I Am Melancholy

I believe that everything has a soul, even an item so superfluous such as a receipt. They live in everything tangible, obscured and quiescent. Lying there, absorbing every moment of our lives as if it’s their only sense of subsistence. They are the essence of life, a living legacy ready to evanesce and disperse into our thoughts to invoke the lost memories...

These things; they are the spiritual embodiment of emotions through the passing of the space time continuum, a living thought amidst the passage of past and present. And when we pick this “thing” up and reminisce, it threads into our sub conscious, pulling every bytes of memories it can find associating it with this “thing”. When our mind finally process the thought, reliving the snippets of our pasts... We find ourselves crying or laughing, at this end in time.

The nostalgia of dejected heartbreaks, the end of a love lost not to death but a social divide. Bleeding from the broken mirror that I tried to piece, I can’t feel nor find pain anymore, for melancholy has overtaken my state of mind...

I am melancholy... Which is like happy for deep people...

Photos

Primitive people believed that the camera will capture the soul of a person through the window that connects it... But I believe that it is time that captures the soul and greed that corrodes it. And that the camera is a time piece, a matchless instrument in the stoppage of time...

Flashy lights, frozen moments, time broken into bits and pieces, literally. If humanity were to define eternity, photography would be the closest we can ever achieve. For it is what we had lived and lost that time acquires its definition. And the commonest we could ever come to stopping time would be to frame them behind a glass and hang on a wall or archived into the albums of past illustrations.

As I try to stop time like catching the raindrops of a heavy rain, all I could ever hold on to are the remnants of the past. Evaporated particles counting down to the end of the day, cascading memories rushed in torrents through the disparity between each finger. What’s left are these images; the only prelude to all that I have and could ever visualize.

As days and months passed by, I looked back at all the past portraits, and I wonder...

How is it possible that one could miss a person to the point of tears...

Armageddon

In this dark world of Necropolis, clouds overcame the sun’s radiant light, the bull that once rallied has been devoured by the bear and darkness engulfs the spectrum of every mind and thought. Rumbles of tremor can be felt at the outskirts of the cities as the news sets the mood on the moment of despair. Leaders of greater force braced for an impending Armageddon, no matter how futile it might be.

Men dressed in dark clothing, coats and flashy tags mourned in the front of the plasmas and LCDs drenched in the seas of red, in this part of the world we call Asia... Sharing the same sentiments along many others chained to the ripple effect of globalisation. We bled not through our gelatinous cage, but through the numericalness of our lives. We mourned not for the deaths or tragedy that is isochronous in this world, but for the demise of conglomerates and banks.

The end of the humanity is at hand, not by god’s will nor Mother Nature, neither is it by a plague that ends all breathing. But the devastation of a system we humans advertently crescent.

At the end of day, we have only ourselves to blame...

Tomorrow the bloodletting continues...

Ambitions

Exchanging our time for the pecuniary satisfaction of this materialistic world, we adhere to the doctrine of “Money can buy happiness”. Or at least somewhere along that line. Some of us work for the subsistence of our loved ones; for the better future of our next generation. In the process to become a slave to the economy, we try to find a balance in doing what we like with what we have no choice in... We try to find something closest to our ambitions and we work around it. Eventually to realize what we started out to, or get stuck in the middle of a gratifying paycheck.

At times, I would debate within my sub conscious. About the endless probabilities in future, about the limited knowledge I have, about finding a way to do what I want and living the life I want. Though careers and decisions do change along with the hands of times, my dreams and ambitions never change. Some of those in my sphere of influence love the arts of culinary, so they chose the path of being a chef. Some others shares interests parallel to mine, thus the decision to be associated with a bank. While some prefers the logical explanations science can endow them, hence the resolution of being the next Einstein. Then there are also some of those who want to be the next Rambo, and joined the army and pledged a few years of their youth to the government. I guess the saying of “Everything will fall into place when the time comes” does exist.

Articulating ambitions into words is simply too hard, for I could write a million and one words, yet I still could not fully convey it. Thus there are such things as “Jobs”, with less than 10 words, it recapitulate our aspiration into a universal motif.

I Drink...

I drink and I drank and I keep on drinking. Until I cannot place myself exactly. Physically. Psychologically. Socially. Emotionally. Morally. And this I confess.

I think I am drunk. But I prefer the term to alcoholic. I drink until I am nothing and no thing. And less. And lesser than that. To the eventuality of nothingness. In entirety, I planned to drink this world away. To drink another world in. Through a rush of sensation, one gives to the other, until I can insinuate myself inebriatiously through the osmotic portal. Into a world of giddy delights and softer consequences. Into the world of fuzzy visualizations and indistinct avowals.

I’m good at it. At being drunk. The semi-liquidise existence of a professional verdant. I can be more drunk than anyone has ever been, ever in the history of everness - and still I can drink more. For I have plumbed to the highest depths and aspired to the lowest pinnacles of inebriation - and am none the worse or wiser for it. It is who I am.

And I drink to confessions that beg no forgiveness.