Immaculate warrior, you always die

If ignorance could be beauty what pretty souls we would be?

Like the sleeping mountains

we shall marvel as mutes,

and be ragging deaf

as the shunned wild skies.

Like a feather from a fleeing crow

we would fly,

and sparkle like a fish,

that just died.

Like the tempting Sun in vain,

that will never collect the drops of rain;

we'll be mad waves searching for land,

just because we always crave.

The Gods have proclaimed we always say,

but to look around we always forget.

To ride a starving horse is not a must,

because you are a warrior who is soon to be dust.

Be your own ride home

It's the week of a fox with alot of sly prancing around from others, barking out things they meant to say but never did before. Nothing has been pleasant so far. A few days off without meeting any Rambos to let everything hit the hot wire which would eventually bombard sobs and tears. It did take a turn this time though, where I'm pretty convinced with most of the 'advice'. Some came from the people I could never see myself even conversing without going 'pfft' and to the others I were the 'promising child'.It does seem a must to hear what the world has to say. It becomes vital. To what extent we take heed is the catch. The disappointment should be self generated, not inflicted.

We will on earth be forever with strangers. You have to like it or simply live on a blow doll. Life is not a destination but a journey said Steven Taylor. Bad keeps rolling our way when it's settle down time. So no more 'settling down' for me. Grabbing life by it's balls and spin is what I'll do. It's not the most painless trip, yet you know you look dashing. wink.

Oh, and dash alone. So much easier...

The tick feat

It never seemed so hard. I've done it quite a few times and I always forget how hard it was. You don't care if you said good bye or not, you just miss everyone wholesomely. Whores, bores, killers, lovers, rock stars, morons, drunkards, nerds, gays, strays, nuns, bananas, ghouls and angels; it's wholesome.

I've listened and watched ready to carry them around in a mental diary. The diary doesn't filter nor does it give ratings. Except maybe the ones. I love the ones. They are not in a mental diary but safe in the heart.

The hardest is the thought of leaving home. The notion of always being foreign is almost intimidating really. Those sights and sounds that remind you, where you come from will be missed dearly. The taste of the wind will be anonymous and the scorch of the sand will be anonymous. They are all anonymous but adaptable, so survival will take care.

Leaving is always a reminder, of how time and we are one entity. It ticks and we tick too. We tick in and out to the North and South, we tick left and right with the East and the West. You tick or you're kicked, right out to the universal blues of a mess. A mess that will degenerate anything and everything you achieved in the past; your feat. It's true, you won't have to leave until you're ready to go.

What does your tick say? Will we tick together one day? I want to know how you tick. So hell yeah, I'll watch and listen, and I don't think I'll stop.

Never sink China Doll

It's a blur but we still remember it all.

Now when you are sitting in the middle of the sea dressed and labeled as what everyone wanted to see you as, makes you feel like a super laughing stock. It's a memorabilia; for you and the many who wanted to ever seek you messing it up.

You start with letting go of that mask. You take it off for the very one you made sure you never will. The problem solves then and there. You get the support, you get the reassurance, you get the protection and most of you feel the game begin.

You can't stop the lips, you can't stop the winds but you can swim. Sometimes, running away is the beginning. Just make sure you run right to the right side with the right one.

The Waiting Fucktor

Met your psychotic eyes, crashed at your perfect grin, saw the setting sun, got salted at the beach, had a few beers and so I had to say this.

To wait. It kills.

I wish I could kiss.

Take you away,

bring you back,

bid you farewell

but remind you,

I'll always be there.

Maybe I won't.

Maybe you won't care.

But you the sun that sets,

leave a tear in my eye.

As you reach for her the sea

and not me the sky.

So,

To wait it kills. I wish I could kiss.

Now go have another local beer.

Pills that drain and stain.

A hydrant I have been for the past few weeks and it's not the best of feelings. It takes your body to rot away till you can get some attention around my household, because everyone has so much of tolerance, and so expects everyone to have as much tolerance as possible.

After throwing up over 5 times within 1 hour or so, my dad was convinced it's time to head for pills. So off we go to a dispensary, where people who can't afford would usually walk in. I always had a way with not so able people in life. I looked up to them for all that horror they went through just to feed themselves daily, while we find our horrors trying make the right choice of lipstick for the cocktail tonight. Whore.

I flash a smile to everyone amidst my whimpering pain, and then groan because I know I have to wait. This wait, is usually hours. My realisation falls down to the bottom of my shit list when a kid walks up, looks up at me to greet me and then pukes right in front of me reminding me of an exorcism. I felt my biological pipeline triggered off immediately, but I still say my prayers and it works regardless to the fact I sit comfortably on the top ten in Satan's list. I started helping 'Emiles' mother clean up, while everyone else rushed out in disgust. Morons.

Settling my dad on a seat, I finally sit on a worn off chair myself. I dozed off completely with no food or drink for whole 24 hours or more. Then I remembered....

Back in time, when I'm sick I was happy. My mother stays back home without being off to work. I get everything I want. I get a cozy blanket and bed sheet to go with. Warm warm bathes. Hot hot food. The home made soups and the famous Elephant House Cream sodas and Cream Crackers. Not to mention the ice cold, Cologne soaked gauze that is put on my forehead to ease the pain. The big big hugs and kisses. So, being sick is all you ever wanted. Bliss.

Ching! It's finally us. I drag myself in just to see the doctor on the phone. She makes me sit in front of her, while she bitches about her colleague to another. I couldn't stop eavesdropping and realised she is bitching about the very doctor who cured my dad many years back. Humans.

A good 30 minutes and then she gives me a thorough examination to know where I live, what my father does, where I study and if I'm off to another country after my studies. It all adds up to the bill you see. Three hours and I finally drag myself and dad out of there. I couldn't focus anymore and I remember my dad say my eyes were blood shot. I go home, no one to really warm up water so it was the cold splint of water down my back. I had to take a wash after that dispensary. I hit the bed and I think. Blackout.

I was not well after the dosage. So off I finally went a real hospital with all the blood tests and AC. Another new dosage which had almost triple the number of medicine given by the dispensary. So did the cost. Luxury.

The reports made matters worst with conclusions drawn I'm mighty messed up. So precautions started to pour in, and now I'm in a glass box. These are tough times and I can't afford to be in a glass box. Not now, never. I am an investment with a virus. Aiyo.

The pills made me feel like a toad, so I crave for the sun. I love the sun. Always will. I walk down streets just to smile with the sun. Then now, I know the cure. Warmth.

My stone cold face hangs as the childish loveliness has drained. I try to bring it back not by eating hot hot soup, not by a blanket so warm, not by smokey baths, not by hot water bottles and certainly not by running back to my mothers' arms, but by powdery expensive pills. Pathetic.

When Life drains, you end up a stain. So stop the pills and hit the beach. Live.

Passing by the picture perfect

We all have difficult weeks. One with unending failures are the worst ones.

Next comes the usual outbursts that is nothing but alot of crying, whining, hair loosing depression and loads and loads of sleep. You just lie on your bed, while every minute adds a new reason for you to lie low and, sink even. Starting with realising how fat you are, how sun burnt you are, how lonely you are, how everyone jeers at who you are, how stupid you are and how dead you are really, the sensuous hums of denial flows in triumphant; it's murder in the wind.

One thing lingers in you mind best at this moment; even if your just blowing it out of proportion; You've lost it all. We conclude there, but what if we step beyond that line?

You've lost it all, so.......What have you got to lose? Start over sounds like the simplest plan.

Emotions are not easy to get over. As simple and common that ideology is, the hardest it has been to conquer the real remedy for it. It is as unique as you are. It is mysterious as you are. It's your mental finger print, that no one but you know and go through. No one can save you or share you beating yourself up. Don't expect anyone to either.

We rewind life so much, we forget the present and that future waiting with his arms wide open. Fall down; feel helpless, sit down and let it pass by. Just don't sit there frame the picture into perfection and watch. Your admiration of your grief will inhibit you from seeing the walls of time falling apart along with a life; a life that you could have built up to a fortress of glory resembling your greatest strides of recovery.

Remember that merry-go-round and the world that becomes a mere blur you simply pass by while you enjoy spontaneous doses of the rush? You never did let go of that horse; you never let go of this life.