« November 2006 | Main | April 2007 »

Friday March 30, 2007

Rest, my love

To him,

To say that I am not waiting is a denial
A shield I have formed
To protect my fragile soul
The thought of going through such agony
Brings silent tears,
Suppressed memories,
Faded spirit and sleepless nights.

It finally fell apart
The denial I've tried so hard
To form some kind of perfection
But the main inner voice has spoken
And put the rest to sleep
Awaking the one
Calm but fearful character.

Will you hate me, my love
When I really turn away
Succumbing to instant gratifications
Turning to those
Who have always yearned for me
Craved for me.

Will you hate me, my love
If I force my heart to stop beating
To stop beating for you
Breathing for you
To form a whole new utopia
Without you in it.

On my pillow I smell you
I hear you in my silent nights
The words you have whispered
In my ears, they sound so sweet
In my soul, they put me to sleep.

I know that i shouldn't wait
So I shall go seek
For unnecessary distractions
Maybe my soul
Will come to terms with this
For all I need
Is to chant every night
In melancholy I calm myself
Rest, my love, rest.

Posted by snowism at 01:51 AM | Comments (0)

Monday March 05, 2007

To eternal summer

To Azril aka. Mr. Paparazzi (I miss you, lad)

I dreamt of an old dream
Fields of gold, but mountains of corpse
Scented stench of the naked death
An indifferent aura sweeps across.

Coarse cry of the boy who cried wolf
A howl within; unmistakably eerie but unheard of
Obviously misunderstood
But hey, nobody cares anyway
Not today, not today.

A sudden outburst of flashing red in the inked sky
The corpses around let out a discreet sigh
The lad died yesterday
Died again today
Will continue dying infinitely
It gets too frustrating
When the atmosphere has gotten way stagnant.

Then came a lass
An object too white to be human
With swollen glassy eyes
That screams a thousand sorrows
Her pale skin stained
By the crimson tears that drained
Her stare slowed down everything a hundred paces.

She breathes in slow, detailed motion
I could hear her respiration
Every breath she exhaled
Sounded like death
Another crimson tear rolled down her pale cheek.

In a split motion she opens up her mouth
A piercing scream she let out
Spirits of pandemonium ran through the air
Poisonous, intoxicating.

Breathe my dear
Wail to the sun of your pain
Matters of life
A near life experience
By far, we not know what is faith
By far, we not know he listens
For what I would sacrifice to feel.

If I am cared, worried or betrayed
It shared the maybes
For this is the beginning
Of a childish monologue.

Written by Azril & Snow
271106

2006- Raya: I finally experienced a real Raya for the very first time and it was truly a glutton experience. Pret definitely enjoyed his tea.

2006- Christmas: Although beautiful as always, the deco was blinding; a little absurd at times. People were engrossed with them glassy, shiny balls and the insane rush to get a gift when most of them do not even know the point of doing so. I’m pretty glad I spent it on a train; although nobody wished me. It was, me, myself, in the train for a good 14 hours wearing my Christmas hat.

2006- Workplace: Jean believes that her bubble-blowing action (in the staffroom, excuse me) will cast all bad luck away. In her own words, she calls them “her bubble blessing”. I, on the other hand went along with it until it was “foaming” my laptop so I screamed, “My laptop, bitch, my laptop!”

I found this picture in my photos archive and thought it was interesting. The dudette is Jean and the dude’s Nizam. I suppose our workplace is really driving everybody bonkers.

2006- Hair salon: Behind every vain man, there is a… Snoop Dog?

I love them both more than they will ever know.

Sometimes I just can’t comprehend why you do the things that you do and why the things I wish you would do, you don’t? Help me understand, my love. I prefer to tango rather than doing the limbo rock. Really.

This boy, this boy, my beloved Eugene. Our constant avant-garde poses allow us to survive our “same-shit-different-day” kind of environment. We pout very well too, no, we’re more like pioneers. Try us.

Very often we find people in search for the perfect figure, the perfect hair, the perfect face, deluded to think that those attributes can offer them the perfect life. If you’ve read my previous entry, you will realize that a change in physical attributes result in nothing. It is good that I have never lived in the illusion that it would change anything.

While most people kill for Spice-Girl-straight-ironed-out-hair or at least some killer crazy wavy curls, I finally opted to “kill it”, mess it up, back-comb it, DESTROY IT. I can hear my mom’s distant voice screaming, “WHAT!!??”

When I sent her pictures of my not so desirable hairdo, she was like, wow, it’s pretty and it looks great on you. I was thinking to myself; mommy will not like shitty dreadlocks when she sees them for real and the fact that if I finally decided to not want them, I go all hairless ape! She tried to stay calm when she finally saw me when I went back for Chinese New Year. She went like, “Oh my, I didn’t know they ACTUALLY look like that.” And then came the ever-so-common question, “How do you wash your hair? Or do you NOT wash your hair???” Just for the record, I wash my dreads very often and they smell good 24/7. Poor mommy.

Posted by snowism at 12:22 AM | Comments (6)