Qia (inspired) in the Rain

What makes you journey into the night
And take flight
on a pursuit of musical bliss?

Chasing beats
through ghetto streets
To a dungeonous temple left by our soul descendants
In a quest for peace, energy and light.

If you were to find this temple,
Do you have the knowledge to enter the temple?

Do you...want it?
And if you had it...would you flaunt it?

Well It’s yours!

There is approaching light
A-flowing, soaring through your world
The fire burns within your heart
And now it’s yours
If you feel it in yourself
I know the light goes through the stars

Acquiring entrance to the temple is hard but fair.
Track through God-forsaken elements
Because the reward is well worth the journey.
Stay steadfast in your pursuit of the light.
The light is knowledge.

You stay true to your quest.

So let the beauty that is the musical universe engulf you.
Recharge your spirit.
Purify your mind.
Touch your soul.
And give you the eternal joy and happiness you truly deserve.

You now have...

The knowledge.

Mamihlapinatapai

Loneliness is like sitting in an empty room and being aware of the space around you.
It is a condition of separateness.
Solitude is becoming one with the space around you.
It is a condition of union.

Loneliness is small, solitude is large.
Loneliness closes in around you;
solitude expands toward the infinite.

Loneliness has its roots in words, in an internal conversation that nobody answers;
solitude has its roots in the great silence of eternity.

- Kent Nerburn

___________________________________________________________

On the side,

So, guys. I was reading a book about steganography, but I've lost my place.
This is a really good story about antigravity. I can't put it down!
I fucking love this book about bibliophilia.
I started reading the Wikipedia article on gauntlets but stopped when it got too heavy-handed for my tastes.
I was reading the racy memoirs of a Wellington debutante but it made me feel a little sheepish.
I got all wrapped up in a book about bondage.
I wasn't very far into my text on psychological trauma when I had to stop. It hurt too much.
The whole nation is abuzz for the new apiculture guide!

Dawn

As she angrily struggled to hide the stubborn tears from her father upon taking off yet again into the always awaiting chock full of remote possibilities of what may be and whys and wherefores, she was sure of one thing and one thing only - the next time as those many occurrences encore, things will never, ever be the same, ever again. In a multitude, myriad of ways.

Hits and misses,
ghosts and corpses.

Plenty of times she had made the return journey. Plenty of times she burst into flames. Plenty of times she stumbled upon observant discoveries. Plenty of times she played this foolish game. But this time, as gracefulness and gracelessness were simultaneously felt, the tears they eked out uncalled for, unforgivable. Heartfelt hope and heart, they melt.

It wasn't too bad, what a fool she'd be to start complaining.

Now, would you kindly pass me the salt shaker? It is, but time.

Shangri-la, scream that you're happy
Shangri-la, even if you fall over on a straight path

Remnants Revisited

Recollections of yesternight indeed. Well, quite.

I spied with my eye as I hover-revolved - occasionally perching - around the throes of mental battle ensuing an excessive sluice of the written as those individuals rendezvoused amidst the city lights underneath a sole, sparkling star. The resounding stillness of the night was left to settle, only haphazardly punctuated by the constant barking of a distant dog.

Black, I imagined.

The rumblings of modern machinery were curiously absent. It could possibly be that its ubiquity has deigned or bowed its head to what is seemingly - or presumably - the oblivious.

No, not oblivion. Surely not.

It was as if time obligingly stood still, defying its very own principle of impatient indifference, forsaking the minute hand - threatening it that if it were to budge even a nanomiliminute, it would be immediately discharged of its duties and the second hand be immediately promoted to play both (very prosaic, imo) roles.

But we all know that the minute hand knew better.

Well well, shame on you Father Time.

Kaleidoscope

Hexagonal, polygonal?

People...
they see love in a kaleidoscope of ways.
Some give and give - relentlessly, unconditionally.



Wonder for me.

As for me,
love takes form as naturally
as reciprocation, the form
of thankfulness,
of thanksgiving.

I'm a taker and I
appreciate.

I'm a learner and a
subordinate.

And if there is
one thing,
a lesson,
as far as my mind can reason,

The gemlike fragments
tumble and combine
hyperbole, elliptical
topology divine...

may forever be
to me

undefined.

- an idle mind, Febru airy '10

Kitteh

Hi.

Did you know that an earthworm has 5 hearts? Urgh.

Dictionaries' Stories

Those little voices, they bring tidings of an impending misery.
Misery, that of which begets woe.
Woe, that of which begets a frailty deep within the corners of my mind.

Writing about the simple, everyday things in life has come to a grinding halt.


Loosely translated, it could possibly mean blogging.
(shrugs) Pah, nomenclature. I bet "translated" doesn't even come close to the right word.

But, I digress.


Instead, those swirling thoughts are either carefully nitpicked to fit in here - nothing too offensive or infuriating, for instance - or stored safely away in the drafts, locked, keys swallowed.


Why?


'Cause of all you pestilent judgmental creatures.
'Cause you can never be too good at what you do.
'Cause love and hate, both sides are conjoined. Physical forms have to deal with both sides of the coin.

All of us were wrong, except for you.

Silly little smart girl.

Eurus

I enjoyed it.

Potong

Who has never killed an hour? Not casually or without thought, but carefully: a premeditated murder of minutes. The violence comes from a combination of giving up, not caring, and a resignation that getting past it is all you can hope to accomplish. So you kill the hour. You do not work, you do not read, you do not daydream. If you sleep it is not because you need to sleep. And when at last it is over, there is no evidence: no weapon, no blood, and no body. The only clue might be the shadows beneath your eyes or a terribly thin line near the corner of your mouth indicating something has been suffered, that in the privacy of your life you have lost something and the loss is too empty to share.

My my, what is it, really -
Your inability, miss sully
to abort mission completely?

Your idea,
most childlike
like "dire rear"

Not quite.

I vowed, sorta,
to keep the beasties in check.
In rank and file and order,
to separate train from wreck.

Ergo, darling,
Friend or foe,
Scissor it - shoestrings, ties not bows.


- Anger, Janyuar2010

Fine

Reporting in on the fifth day of a new decade, for I am but as lazy as always.

How's everybody a-doin'?

Uni life had finally hit a brick wall and broke through it with might and much glory. I am now an aimless and purposeless being grasping around in the dark for the slightest semblance of...sense and gleaming hope and ambition whatnot and the like.

I foresee more updates, seeing that my schedule is in its lightest of states. (That is, if Glee and Californication have unsuccessfully snatched and whisked me away from the outside, sunny outside.)

For now, I want a workstation - for order, in rank and file, to sit up straight and sit back pillared.

Happy 2010!