mehmeh

I have to so update this place. SO MUCH BACKLOG!

Bite marks

Bitten by a small shark. It left a painful mark. :(

Company Calls Epilogue

Synapse to synapse; the possibility's thin. I'm dressed up for free drinks
and family greetings on your wedding date. The figures in plastic on your
wedding cake that I took were so real. And I kept a distance:
the complications cloud the postcards and blips through fiber optics,
as the girls with the pigtails were running from little boys wearing bowties
their parents bought: I'll catch you this time!

Crashing through the parlor doors, what was your first reaction?
Screaming, drunk, disorderly: I'll tell you mine. You were the one
but I can't spit it out when the date's been set. The white routine
to be ingested inaccurately.

Synapse to synapse: the sneaky kids had attached beer cans to the
bumper so they could drive up and down the main drag. People would turn
to see who's making the racket. It's not the first time.
When they lay down the fish will swim upstream and I'll contest but they
won't listen when the casualty rate's near 100%, and there isn't a
pension for second best or for hardly moving...

nightingales melt in summer

On the News tonight: Singapore recorded its strongest-ever winds of 83 km/h last night. I think it was just Sun Wukong on his speeding cloud.

It's been too warm to do anything recently. Too warm, too warm. My brain wanders and never goes in the direction of my notes in front of me. I so need to study, but I just can't. The heat oppresses like any authoritarian Lee, and there's nothing the opposition can do about it but be quietly quashed by this tropical heatwave. Now you know LKY was right, in a way; warm temperatures make you dumb and lazy.

Do your best, boy, you know you need it.

the brilliant green is brilliant.

in warmth, in wind, in ochre of the wilderness sky

A freak wind blew through tonight, howling like the ghost of a gale. Trees bent like fern fronds, and plastic bags and styrofoam shards swirled in invisible funnels on the street below. The clothes rack in the balcony fell over and my windows slammed shut like eyes afraid to see. Lights came on all over the blocks opposite, bewildered faces appearing behind panes and watching for the sound they could not see, but for the whipping of branches and the cold fingers against their skin. Primal fear must be in their hearts.

A sepia image. Village mothers chasing their dusty children indoors, boarding doors and bolting shutters. "Demons are coming," and men with shovels and hoes brace against the encroaching forest of things they cannot see, but things they can feel through gritted teeth and in the depths of their animal souls. Spirits and demons.

A demon wind blew through tonight, and the sky churned red with clouds of brimstone.

I guess we will always fear that which we do not understand, and that which we cannot control.

simple things.

You're something else, you are. And I would love to love you.

different names for the same thing

Alone on a train aimless in wonder.
An outdated map crumbled in my pocket.
But I didn't care where I was going,
Cos they're all different names for the same place.

The coast disappeared when the sea drowned the sun.
I've no words to share it with anyone.
The boundaries of language I quietly cursed,
And all the different names for the same thing.

There are different names for the same thing.

And 8, and 9, and 10.

A pink and purple pen.

When I think of you, I think about your smile, your eyes, your lips; the sound of your laughter, the sound of your voice, the funny little noises that you make. I think about how it feels to hold you, to put my arm around your waist, to hug you, to hug you tighter, to feel like lifting you up and carrying you about; to hold your hand, and such simple things; to touch your skin, and keep you warm – even though you’re the one who radiates heat. I think about your scent, and how you always manage to smell nice. I think about Penhaligon's, and a mental list of all the things you've ever said you like or dislike. The way your face crinkles when you smell something bad. The mental snapshot of your face lit by the cinema half-light after I first kissed you, the way you looked so young, so innocent…so vulnerable (and how I wondered what you were thinking). I think about the way your persona changes when you turn on your intellect, the assumption of easy seriousness and strength, the depth of knowledge that tells in your eyes, and how it sometimes seems you want to hide this facet of yourself. I think about the way you always punch me or kick me, and wonder why you like abusing me so much.

I think about how you make me feel. I think about how I don’t think I’ve felt the same way about you as I’ve felt about another girl, and how I don’t know how to describe it. I think about how I sometimes feel out of my depth when I’m with you, and I don’t know if it’s a good thing or bad. I think about how I get so easily distracted when I’m doing my work and your messages come in. How I have to push you out of my mind sometimes just to be able focus on something else. How I feel like I don’t want to lose you, but yet not even have you in the first place.

I think about what our circle of friends would think, and how the group dynamics might change, or not.

I think about how you're probably thinking about many of the same things.

I think about the (not many) things we have in common.

I think about all the different maybes we might become, by next year.

I think about you, and the difference between love and infatuation.

I think about how I feel so jaded of relationships, and whether this has changed.

I think about the perils of over-thinking, and reading too much into it all.

I think about taking pictures of you, and how it actually sounds quite perverted to say that I’m
thinking about it.

I think about how you might feel about me.


And how the list could go on, but for self-censorship.

rainbows in the sunset