bad poetry #24

my army of ex girlfriends
ambush me in dreams
smother me with their bosoms
"why have you forgotten us?"
"why have you moved on?"

over time they blur into one
enormous grotesque hobbling anime fiend
a sensory stew of familiar scents
sweaty skin and coital vocalizations
a golem raised from the dirt of heartbreak

my army of ex girlfriends
relentless in their pursuit
of a fond memory that i may hold
"what about the good times?"
"what of the joys we shared?"

charitably and honestly i reply
that in stillness
nothing is ever forgotten
my center is still
but life is kinetic
and so must i be

running

sometimes you run, metaphorically.

past bus stops, decorated indian temples, upmarket riverside eateries. you run until you are too tired and numb to feel anything; happiness, sorrow, pain, regret, elation, even the feeling of being tired. then you collapse in a zen-like calm, the certainty of feeling nothing potentially better than the possibility of feeling good.

while you run you stack layers upon layers of moments and distractions, burying items and people and things you wished you hadn't said and the helplessness of situations you could not control and the nagging thoughts of things you could have done but din't do.

and you get frustrated that your mind harps on such needless things when other people have serious issues at hand; like waiting for a donor heart (which means someone else has to die for them to live), or trying to find a third minimum wage job so they can feed their family of 10 growing kids, or tracing a family member who dissapeared after he started that 'subversive' anti-government blog. you try to rationalize it by blaming the piscean sign you were born under, even while you know this explanation is glaringly irrational. so you are left with the only conclusion that your inability to shut out your own petty problems must prove you are selfish.

but you can't shut them out, in your dreams you are looking for someone. you visit their bedroom but find everything has changed and there is someone else living there. everyone you meet in the dream is a bit like that person, but only they're not that person, and they don't know where that person has gone, and you wake up without ever meeting the person you were looking for.

it must be time to start running again.

voted most powerful moment in my film viewing experience

selective memory

i'm think i'm getting better at forgetting things that cause me distress. i would like to have memories of galloping unicorns to fill in those voids.

nice horsey.

art imitates life imitates art

so like, that's me, sitting on the couch, except it isn't. after enough drinks, i couldn't tell the difference between footage and reality.

the satellite

i want to be self sufficient
without need for oxygen
at a vantage position
to burn up on reentry

from a cold orbit
spying sleeping children
and jaded lovers
i wish for nothing

i am the satellite
speaking in coded beeps
sweet signals of endearment

to a world without comprehension

manifestoe

in 5 billion years the sun will begin to die, first engulfing the earth and scorching it beyond recognition, wiping out our collective dreams, hopes, petty wars, miseries and grocery lists.

the towers we build won't matter. the heartbreaks we accumulate won't matter. matching accessories won't matter.

as such, there is no point to anything we do today, if not to be at peace, to celebrate the fleeting spark that is humanity, and to bring pleasure to other sentient beings (and adorable animals too).

footnote: there is no god, or afterlife.

don't buy me

i dreamnt that one day all advertisments turned on their masters. they began to reassure people that what they owned was enough, coveting that luxury car will not make them truly happier. everyone was beautiful and special and different, they din't need to be slimmer, or younger. for the first time people felt content and happy, realising they had all they needed. people stopped spending, no money was circulating and soon the advertisements dissapeared. without their reassuring messages, people became insecure again.

highways

sometimes, work brings me to out-of-the-way places, like little sleepy townships strewn with uncompleted housing projects and empty shoplots. are these the modern ruins of a wasteful civilisation, a legacy we leave for future historians?

i usually want to get out of these places fast, my damansara boy sensibilites are greatly unsettled by the surroundings. soon i discover there is no easy exit to the nearest highway, the lifeline that will bring me back to my lovely middle class bangsar. little sleepy town settled by the ghosts of economic crises past, i'm right next to the north-south expressway with no means of escape. what must it feel like for the locals, to sit next to an artery of modernity and watch progress pass them by?

highways bring distant places closer, but seperate neighbour from neighbour. i remember a time in school when i could just cross the street to the stores. the ldp sits between the two now.

flower power

noticed how chrysanthemum tea in packets taste nothing like real, brewed counterpart? i wonder how it evolved to this point. will it continue to change, so that one day packet chrysanthemum will be a totally different creature? the only thing keeping it 'chrysanthemum' in our minds will be the yellow packaging and the yellow coloured fluid. branding will overcome our sensory judgement and render the actual product irrelevant, we will continue drinking packet chrysanthemum, the mind is fooled into likening it to the real thing.

and we shall never awaken from this stupor.

i'm collecting scenes

dummy first post

first posts are the hardest. all the pressure to say something worthwhile. like so many other things in life, i'm avoiding the real problem with a brilliant workaround. witness my dummy post. so this isn't my first post, no siree. this is a stupid made up post.

...

you know the hardest part of starting a blog, apart from the first post, is finding a damn blogspot name that isn't taken.