery, enlightenment, and a precursor to life proper. Here though, it is yet another hurdle. You may only live, briefly, when you score those As and get what you want. Failing so... Life beckons death. Or something.

Right now, I'm just trying to come to terms with facts. Stuff I already knew. Right now, I have to sort myself out to be of any use. I can't be the one that hurts. Both ways. It doesn't scare me that I have to be a rock at times, an anchor. Responsibility, empathy, these come easily. But I'm so often lost within the million things I expect of myself, and what others expect of me.

The GEP has done its good, done its bad. Fair enough. I'm actually looking forward to the psychologist. I think I have to obey her advice more strictly though. Sigh. Sleep is one step.

But my self esteem is another issue. I find myself, through introspection and third person reflection, that I'm quite the hypocrite. Borderline schitzophrenic. Is that how you spell that? I put on this egoistical image, whatever. Pride. But I still hurt like a little bitch when I see my own actions, and position in life. Its hard to accept you're not deemed a failure. Especially when I've felt so for so long.

Despite the overwhelming self negativity, she does me good. This gives me purpose to just do stuff. A break from this rut. And I do feel loved. Most times, whenever I'm not irrational. Its hard to reciprocate. I guess I just am not as strong as I was two years ago. One proclamation after another, I flipped the tables on an old friend. I changed. And for the worse, as i tried to solve my problems.

Perhaps this pandora's box might be resolved, but right now, time isn't right.

posted from Bloggeroid

What I posted on a feedback form

Sorry Ms Seah, if you ever read this. I really do love your class. It just so happens that I came to the realization that I wouldn't ever feel that this chapter of my life were to be closed if I didn't get it out of my system somehow before this term was over, and I realized that this might as well have been my last opportunity to say so. I <3 you all the way.

So, what did I post? This, under the teacher's feedback form:
...
However, I do have some things to say about the rest of the school. I don't think I do have any other appropriate feedback outlet, but let me comment a bit about how the school needs to stop caring for the school's image as a whole, and thus marginalizing the individual students' wellbeing and interests. I'll first apologize though, but hope someone could actually be bothered reading this.

Its quite stupid and unfair to have the first few hours I spend in this school after orientation to be essentially just the school showing what they expect of us from what our predecessors did, and forcing their expectations on us without any other reason than "you don't want to be the one to break this trend FOR PJC right?". Quite frankly, the students should already be self motivated to do their best, and that past analysis of results won't have much effects other than stressing students out. Sure, we have standards to meet, and teachers do push us, but these standards seemed to have fast forwarded a burn out effect on students. That's just one thing.

Secondly, some members of the staff have been rather elitist and condescending towards students and other educational institutions. While it is nice and all to be proud of your HOD status (I'm looking at you, my dear HOD of English), and on how being prim and proper is good, there is no need to openly sully the image of those with C5s and C6s in their English, nor shoot down those who go to polytechnics. Great that you're proud, so am I, but as a teacher, this doesn't reflect well on the school, your background, and the education system in general. Which isn't already the idealistic image you paint as it is. The beauty of straight As is marred by a generation of students who only know textbooks, and the only sort of social interaction they have are those with others in similar academic fields and on social networking sites. Or on the football field, which is probably a good and bad thing.

Finally, a bit of a personal grudge, I'll admit, but the transparency and accountability of the school's management is murky at best. I cite two examples, already excluding that of the WSC's team pulling out after which payment had been paid, since that is technically not my issue. Firstly, that of our debate team pulling out of AWSDCs, which was held in The Philippines. I was beyond seething when our chance to represent the school and ourselves in an international debate competition was pulled and rejected about a week before the actual competition. It wasn't just the sense of betrayal, but the fact that we were not going simply because we were 'not good enough' as justified by our VP. I'd firstly like to question why would the school, which has the budget, or at least appears to, if it hasn't actually spent it all on food for the management and wasting it on the office staff who do visibly nothing but pass snide remarks to students, pull out a chance for our learning to be broadened, beyond the classroom. Sure, it is a fair bit of expenditure. But by nature of the exclusivity of our debating club, and the fact that the budge has not changed, we deserve the best sort of exposure we could get, win or lose. If we didn't have the budget, I'd question why on one hand, and on the other, question why that wasn't the excuse given. Fine though, I'll just put it down to 'we haven't won, so we don't deserve it' for the rest of my life. Secondly, that of my CELP participation. I would firstly like to make it clear that I was under the assumption that firstly, the program would have been only four sessions long, spread over the course of the year till mid July, followed by a project till September or something to that degree. Secondly, I signed up under the premise that it would not clash with my other commitments such as CCA, and that if it did, I would be given priority to go for CCA. Finally, that there were no hidden costs to be borne, no contract signing me to having to potentially pay $20, $30 or just $430 if I were to leave. Well, all those were proven false, and needless to say, I felt cheated, to say the least, by the school. Well firstly, the program was way more than 4 sessions long. But I would have been okay with it, if it didn't clash with my CCA training and personal commitment. For one, how was this guaranteed when apparently the principal herself actually endorsed this program over any other sort of personal choice that we would have made? That was when the entire mess began, ruining my studies, sleep, stress and happiness at the very least, for three straight weeks. Beautiful, especially when at the end, you have this guilt-inducing plea that the school paid $430 or even more for this training. And that I would have to potentially pay should I try to quit. Not only will I not be compensated for those weeks of having to sort life out after the clashes in timing were mentioned, but I would be double penalized for a fee that I didn't know existed and was then my burden? Profanity would have been appropriate here, but this complaint/feedback is already 'demeaning' enough, so I'd rather not. I found it simply appalling though, that the school had resorted to something similar to blackmail and falsifying my duties and burdens and totally disrespecting any sort of life I apparently do not have. No apology, no words taken back, no counselling to tell me to stop feeling like I wasted three weeks of my life fighting for myself after being violated by the school's opaque bureaucracies. Absolutely beautiful PJC. Sure, its my fault I wanted to go for it. Perhaps though, sticking to your promises from the start was too hard, and that putting the blame on the student who knew no better, was the easiest option. I mean, the only options were to complain to the school who'd wave it down, and MOE, who'd just ask what had happened and nothing would result from that if PJC were just to say that they did mention it. I mean, sure, I'd sign up my entire year for something the school saw beneficial for its image and prestige, to be one of two schools having students in such a program.

Well, I'm done. I cut down a fair bit on the initiation and cancellation of CCAs already, to nearly nothing. And you probably didn't read all or even any of it. Whatever. It feels better out of my system. Sorry Ms Seah, that this is on your feedback form. Its entirely not your fault, as we both know, but whoever filtering this, please read this through. Thanks

Edit: Also, I apologize to the other teachers who I have sounded ranty to. You are all fantastic beings, teaching the next generation and stuff. Like really. I'm tired as I type this, and I'll parade your greatness another day. But thanks for not setting us all on fire and stuff. Yeap. No sarcasm from me, for once. Just sheer tiredness. And a great sense of relief, having finally pushed my mind's mess to its conclusion, and acting on impulses I've had for a whole god damned term. Hello GP paper, time to die :)

Ahahaha, so much to say again. Copy pasta from my musings

Reprise? Nope.
27.05.2013

Some reprise from movement
Death, no, merely sleep, merely an escape
Sweet, embracing me. For a moment
I fly again

Soft touch of light and we break a fragile connection
Between sanity and reality
Just happy we are still alive, that is all we can wish for.

posted from Bloggeroid

Hey, imaginary readers. Time to chat

My Mind Today
27.05.2013

Ever decaying with the passing of days
My mental state withers before its time
Shutting out wonder for the cruelty of history
And the sadness of humanity's shared commonalities.

Ergh. So many times I wanted to blog but couldn't get off my lazy/burnt out ass to. So many in the past two months. Oh flying fuck, time passes so quickly. Some of the better moments and worst of my life have been made this term.

So... Where to begin, with this slow recap? A bit of whininess, perhaps?

Aaaaaand the motivation to write is gone again. Just so tired. Prep for MIs is shit, we have to break though.

Ugh. List of fuckfest:
Getting a friend's balls working. Probably the least severely damaging to my brain.
Juniors' bullshits. Livin with it though.
Debates vs CELP. Oh god, two or three weeks of my life WASTED and I still get pissed for it.
hipster love. At least that's something to smile about :)
hipster distance. And that's to cry for ahahahaha fuck.
Awkward kid issues. Yes, I'm staring at you. Lubchutewtho.
ICDCs. God damn, a lot more time wasted, you royal cuntus Jack.
Falling ill. For three weeks. And counting. And being tired. And getting a warning from VP Michael. Ahahahaha. Fml.
Writing good songs :D
The distance of my one and only BGF. Where art thou?

Ahaha. Time to type it all out. Soon...

posted from Bloggeroid

Breathing Home

Breathing Home - 14.3.2013

Grow something that heals
But cut it down at a command
Shed skin, shed emotion
All for all things green.
Amongst the birds and the bees
Calling home amongst the trees
Breaking down into what we need
Decomposing, compost
Biomass is gained but quickly lost

Carve the moment into the bark of trees
Carve a picture of society
Immortalize this moment for you and me
In fire, with the blade
For the greenery below to grow
When life is over and we have left forever
Cut off our markings and let it grow
From the soil and ash
Barren, waiting
A canvas to be painted
Barren, waiting
Empty.
Devoid of moving life.

Individuals And Everyone

Individuals And Everyone - 14.3.2013

Twiddling thumbs, he is shy. Appearing
Disinterested, he stands at the side.
The clique comes, loud, shouting. They corner him
They chat, they laugh, and one extends a hand.
He takes it, smiles. Unsure, though, of his peers.

A new face, another entertainment.
Dance for the people, sing for all your friends
Loudly! Proudly! Break out of your shell, boy!
Drop the shabby jacket! Constrict your legs
With the latest fashions, tighter clothing!

Gain something new with hardly any cost.
So he believes, that he was nothing at
All. Just an individual in an
Ocean of individuals. But now
He has his friends. He is now someone.

But when they muck around and screw things up
Hooligans, misguided ideas of cool
He follows, he listens, he doesn't know
That they were kidding, merely joking when
They asked him to commit a crime. He did.

Does it matter what he did exactly?
Or if he's even a he and not she?
No. Succumb though, to juvenile notions
Of having a good time, of having friends.
And now he is guilty, and they shall leave.

Behind bars, be they steel or mental rot
He slumps, defeated. Or perhaps fury
To seek revenge. But it matters not how
He feels. Rather, its that he is alone
Without friends. Alone in an empty room.

Breaking

Breaking - 14.3.2013

Beneath duress, stressing out the beams
The roof creaks, and it breaks
Letting in the rain
Torrential, chilling
Flooding the building

Within hand, grasping tightly, fingers winding
The glass trembles, and it shatters
Shards embedded in hand
Cutting deep, bleeding
No screams, no cries heard

Fingers dancing, wrists moving back and forth
Across keyboard and paper and pen
Alike, words onto retinas
Draining, burning
The only things known, only thing learned

Ears pushing inwards, descending ever lower
Pressure bursting, and slumping
Over desks and onto seats
Breaking, dying
Normal, mundane, unworthy of note

The Land Of Dreams

Before I begin with whatever I'm typing below, let me apologize if my previous two were kinda shit. I had like, a goal in mind for both, but I deviated a fair bit from it. If I redo them, I'll just post again. Sorry for burning your eyes out again. Also, I edited the title format thingy for the older two (three?) and added the dates next to the title. Hope this will be a format I can live with.

---

Well, this one is adapted from a series of songs which I wrote around two years ago, in sec 3. Its pretty much just me being all over-imaginative when I had this period of insomnia. So I did around a verse a night on average for about a fortnight and then stopped because it was rather repetitive and overly simplistic. However, its one of the longest semi-completed story-song arcs I've done, so I'm putting it in here after major editing and many many changes. Here goes the juice:

The Land Of Dreams (Part I to III) - 11.3.2013

Null – Float –

Between the sheets I lie
Staring at a ceiling, with sightless eyes
No light enters, no light leaves
The clock ticks away
As the night breathes
Its cold air, comforting, soothing
Down my body, caressing
Yet I still I lie, staring, waiting

Awake, again, another adventure
Delving, diving, unravelling
Reviewing, musing, wondering
What am I even doing?

Am I content with just lying here
Stuck in what has been said or done or left alone
With choice words I frame my thought-horse
And I ride, to the gates, to the gates.

It is my choice and my choice alone
That I am fooled as such
For who would have ever denied themselves
Salvation? 
I. - The City -

I cannot enter
The land of dreams
The gates are shut, locked, barred
By my own guards
Pictures play and shadows dance
On bleached walls
As the sun sets across the horizon
Locked out of my home
My domain, the only place for peace
In the ceaseless turmoil.

To scale the earthworks, impossible
For I built the fortress impregnable
With all my might, wealth and power
I established my hold over this land
This cold, barren wasteland
Between closed eyes and the wishful calling of sleep.

I grip tightly onto my consciousness
Not relinquishing thought for freedom
A sense of flying, illusions in reality
For what do I know except being earth bound?

I know how to dream, and how to finally break in
But only in rest can I act
And for now, I am trapped
I tire and long for sleep.

But it eludes me, elusive
Like holding water in bare hands
It comes for mere moments
And I welcome the black
Only to be broken by the orange- yellow glow of streetlamps below.

And so I groan and I turn
Tossing, flipping, rolling
And sought for safety from the night’s wind
Behind bone, concrete earthworks
I sought for sleep.

Dreams, elude me
Nightmares, live within me
My mind, their playground
And it was then I knew I had to move
Take action, find the key which I had lost
Or thrown away

I set off upon the land
With nothing but my wits and my mind, my hands
And a heart feeling ever so weakened
Dreading the present

I blame the guards for their failure
To see their king outside their door
But who could blame them for their faults
When they finally left the land of insomnia
Which I travel through once more.
 
II. - A Song For Sleep -

Endlessly, I paced the sands
Until all I saw were footprints
And every passing moment I grew wearier
Collapsing into a heap
Awake, or was I ever asleep?

Whispering to myself a lullaby
I huddle beneath the quilts, shuddering
Hugging my knees tightly, I fear for myself
Will I be late in the morrow?
Have I done what I needed to?

Wondering these lands once more
So familiar, yet not my home
With a comfort that lulls me deeper in
Into a rest that will not end
For it has not and will never begin.

My friend, the reaper
He strides alongside me
Greeting me with a familiarity akin to brothers

Yet this cannot be
For I have not seen my own death
Not out in these wastelands, at the very least.

But perhaps soon I shall
For I plot against myself
My own blood, sweat and tears
The results of years gone by
Enduring, living, breathing, human
My life, I shall erase.

I sing a song for sleep
Calling upon the rain to fall upon these dry wastes
Barren, devoid of life
Tears from the gods above
And those from between the eyes.

And as life grows, I swing my feet off the comfort of my bed
Once more, perhaps, I shall walk
Crutches supporting me, I hobble, I nearly fall
I enter the witch's cave
Fungus covering the floor, barefoot I tread
With the padding of socks on wood
Into the smells, musty, dry.
And of bread slowly baking from long past times
And a gas stove which does not work anymore

I pick up the bomb that shall remove
The barriers that keep me out
From my home, my throne
Sanctuary shall shelter only its lord
Me.

 
III. - Into The Day

The floods come, tearing the walls down
Rending, obliterating any structure
The torrent sweeps away all humanity
Except me, flying
Feet never touching the ground.

The bomb had worked, or at least
In excess and overkill
But its sheer sound and power
Radiated heat and energy pulsating like drum’s constant four-four beat
The clouds were unlocked

Bliss, bliss, bliss!
And out poured the rain
Fallout from the skies, scouring life once more
From the city’s walls and city’s halls
Perhaps that was how the wasteland formed
But it does not matter to me
For I have broken Insomnia's walls.

My city falls and I am beyond ecstatic
Maneuver between rubble and death
And cross streets chest deep in water
Blood, and tears.

I reach my palace at long last
Its spire still stands, monolithic
Even as the grounds lie now in ruin
Forever. I climb up the marble steps
Spiralling into the sky.

Step after step
Within its claustrophobic interior
Without light, nor wind
Step after step
I pound away at the ground
With feet encased in shoes I have long kept aside and hardly worn.

Hunger pains me
My lips crack, blood oozing
I begin to faint, to fade
And then I see the sun at the top
At long last I see its rays
And I collapse at the plateau
My last breath disappearing
Into the day.

 
IV. – The Morning After -

Waking up to a familiar feeling
The warm sun on my face, I see, I hear

Had I fallen asleep? Had I rested
At long last? After an infinite time
I sleep! I sleep! I broke the walls into
My own city! My salvation at the
Ingestion of a pill (maybe two). I smile at last.

But as I swing my legs off my bed I
Cannot help but feel that I was not there.
In my body, I felt that I was just
Floating alongside. I did not exist.

I ceased to be, the moment I realized
That I never slept at all, but rather
Merely dreamed I did. Displaced memories.
Was the journey for naught? Was I nothing?

I ache, because I know there must be an answer
To some question? Sleep? Purpose?
Whatever it is, death can wait.
So can life. So can sleep. But why?

And an endless cycle, run the wheel
Run the gauntlet, for I am not dead!
But I wish I was, or perhaps I wish I were just younger
Or older, but in either case,
I wish the cycle broke and I stopped running
Stop right in my tracks back and forth from the wastes I made
And the wastes I will make.

In the end, we fall back asleep, having
Done nothing but hurt, feel remorse only
After we go, after we are gone. Then
Shall the land of dreams remain upright, unbroken. Its
Perfection, its beauty conceived broken
By its maker. Humanity sleeps and
Calls for entry to its heaven. Who are
We but our own guards to deny entry?
Who are we but our own guards to sleep?

Cognition, recognition, composition
Elaboration upon many ideals I broke, brought
To the table at which I sat, broke my fast
Eyes bloodshot but still seeing
Still seeing
Seeing insomnia stand
Seeing another night go by

Who are we?

I think.

--Edit: Uploading the one I edited for and added to after Lit Symposium. The final part is the part which got changed, and Null was added.--

Feast Fit For A King

We had to do a poem for lit homework, basing it off one of the art pieces our seniors did for their As. I kinda chose the easiest one, and I'm writing while being quite stoned, so this isn't the deepest nor weird poems I have written/ will write. But hey, it should be quite a fun read. Also, I kinda followed a rigid-er structure for this poem, so it actually looks poem-like.

Feast Fit For A King - 9.3.13

I.

"Today, we serve the choicest of all spreads

For the first ever food festival this

World has ever experienced of its kind

Come all, to this royal affair that we

Your friends, subordinates, have done for you

II.

Entrée, a cold dish of finger foods and
Scalloped eyes, with a serving of a brain
Cold, savoury, to whet your taste buds as
You wait for the next course, the relevés
Ignoring waste left on the plate, untouched

III.
Ah, here comes, the battered seafood, fried to
Perfection, crispier than one would guess
Served to our distinguished guests and esteemed
Gourmets, do not worry too much about
What is not eaten, merely scraps for beasts

IV.
For the dogs, and now we serve the main course
Bon appetit, sir, jar of worms opened
Served in a secret red sauce and glossy
Eyes, once more, deliciously round. using
Fingers to feast, he feeds, gorging all food

V.
The king's dish, tender, soft flesh and muscle
The exotic heart, once called the strongest
Emotion, compassion, love and care for
All beneath him. But this time, it is meat
Which shall sate the baying of animals"

VI.
"A heart is not simply enough any
More, neither are our thoughts and brains. Our five
Basic senses betray what we know, what
Is needed to save our conscience, morals
Before we all become like what we eat

VII.
A plea to all humanity to end
Our bestial and barbaric ways. We must
Take action, stop the inhumanity
Of human beings. Savages. Brutal in
Our apathetic hunt for dominance

VIII.
Open your eyes to see, if they have not
Already been eaten by your inner
Animal, cannibalized. And see if
You enjoy what you see, the waste, the food
The mindless indulgence that we all love"

IX.
"The desserts have arrived, after much wait
We apologize for the delay and
Hope you will understand we ran out of
Fecal matter to feed you, so instead
Have some fruits, and let me hear what you think."

X.
"Simply amazing, the world must hear of
This delicacy, this which our masters
Once devoured on a hot summer's day. They
Must enjoy the taste, that one of change and
Transformation, role reversal. So sweet.
Surely, a feast fit for a king of beasts"

Oh! The Glorious Sun

Oh! The Glorious Sun - 6.3.13

Under umbrellas, in the coolest shade
People wait for the glorious sun to set
Behind the hills and horizon, it must
Go, before they leave the relative cool
Of this ice cream parlour and the gusts of
Cold breath from air conditioning behind.

Alas, I cannot tarry much longer
Or face the wrath of my boss later on
If I were to enter the office just
Five mere minutes late, and I'm running out
Of time. So I bid adieu to all here
And flee, sweat dripping, to the train station.

Barely making it on, I stand at the
Door, its translucent window letting in
Jaundice rays, roasting my skin cells away
Losing    form,    perspiration,    composure
Slips    away    and    I    am    melting,    losing
Pretense    of    semblance    to    structure    and    shape

Words   no   long   er   co   he   rent   and   mean   ing
Any    thing   at    all    and    pour    ing    out    like
A   babe's    first    words.   Help   less   ness   in   fin   ite,
I    curse    and    swear    a    loud.    Re    sig    na    tion
Won    in    the    end.    Five    mi    nutes    past    two.    My
Lunch    break    over    and    per    haps    my    job    and
Life.   My    re    solve    slips.   I    begin     to   fade.
Sad    and     in     this    mess,    la     ment    ing     my      fate
IMeltIntoAMeaninglessAndSeeminglySentientPuddleAbleToCommunicateWithTheRestOfTheWorldWithAWateryMouthITryToTalk

-03/05/2013

Calling Of The Reservoir

Calling Of The Reservoir - 2.3.13

Another one created
Floating beneath a stygian sky
Unmoving. Still. Eyes
closed, blind to the world's turning.

A streak broken
A stream of As now Bs
A decision made
A human body under the waves

Another one joins
Many beneath the water's calm
Breathing. Gasping. Eyes
regretful, tears and river water mix.

A failing heart
A sadness of grief and loss
A step taken
A lover rejoins his love in hell

Corpse.

A botched interview,
his last chance to start anew
Lost after a short period of time
Money and now his life
Young, forever rotting eternally

A desperate plea,
her only way to rise to fame
Temporary on the news
Bought for a dollar and read.
Mere seconds, a glance spared

Be it any reason,
or person
Man of sorrow, child of woe
The river calls for a peaceful end
Until the shrieking in the night begins

Calm beneath the river's surface.

Entranced

Entranced - 1.3.13

My jeans, soaked.
And such discomfort
Neither bothered nor
distracted me.
Entranced,
a mirthless smile on dry lips.

Her shorts, dry.
Stood standing, staring.
An illuminated screen
of words.
Entranced,
a dazzling, wide smile on ruby lips.

Brown eyes, glittering
Mind far from
Where she stood
so close.
Entranced,
a moment frozen,
a moment of bliss and preoccupation.

- 1/3/13

This SHOULD be one of my submissions for the CAP. So... :/

25/02/2013: Day ONE

So. Another blog. I just hope I can fulfill my current promise to myself. What is that, you ask. Well, APAW. A poem a week. At least APAW. Just to push myself, to write better crap. Or at least, that's the objective. And rant longer rants here as well, as opposed to just twitter.

And not just poems. I'll probably fill this up with lyrics too, of songs which I've done over the past years. Perhaps even some of my short stories/ grandfather tales. Either way, an update a week. I hope I can maintain that. Maybe I should even expand on my tweets and stuff here. Maybe. Personalize this, at least.

But really, writing. Personal stuff can go elsewhere if it isn't an essay.

Also, I'm using this first post to just test templates and shit. Trying to keep it simple yet readable.