Fates Collide

Fates collide, emotions defined. In the midst of time and space, I thought I had long forgotten how it felt like... To be remembered at various interval, to connect however densely on a daily basis.

I thought I will be able to leave here, without any hopes or reason. I thought I am just a hunter on a tag and release basis in this thing called love. Where I could only catch and not possess love. Where everything was just as fast as I had caught and let go. And just as I thought I had ran out of ammo to be in this game of love. She appeared and made me realize; love is not a hunt, it’s a chase. A chase against time, in relativity... A chase to cherish whatever moments we are left with. No matter how short, how fleeting...

As each date passes by, I find her closer to be who I want to be with. As we connect across the radio waves of text and voice, each wave reverberates us closer. Closing the gap of anonymity, bridging our expectations, weaving an understanding ever so personal, only we knew...

First Tryst...

It’s amazing how our thoughts can change with the people we meet. No matter how brief, how random. As each day flips through like pages of a storybook. Lines and paragraphs counting down to the end of each page. Unveiling new characters and plots; revelations which we have no control over.

Among the lists of characters we meet, are what defines us. Friends, lovers, allies and adversaries. With each, comes a different theme to our story. A vicissitude to an unchartered tale. And among the many we’ve met and lost, are the special connection that binds us along this high density living.

Each line of fate, weaving upon another to reach out to each other. And as this great tapestry of fate wound through time, our lives intersect with other lines. Creating the fabric of providence, meeting the people that could change our lives...

With just this one determining moment in time...

Our first tryst...

The Last Word

The end is a word, and that’s the way it had ended...

A poignant perversion, the travesty of love. Once part of a great legion of works, in eventual catharsis. Enchanting as it sounds, as eluding as its spelt, it is just an amalgamation of pre conceived ideas along the lies of emotional congruity. Love...

The acquiesce of a fissured bond, split literally between the physical expanse of various others... Laconic argot phased and paraphrased into obeisance of a different kind. Our locution meant nothing more than just consonant waves fitting astride the convivial ambience. The farthest anything has ever gone is the barrier of an eternal stillness. A wave indecision at near infinite attenuation. Broken...

A blithe indifference, in modicum sensibility. The last glimmer of the human matrix as all things are rendered useless and broken. Nightmares became just reminders of the dearth in hope and will. Time is just poisoned along the evenness of death. Life as an entity has lost all intendment, varying into the stratosphere of emptiness. Gone...

Love... Broken... Gone... There is nothing left, and that’s how it should end...

My last word...

Alone

These few days I find myself staring more at still waters than starry skies. Asking more of the what not than what if’s. In an attempt to adjure angels, I spawned demons instead. And these demons are past abominations, drowned along into the still of time, now only to be back into the abyss of my mind.

I find truth in deceit, life upon death and among the various antonymic conjectures; I solemnly swear. I am not infallible. I have down times and up times like a rollercoaster, I have times when I write simple and times I go in riddles. Then there are times when I thought my predicament would be worst of than others, and that it had imploded into a global endemic. Even I admit that’s not how it should be...

As my mind screamed through the inner core shedding the skins of my emotional sore. I closed the gaps between the void of my soul in writing. I find this close amidst the openness of everything, and realise this is perhaps my only chance at salvation... For there are too much things on my mind...

Things that have no meaning, no impact upon who or what I am. I don't even know why I have these broken things within me, inside my head. But I have to record them anyhow - because I have to tell them to someone, someway, somehow. Because I need someone else to know. To maybe, possibly, understand.

Because I don't want to be completely...

Alone.

Cerebral Seepage

These few days I find my mind wandering more and more from the places it should be to the places it wants to be. I find myself waxing, with greater frequency, as my thoughts ebbed and flow down the ripples of eventuality. And I looked back and wonder... Why do I still think of such broken things...

Sometimes I'll catch myself mid-sentence, about to explain how I believe the global population explosion has rendered the communal consciousness not only incoherent, but totally dangerous and dementia inducing to anyone who hears it. How the uber-thought now makes no sense, leaving us without a prevailing zeitgeist and thus no soul. How recurrent exposure has sewn corporate symbols into the fabric of comparative religious sense, raising golden arched effigies and bespectacled antichrists asking: 'where would you like to go today?'. How the eventual demise of businesses became the genesis of an economic triage.

More and more I wonder if I'm doing everything I could to stem the tide of global erosion. If I am fighting the system from the inside - or if I have really gone native in the land of the enemy. If a stint of social sabotage or paradigm terrorism isn't in order to reaffirm my position as an avid seeker of the long lost human spirit. If playing the everyday zombie hasn't sucked away my lust for karmic redress and sophoclasm...

...and then I'll come back here to you and realise revolution can start with a few simple keystrokes.

Time I Have Wasted

Tree trunks grow bigger each year by adding a new ring of growth. It takes place in the cambium, and the amount of rings is the measurement of a tree’s age. It is only after death that we could count those rings. Humans grow old each year by adding a year to their age. At the end of our lives, our bones will be the only remains as the only indication of our age... And it is only after death that we could really determine our exact age; down to the very millisecond.

And inbetween, we try to remember ourselves as the second hand unwinds. The notion of numerical remembrance blurred to the stage where calculations has to be done to remind a self of time. Diffusing the right with the wrong, happiness from sorrows; in an attempt to qualify the chapters at each vicissitude, we use such flawed words to remind ourselves how we felt. Until we ran out of it, until we could no longer find a different word to depict these assortment of emotions... Until eventually we are obtuse by our own scales of measurement... And we just stopped one day; trying to understand how we felt...

Presents, celebrations, party and cakes. They are just economic arbitrage upon the disparate soul - A provisional gratification upon the faculty of thought. At the end of the day, the fad dies out, and you just find yourself older by the year...

Today is a reminder of how much time I have wasted, of how long I have existed... I don’t want to be reminded of such intricacies but the numerical reverberation somehow reminds me otherwise...

A Bad Hair Day

A belief is not merely an idea the mind possesses; it is an idea that possesses the mind. In this myth there lies neither truth nor fiction. Conjured within the mythology of this loveless void is itself, an idea... An idea wherein lies my profound comprehension of the human condition...

I assert human dignity and our capacity for fulfilment through reason and mythical methods. Yet every single individual is an antithesis of each other; one way or another. This is not really about others after all... After a year of writing, I find this ideology more than just a fleeting emotion.

In every one of us lies another us; a person that feels dejected, rejected and abjected. You may not admit it, but in your sub conscious, you acquiesce halfheartedly to this other self. For we are so accustomed to disguise ourselves to others that in the end, we become disguised to ourselves. And over time, even the face forgets what to do facing a certain emotion.

At the end of the day, there is nothing you can really do. Maybe comb your hair a few more times? Add some make up to cover the impalpable lines of flaw? Smile when you are happy, sad and every other sense? Sometimes we just do needless things to reassure ourselves and the people around us...