Omnia mutantur, nihil interit
"everything changes but nothing is truly lost"
July 29, 2009
when the clock strikes twelve
when the clock strikes twelve tonight, look for a star.
a very special star. for when you see it you will know.
damn it, you will know.
a very special star. for when you see it you will know.
damn it, you will know.
blue looks bad on me
some people, when they are down, they eat.
some people, when they are down, they get even blue-er.
me. i just want to move and run far far away.
some people, when they are down, they get even blue-er.
me. i just want to move and run far far away.
July 28, 2009
don't talk
there are certain things we never talk about.
like careful wanderers skirting a minefield, there are areas we just tread softly around. oh we talk about our pasts. we talk about the future. hopes. dreams. likes. dislikes. we talk about everything under the sky.
but there are just certain things we know not to bring up. never to mention even.
it's not that we don't know that the other person knows about it. he knows i know. i know he knows i know. i know he knows. yet, like dancing partners, certain steps you take. certain, you skirt around and twirl the other way.
is it because we do not want to break this illusion we have created? this time and space we crafted out of a sliver of reality? is it because we know that talking about certain things make them 'real'? not that not talking about them make them any less real. but perhaps we know, that by saying the words, something will change. perspective shifts. truths we tried to deny solidify. the lies we tell ourselves break and shatter. is ignorance really bliss?
so yes, there are certain things we just never talk about.
like careful wanderers skirting a minefield, there are areas we just tread softly around. oh we talk about our pasts. we talk about the future. hopes. dreams. likes. dislikes. we talk about everything under the sky.
but there are just certain things we know not to bring up. never to mention even.
it's not that we don't know that the other person knows about it. he knows i know. i know he knows i know. i know he knows. yet, like dancing partners, certain steps you take. certain, you skirt around and twirl the other way.
is it because we do not want to break this illusion we have created? this time and space we crafted out of a sliver of reality? is it because we know that talking about certain things make them 'real'? not that not talking about them make them any less real. but perhaps we know, that by saying the words, something will change. perspective shifts. truths we tried to deny solidify. the lies we tell ourselves break and shatter. is ignorance really bliss?
so yes, there are certain things we just never talk about.
July 23, 2009
when no means yes
last night i said no to a friend i've never said no too. not in three years at least.
it started to rain. did you hear it? that's the sound of my heart breaking.
when you know that no is the only answer. even though every cell in your being screams yes, do you still say no?
no it is then.
it started to rain. did you hear it? that's the sound of my heart breaking.
when you know that no is the only answer. even though every cell in your being screams yes, do you still say no?
no it is then.
July 19, 2009
confessions of a "maybe sadist"
i hovered near the door of my heart.
hesitating, i wonder if to nudge it open would be the best choice. perhaps some things are best left alone. call it denial but sometimes, denial's the only option life presents. "why take life so seriously?" pain will, after all, come, whether we seek it or not. the birth of a new born baby. the passing of a loved one or maybe even a stranger, considering how the world now is one. the loss of the bliss that was once ignorance. the neglect of a once-loved passion.
pain it seems is not something we can put away in the broom closet and close the door on.
why? why do we often open up the pandora box? like a wound that has not yet fully healed. we know that picking at it would result only in scars, yet pick at it we will, and often, over and again. till at some point, it is but a nasty habit. more than even a conscious act, it is a gesture at normality.
perhaps in some ways we are all sadistic. perhaps in some ways we revel in dwelling on self-pity. self-pity, the truly loathsome word. going over the pain again and again. we seem to somehow rejoice in feeling that odd stab in the heart.
that odd stab in the heart.
does it make us more human to feel pain? or does it make us less human to want to feel the pain?
hesitating, i wonder if to nudge it open would be the best choice. perhaps some things are best left alone. call it denial but sometimes, denial's the only option life presents. "why take life so seriously?" pain will, after all, come, whether we seek it or not. the birth of a new born baby. the passing of a loved one or maybe even a stranger, considering how the world now is one. the loss of the bliss that was once ignorance. the neglect of a once-loved passion.
pain it seems is not something we can put away in the broom closet and close the door on.
why? why do we often open up the pandora box? like a wound that has not yet fully healed. we know that picking at it would result only in scars, yet pick at it we will, and often, over and again. till at some point, it is but a nasty habit. more than even a conscious act, it is a gesture at normality.
perhaps in some ways we are all sadistic. perhaps in some ways we revel in dwelling on self-pity. self-pity, the truly loathsome word. going over the pain again and again. we seem to somehow rejoice in feeling that odd stab in the heart.
that odd stab in the heart.
does it make us more human to feel pain? or does it make us less human to want to feel the pain?
July 14, 2009
3am notes
lately the sleeping pattern has been quite crap, for lack of a stronger word. going to bed at midnight, i lay awake and wander the hours away. other times, going to bed at 9pm, the world rushes to yet another party while i fall and tumble into a dreamless sleep. unbidden, i'd come awake sometime between the dead of night and the wake of dawn.
most remarkably, i realized that lately, i have been writing in my sleep. no. i rephrase. i have been writing half asleep. maybe my muse is delighting itself, nudging me at 3am nightly, but come that hour, perhaps not precisely at 3am, but when the hands of the clock glow at that hour, a line would come. a dream-like phrase of beauty sneaks in, and i can't but come awake and make it real.
stay in my head, i thought. yet i knew even as i thought, neglected, it would flee.
like an unwanted love, left alone, shrivel and die it will.
3am notes. my dreams or yours?
spare me now and let me dream.
most remarkably, i realized that lately, i have been writing in my sleep. no. i rephrase. i have been writing half asleep. maybe my muse is delighting itself, nudging me at 3am nightly, but come that hour, perhaps not precisely at 3am, but when the hands of the clock glow at that hour, a line would come. a dream-like phrase of beauty sneaks in, and i can't but come awake and make it real.
stay in my head, i thought. yet i knew even as i thought, neglected, it would flee.
like an unwanted love, left alone, shrivel and die it will.
3am notes. my dreams or yours?
spare me now and let me dream.
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