| i got depressed today after i saw a dead bird. |
| i'd been fine otherwise, feeling quite pleased with myself as i'd managed to master physics using massive amounts of calculus. while i wasn't exactly happy and brimming with goodwill (calculus isn't that great), i felt vaguely at peace with the world and the anticipation of grocery-shopping was keeping me awake. |
| then the dead bird happened. the thing with all these squashed animals is that they barely resemble what they used to be. ex-life is identified using the crudest features: feathers, spindly legs that have been trod on by countless pedestrians and rolled over by bikes, to the point where they no longer mean anything except what they were once associated with. these are the choice ingredients of bird, now destined to be part of pavement until decomposition is complete. |
| i shuddered and felt grossed out coz.. well.. god knows how it died (probably very grossly) and dead things are, like, gross, you know. in all likelihood, the pangs of grossimilitude experienced were the social byproducts of qualities of 'natural' squeamishness bequeathed to delicate females. |
| death dealt and dismissed. and with such vapidness. that depressed me. |
| not, of course, that in a perfect universe, passersby would stand silent for a minute or so, and shed tears for this small but infinitely precious life now departed. that's just ridiculous. |
| so what's my point? .. erm.. i wish death was more subtle and didn't leave carcasses lying around. ..no. actually, that's it. there should be some figurative beach in inner mongolia or somewhere equally remote where death occurs. like what dolphins or sea cows do.. death should take place at a distance so that the living are not left with the gory aftermath of physical remains and nothing more. it's horribly sad when the sole memory of life is the lack of it. |
| cui bonum? delicate female sensibilities, that's what. ahh.. vicious. |
| |
| it must've been a tuesday. |
| i grew up thinking of the future as a fancy sort of interior decoration. white and clean, with maybe a bit of cool shiny steel for aesthetic effect. and in the background, all these people who knew exactly what they were doing, walking around with eyes fixed firmly forward, emanating some god-given purpose i wished to have for my own. |
| now, as i sit in the hallway watching other sorts of people, i think that perhaps we were all born with a full cup of hope, much like fresh milk, that drains away or turns rancid as we grow older. and if we could throw it away and maybe get a new cup, things wouldn't be as bad as they are.. but instead, chubby hands grip and grip tightly (almost like death), and the decay leaks slowly into our lives. |
| not to say, of course, that the future is disappointing (well, maybe it is, but not all of it, mind). i certainly wish things were cleaner; it was almost as if the colours of the world had gradually diffused into one another, homogenised and become a dubious shade of grey-brown. |
| jack called and asked me to meet him here, and because i lose all traces of my own will when he demands it, i said okay. i guess it's rather stupid to want to submerge your personality in someone else's but it's jack. i've seen women in bars offering themselves to him and being told to fuck off (but politely), but still the lines form and the women persist until jack gets annoyed and leaves. me, he tolerates.. for a short unhinged period of time, i entertained the possibility that i was the love of his life and was very very very blissed (better than pills, girls) until he brusquely told me otherwise. i have since assumed the role of asexual sidekick, but only because he asked nicely. and maybe also because the looks of insane envy i receive are rather amusing. |
| |
| i was told to come along. |
| and i did, like the ritualistic lamb to slaughter. i fingered the amulet with which, for fifty cents, a dirty old man in a faded purple t-shirt had assured me of good luck forever and ever, and wondered aloud when i would next get a haircut. |
| don't count on it ... the man laughed, but not without humour. he shot me a cursory glance, and shot another at his watch. he suddenly walked faster, and i felt myself yanked along as if some invisible chain bound me to his steps. |
| i hated the suspense: it sent wrinkled shivers to my fingertips, and the hand that grasped the amulet trembled a little. ...so where are we going?... i asked, as casually as i could. he didn't answer, didn't even look back. |
| |
i saw two ways out of here..
.. and i thought maybe if i did the right things and pushed the right buttons (in the right order), those doors would open.
but the insane helplessness that comes.. after all possible permutations of button-pushing.. and the doors still firmly closed..
a creeping thought: maybe there is no right. |
| maybe the moral of my story is : you fail |
| |
he looked up at her and said,
"i thought if i learnt to love, i could be a real boy."
she looked back at him with no comprehension in her eyes, smiling..
"you're not made of wood, silly " |
| |
| i don't need your love, your version of love. you are an ephemeral stream of water on my face, and you refresh me. but after you're gone, i'll still be thirsty. that's it in a nutshell, baby. |
| |