Jumper

Everyone’s got to face down the demons

I think i got a pretty close look at my inner demons last night. The conversation with john, and the movie added up to some grand master plan.

We, as humans have the ability to rise above animals, living for pain or pleasure, but we seldom do, living in comfort zones. I would be guilty for living for moments, and extremes in emotions, loving the extremely painful, or the extremely wonderful.

Well at least I know what my demons are, and i have to take them into consideration when i forge myself anew. There are some sides of me that even i find hard to acknowledge. And i have only once found peace with that side.

Other than that my sense of self control and discpline has slipped too much over the last few years. And i need to find that again. I think i lost it in my comfort zones, when i stopped having to walk the line between loving myself and keeping myself under reps.

Well not that i know how far i can fall, which would be infinately, i need to find out how far i can rise, with all these restraints in place. The beast within me rages, and i will fight the good fight.

To everybody I know, when they were a child.

My eyes are tired. So i'll keep this short, like my sight. I've just come to realise how much i miss reading. And how little i have to read anymore. My attention span for reading has dwindled significantly, and i dont think i can read anything long and heavy. So that mean no metallica lyrics for me.

My Mind goes on auto sometimes when i read something with too many changes in one paragraph, by auto i mean that i speed read, i read every word quickly and then have completely no idea what it means. Not effective.

I started on an interesting journey into the pigdin language of the internet culture. And it kinda r0X0r j00r b0x0rz. Then i found out about wikipedia actually regconises the word engrish, and has a lengthy explaination for it, and an even lengthier and technical explanation for singlish. I miss finding out new things.

So i checked what they had to say about Antoine de Saint-Expurey the author of The Little Prince. Who had his face on the 50 Franc note. And found out that nobody knows how his plane went down, and the two choices are technical failure, or suicide. I found out that that temperamental Rose, was based on his wife Consuelo. I think a long time ago i fell in love with that rose.

And he had an astroid belt named after him. In a sense, he was just the little prince he wrote about.

I miss alot of things, but sometimes its better to just miss it. Harder, but better.

What a Female dog, this piece of fecal matter life is.

Sometimes i wonder why the hell i write, mostly it has become a habit. Some version of an outlet. I've been meaning to stop because this country is just too damm small. I hate how my attempts to fade into nothingness and my attempts to recreate my life are thwated by half of Singapore knowing my family. Mel you might be pelased to know that you're not the only one frusturated by this.

I'm trying to run away from my family life and its responsibilities, and it all comes to bite me in the ass. I hate this feeling of being trapped that i cant even live my own life. I've always got obligations to this and that. I hate being restrained. Though the wise restraints make men free, there is no wisdom in restraints if you've never been free.

This kind of thinking is like a Malay in a circular room trying to relac one corner. Absolutely pointless. I love Grey's Anatomy, its the most fantastic show on TV now. There was an episode on today about intimacy. And how in every relationship, there are rules for intimacy. The problem we all face is that there no hard and fast rules. Nobody really knows how much is going too far or how much is too little. It was concluded that these rules are something we have to find out for ourselves. Through trial and error, failure, tears etc.. What i thought i needed was a book titled Intimacy for Dummies. Now i dont think its going to help.

I need something more, something else, something better to get me through this life. And Crystal Meth will lift you up until you break. Baby Baby. Thinking about the Insurrections of night, sex is power, love is for sale, revenge is sweet, and gaining some control over your life and your destiny, having a goal to work towards creates a singleminded hope that we are who we are. But you never really know. At least for me, I've done nothing, and i dont know who i am, i just know what i am capable of.

But its frusturating, not having an escape, not having anyone who will take the time of day to talk. Maybe not talk, but to work towards your dreams with. In solitude there is only a sense of being incomplete. Missing a rib perhaps.

The first woman according to Jewish mythology was Lilith, who Feminists take their identity from. Maybe not all, but those that decided to start Lilith Fair. Once man was complete, god created a woman for him made from dirt, and she refused to submit to him. Because she though she was better and more than him. So she fled to the red sea.

God then made another woman, from flesh and blood, veins and fatty tissue, and whatever. Adam didnt like that because it was gross. So God made Eve, from a rib of Adam. Maybe that is why everybody feels empty alone. When you're alone you swamp yourself with work, watch TV, contemplate suicide, sleep as long as you can, anything to fill up that void. Because we all want to be perfect.

We want to love and be complete and whole. To love and be loved are two seperate things. Maybe we want them both. In a sense they are the same. Love is such a commercial word, and too ambigious. What i want is to belong. Maybe its a better word, hence my love for the non-vanilla.

With union there is comrpomise, and scarifice. There is that feeling that you're invincible, that you can do anything. Thats why man fell. And he would do it all over again.

There is also Lucifer who fell. He fell because he loved himself too much, acccording to the bible. My theory, it was his porpose to fall, because he was the most beautiful, God's gift to humanity. Neil Gaiman has a similar theory, but slightly different. Lucifer loved mankind too much, disagreed with God about our position on earth, and fled.

As our perceptions of heaven are that it is a beautiful and perfect place, our perceptions of hell are sort of shaped by Dante's Inferno (and probably before), the complete opposite. When we ask which came first the chicken or the egg, we assume one had to come before the other, why is it that we feel that Lucifer created Hell. Why was it not created by God "In the beginning", like everything else.

According to the myth, everything was created perfect. When Adam, named the animals on earth, he realised every animal had a mate, except him. And asked God to create a mate for him. I guess God said ok because he loved Adam. (Apparently before that Adam was fornicating with animals, and found no satisfaction in the act.) Maybe that was the start of imperfection, a love for self. Eventually adam was missing a rib and no longer perfect. God who had made things perfect had changed it. And we are what we are.

I think in our life, the only thing thats important is to be. Perfect, complete, whole. Neither Lilith nor the other who had no name were for Adam, because they are not a part of him. They do not understand him, and can not belong to him.

Who wants to live forever? Who wants to live even now. Peace upon the vespers glow. I know what i want. Though i don't know what love is, i know what it isn't.

Black and White Moments of Clarity

Sometimes the world makes sense. Mostly it is a garbled mess. But there are moments, when i know what i must do, what i can do, and what i will do whether i like it or not.

And in the face of these moments, i know there is a hope that my heart and head will aspire towards the same end. And i will be as i was, free.

"Harm ye none, Do what ye will"

Soul Marionette

Little star you've come so far,
So twinkle light as threads of lace
Bind them to a marionette
And dance upon my flickering faith
As warmth exudes from tender touch
And bodies move while fingers brush
My sight at rest, my dry lips part
A silent wish upon your touch

Mothers Mercy

I awoke from a dream. I thought i'd finally been able to get some sleep but my mind plays tricks on me. 3 hours again. Its been awhile since i've dreamt and this is the first time i talk about it. As usual its haunting. Asusual there is no obvious to be haunting, atleast in the exterme of leaving a bitter taste on my tongue when i awake. Or could it be the cigerettes and sleep.

It was a sunday, as easter ought to be, but i dont think it was easter. I was to meet my family at a lavish hotel for dinner, for a 5 star dinner. Buffet-like, with marvellous foods spread all around. Only i think my mother cooked it all. Somehow, but this is normal. It is in the language of dreams.

Before dinner, I met John and Pei, And Bear and we were talking about nothing in paticular.I think we were all hungry. So i ran along to find the food, getting something for myself to eat. John was his usual silent self. Pei talked to my mother. Bear got his own food, and quietly sat down in a corner and watched, expressionless, as if he knew what was about to happen.

We talked a little, Pei was warm to others cold to me, John was overall indiferent. I dont know how but i was people other than myself in this dream. I could see thought their hearts. The fish was good, which is unusual because i usually hate fish. and we ate little. Though it was a buffet, there was little to eat.

My cousins husband called me over, he was working for starhub, which he doesn't, Mel works for starhub, and has been pulling the hard sell on me for days. He said, remember the starhub fair i told you about, well you were right, it didnt happen. I had no idea what fair he was telling me about, but somehow i played along, I said yeah, they're just like the government they like to waste your time by making you wait for things that aren't going to happen.

I had no idea why that was funny or what it meant, because i find the truth to be in the opposite direction. There were some members from my church, and they seemed amused by it.

And i flit between tables. After that strange exchange, i felt a stabbing pain in my heart. Not a physcal one mind you, i'm pretty tolerant of physical discomfort. I looked for John all over and realised he was gone. Left without a goodbye, as if leaving was inconsequential.

I searched frantically because no goodbyes meant i would have to be indifferent towards what was happening and i wouldn't care if some part of me died. The part of me that cares abiut John that is, its hard to explain.

Then i saw Bear behind glass walls, having desert with my cousins. "Hey cousin" they called, "Where have you been?"

My mother found me trying to get behind the glass wall. Took me in, as suggested we have cake. As if she understood. Well maybe she did, if i were her maybe she was me too. And there was a glorious selection of gourmet chocolate cakes, the kind with an 18K gold flake on top.

I dont usually like chocolate, i dont know why it looked so good this time. And i awoke with an acute sense of loss. Dont think i can go back to sleep so here am i writing.

I hate the dreams. I wish i had sleeping pills again so i could fall into false sleep, rest without hope, or a restless hope. Sometimes i think dreams are just all the parts in you that you repress come back to not let you ignore it. Well whatever it is the dreams are back now, and i still have no idea what to do. Not sleping is not an option i'd hazzard.

I dont understand how a scene so qaint can leave me so empty. The scene and the feeling barely has to match up. I think i prefer sleeping on a full stomach because atleast i'm full some way. Damm shouldn't have been lazy and gone to grab some food.

I wrote this down because i want to know if tomorrows dream will continue from this. I have such a lousy sense of reality, and when i dream the lines fade even more. From feeling to people i know, I dont have any idea whats real or not anymore. I dont know if i know the people i think i do, or if i feel a certain way about a person i think i do.

Atleast i can see the uncertainty and lack of clarity now. Its so much worse when it all makes sense but it doesn't. My heart has gotten used to this now, the extreme lows. I need to fix my head. When i'm whole it all goes away. So all i have to do is love myself. If only i haven't given myself every reason not to. No shortcuts, fight or die.

I dont think however that i can go back to waiting for live to deliver its coup de grâce. As sure as i hope to be whole again, i'm afraid it will never come.

Easter Wednesday

Ironic how i return to the subject of easter. Easter Sunday is a day, as implied by the sun for celebrating life. However for me, I found a glimmer of hope for life anew on wednesday instead. Since i spent friday through sunday sick as a dog hoping as i lay me down to sleep, that the Lord my soul would keep.

I still remember that one night at phuture when they played rock. Little did i know the only two songs i'd remember came with themes i'd become aquainted with intimately. Namely Mr Brightside, and Changes by Sabbath. All in all it was a fantastic night.

Those songs i enjoyed dancing to, would have me dancing to them till i was sick. Sick in the stomach, sick in the head, sick in the heart, generally, sick.

John said change is unavoidable. In a sense its like saying "I didn't make this world, I only try to live in it." But change after all is unavoidable, and cruel. So i've changed since 2005, a year with too much pain and suffering to forget entirely. And when i thought i was done, content with indifference towards the world, which i figured out less than a week ago.

The rational for indifference is such. I fiugred i crossed lines within myself. And done some things i still cannot forgive myself for. And i turned my back on anything beautiful. And i have developed an acute fear of happiness, and anything that makes me smile, like that perfect day with Sammy. Since i wanted to not bother about myself, because of the way it was affecting people around me, since i felt i was so far gone from my ideal to be happy forever, i might as well give up on everything and strive towards indifference.

It all made a certian amount of sense.If i was indifferent nothing would bother me and i wont have to feel sad. I wont bother people. I wont let the way i feel about something cause me to make mistakes in my judgement (which is something i can not tolerate within myself). Only the price for indifference is letting go of happiness. Weighed against all my internal conflicts, and against my external conflicts, it was the better option.

The exchanges of the previous day helped steel my heart for the operation. Then very rudely you walked into the theatre, grabbed my heart who was being so brave and shoved it back into my chest. I dont even write the same anymore. I'll republish the entire blog so you can compare.

The only thing about you that infuriates me, is the way you make me come alive. Its the way you make me smile, not with the teeth, but with other organs that pump bodily fluids, the way it really matters.

It unnerves me the way you make everything alright. You understand so well. You say all the right things. I say all the right things. We all scream for ice cream. And when i talk to you everything becomes clear, and that vision of a perfect future doesn't seem so impossible. And i've got the heart to go on another day.

This is the slowest i've ever written, its so hard to get the words to flow, because i'm struggling so hard to not care, and i want to care so badly all over again. I dont write for anyone to say pity me, or for people to understand me. Whevever i write theres a mood and a theme and i love the sound of the keyboard going tap tap tap. And i write my heart out and how i feel at the moment. And its only in moments that i write. And its only moments that i live for. And when i read what i write its like looking at my moments through the eyes of someone else, and i can let it go.

Stars and Benu

WOMAN! Why u do this to me.

Thanks for absolutely ruining all my plans for self destruction. Doing all that giving me hope stuff. Bringing back all the memories like a smell that just too sweet it almost makes you nauseus.

Pulling me from my damm hidey hole. Where i thought i could be indifferent towards everything you have to come at just the right time and tear all the indifference out of me. U just wonder if i can hold you accountable this time. But i think i've grown enough to know that nobodys responsible for me but me.

How in gods name did you make me laugh, and make me flamboyant and flippant again. I'm glad you liked the poem. I'm glad you're happy. I'm glad i was happy. And for once in awhile i dont have to distrust that happiness because I dont owe you anything except my sparkling personality and some conversation.

I'd like to kill you for making me smile again, but if i had my way i'd probably lift you up spin you in circles and laugh until we're giddy. And then sit down and hold you like i'll never ever ever ever ever ever ever let you go [all over] again.

I can hear bells in the night sky, because they are not stars. Only time will tell if this was good [what is good ala desmond kon]. But for now it's just as perfect as everything else about you. Since you cant abide by imperfection [and honnestly neither can i]. For now time will tell.

Hope is such a dangerous thing. I'm in so much trouble for putting my life in something as thin as dreams and stardust, butterflies and shooting stars. One of my hugest failings is to always love the beautiful more than the pratical. I hope someone will pick me up when the bubble pops.

Theres still so much i have to say to you unfortunately we had to keep our conversation short. Another day perhaps.

I'll try to be alive again. For myself. For you. For all who can still love me.

You're the first person i think who i've ever told why Sirius is my favourite star. I guess because i've only just remembered. I love stars, Stars are beautiful. Please read Stardust. If you dont by the end of this year i'll buy it for you.

I've officially got enough rope to hang myself. But its nice to feel alive once again.

FAQ

Ok lets do a FAQ section for all those queaions i've been getting.

Somebody said I seem to be writing for a specific person.
Mostly Yes, I do, but that person changes from time to time.

Another person says my writing is littered with Chiches.
Because I like chiches, and i believe that if your're looking for universal truths chiches are a good place to start. You might dispute this take it up with me on msn.

There are a ton of Fragments.
If you don know what a frament is its a sentence without a subject. I hope I got that right. Thats coz I like being vague. Because nothing is certain.

Why the hell do I keep writing about love?
Because nothing matters more to me.

Why do I write so sparsely and sometime I just post alot.
Because i cant find the mood, or when i'm in the mood i'm not sober.

Am i going to kill myself.
I hope not but nothing is for certain

Why is my spelling so bad
I have no idea.

Why do i write.
Because i like it. And i express myself better.

How the hell do i write and express myself effectively if my spellings so bad
Thats your problem deal with it i like writing you dont have to read it if u dont want to.

What the hell am i doing with my life.
Waiting for something good to happen.

Do i hope people leave comments?
Yes, please criticise my writing and thinking. Not that i'd listen coz i'm stubborn as fuck but i'd take it into consideration.

Where the hell did half my blog go?
Its archived u can read it if you have my password.

Am i fine?
I'm as fine as a dime nothing bothers me and i bother nothing.

Would i like to Nampa?
Nampa Lampa! As much as i want to nampa i dont think i'm actually going to do it. Sorry to dissappoint.

Under Pressure

I have no mouth but I must scream! Now what was that, some game I think. Better title than the game could be so I didn’t buy it. How do I feel? As I described to Kelvin moderately fucked up. Which means fucked up but not suicidal. Hmmm as I recently learnt suicide is a human concept. There must be some human lemmings around then.

AgrHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!
There. Catharsis on type.

It's the terror of knowing
What this world is about
Watching some good friends
Screaming let me out!
Pray tomorrow takes me high high higher

I love Queen. One of the few bands I LOVE no matter what age I am. And Under Pressure is my favourite Queen song. Clichéd? But I Like it.

Insanity laughs under pressure we're cracking
Can't we give ourselves one more chance?

And we all crack. That too is a human concept. In a sense we're like eggs. What kind of eggs would we be? I'd say Easter eggs. Laid from a chocolate bunny. Sweeter than normal eggs and an overall fiction.

Why am I so sick and tired of this life and living it? Simply because I'm tired of believing in things. Like the sun will rise tomorrow like there’s another rainbow after the rain. Yeah its all facts. but I’ve had enough. Waiting for the fucking rainbow. Waiting for the next beautiful sunrise when all I’ve got is night, a long cold night to feel empty.

Why can't we give love that one more chance?
Why can't we give love give love give love?
Give love give love give love give love give love give love?

What’s emptiness? emptiness is the Vast Oceans. Its the endless skies. It's something sure its beautiful in its own respect but I’d hate to throw a song quote from another song ah well hating something never stopped me from doing it: "too much love will kill you".

I'm tired, and I need a place to rest my heart (cry for help #1). I woke up this morning and it wasn't a good morning. If I get a heart attack at the age of 21 or if I find a hole in my heart I wont be surprised. My heart is killing me. Killing me dead, dead as a doorknob, dead as Freddie, dead as a romantic in New York.

Cause love's such an old fashioned word
And love dares you to care
For the people on the edge of the night

How do we in a Morden world believe in love? Because Its such an old fashioned word. The only thing the survives the metropolitan life in the big city are roaches. What’s the point of trying to be beautiful when its not fashionable to be. Maybe its just me. Maybe I got the message wrong and it was beautiful on the outside but a festering turd on the inside. I'm tired of falling in and out of love. At the end of the day its just falling. Falling from reality, falling from the grace I gave myself.

That’s where people on the edge of the night come from. The Jaded, the tired, the hopeless people.

And love dares you to change our way
Of caring about ourselves

People on the edge of the night like me, who lives on London time. My parents say I don't sleep at night but this night in London innit? Day and night has always been relative to me, relative to where you’re staying and I consider myself a citizen of the world so I don’t bother too much with the technicalities.

Because we kill ourselves trying so hard to be the perfect person for the one we love. Trying so hard to keep a relationship going. Right? Isn't it about compromise? Isn't it about growing together? Achieving dreams together. That kind of Mambo Jumbo.

At the end of it all I started living at night. Because days are just for sunshine. And sunshine is just not a part of my life anymore. It’s sad but I’m almost used to living in darkness. My peter pan syndrome flew out the window. Tore a part of my heart with it. But it’s ok. Hearts are meant to be torn. As much as promises are meant to be broken. And rules, are just guidelines.

It’s almost funny. No matter how graceful you fall out of live. It’s like a heard of stampeding elephants trampling over you. Haha. Some animals mate for life, humans do on an ideal level. And we are not animals. This we constantly remind ourselves of that. Because we are CIVIL.

This is our last dance
This is our last dance
This is ourselves
Under Pressure
Under Pressure
Pressure

I’m so sick. Of always telling myself this is the last time. Loving like it’s the last time every time and then, finding enough of my self on the tundra (to my disappointment), to pick up and carry on. One day I’ll find a good reason to kill myself. I hope I die before then.