not crazy... just a little...

i'm not crazy...

i'm just a little unwell...

literally.

Certainly am one sick puppy, metaphorically.

On hindsight, probably am both crazy and unwell, nothing new or out of the blue there. Well, it ain't exactly one's cup of tea to wake up to seeing black spots all around, having the world spin off its axis, and throw up one's stomach's contents whilst brushing one's teeth. Not that there was much to throw up in the first place having just woke up.

It is the first few days of the week to being back at school, makes me wonder if am having the "back to school" disease with all the nausea, throwing up, bad appetite, head spinners and body thermostat going kooky. Then again, sounds, or rather, feels more like a bout of the good old friend of a gastric flu paying its biannual visit.

Now to figure out how to switch off that jackhammer that has been, and still is, pounding incessantly in my head. Makes me feel like taking a mallet to my head just to knock me out.

just for laughs...

disclaimer: To the males who are reading this, please do not fart in my direction over what you are about to read. If not, please stop at this point and go no further.

For all those men who say, why buy a cow when you can get milk for free. News flash, get updated.

Nowadays, 80% of women are against marriage.

WHY?

Because women realize it's not worth buying an entire pig just to get a little sausage.

1. Men are like.. Laxatives - They irritate the crap out of you.

2. Men are like.. Bananas - The older they get, the less firm they are.

3. Men are like.. Weather - Nothing can be done to change them.

4. Men are like.. Blenders - You need One, but you're not quite sure why.

5. Men are like.. Chocolate Bars - Sweet, smooth, & they usually head right for your hips.

6. Men are like.. Commercials - You can't believe a word they say.

7. Men are like.. Department Stores - Their clothes are always 1/2 off!

8. Men are like.. Government Bonds - They take soooooooo long to mature.

9. Men are like.. Mascara - They usually run at the first sign of emotion.

10. Men are like.. Popcorn - They satisfy you, but only for a little while.

11. Men are like.. Snowstorms - You never know when they're coming, how many inches you'll get or how long it will last.

12. Men are like.. Lava Lamps - Fun to look at, but not very bright.

13. Men are like.. Parking Spots - All the good ones are taken, the rest are handicapped.


Just for laughs for the girlfriends out there who have a love hate relationship with men, or their men. For the males, even if offence intended, though none actually, got it off from someone else, so it ain't me saying the stuff. If you are still miffed about it, just too bad...

told you so!!!

Just scroll up to check the disclaimer.

once in a blue moon...

a vacant room...

destitute of all things incandescent...

where the wind blows free...

watching...

waiting...

for that transcendental phenomenon...

once in a blue moon...

life... in a little bottle...

You know you are the epitome of unhealthy and unfit when you are huffing and puffing up the amaranthine stairs to school, gasping for air so desperately you reel and bend over, holding onto that minuscule inhaler for dear life as if everything depended on it. In truth, you do, literally.

Time for long walks and long hours of poring over that fat textbook and other obese reference counterparts. A glutton for punishment, back to them books now.

missing...

missing twilight nights with sparkling stars a glitter across the crystalline midnight...

missing dusky sunsets over a diffident horizon...

missing all that was... concealed in a bittersweet melody strung out by the intangible strings from within...

locked up inside...

It is unthinkable to many that it is technically possible and feasible to love the life of a pseudo hermit crab. Thinking back, it was with unquestioning hate whenever those caged walls were looked upon; built by the people around me to keep me in line and in my place.

Nowadays, it is a little different. It is with unadulterated comfort and complete relief when looking upon four walls. The funniest thing about it all, is that it took painstaking effort and meticulous plans over fastidiously calculated years to break away from those prison walls that seemingly kept closing in on me, so much so there was a sore lack of breathing space; only for me to struggle scrupulously for the acquisition of another four walls to call my own. In a warped, twisted and ironic roundabout way, my haven away from it all.

It is here where it all happens. The four walls and more that help me keep it all in. An internal world so deep, so closed, so secluded, that am impossible to reach... locked up inside...

the hardest...

Sorry... is the hardest word to say. The next hardest has got to be... goodbye.

Abhor them both, to the very core.

freedom of expression... done my way...

All it took, was a single night, to bring it all crashing back. That world of black and white; that world of just is, no if, no maybe; that world that spun on an axis of feel, being at one with what went on inside, or rather, the expression of what was not, and yet was.

It was not a figment of my imagination when my feet started on its own riposte to the rhythm of the night, my arms, a repartee to the inexplicit ubiquitous beat. The recollection of it all was a crash and burn. The painstaking effort to create and wear the painted mask of glitter, the colourful costume, the precipitant anxiety attack that hits and leaves one shaking, the quick changes backstage or makeshift backstage when there is the absence of one, and most of all, the persona one has to assume and leave oneself behind once passing the curtains, or the proscenium in Peking opera, the distinct demarcation between the front and backstage, a point of no return.

Once out there, it is like stepping on the edge, for one never knows when one would fall off, very much like a tightrope walk at times, and it is a very long way down the abyss once one falls. There is so much control required in the delicate balance, yet there is also the need for loss of control, to delineate an effortless fluidity till there is no form to one's structured being, to vent and depict that supposed mutable energy till one can be contorted beyond lines and shapes, almost cutting off one's breath. At that very point, is an existing historic split second of a sublime moment where one lives to dance, and at the same time, dances to live.

Not to be left out, is the erratic aftermath. The aches in every possible, and impossible, place on the human anatomy, the ecstasy and satisfaction if every move was in perfect execution and at precise clockwork, the capricious disappointment and frustration in the incident of a screw up. Reminiscence of the blood, sweat and tears from the neverending gruelling fives, sixes, sevens and eights, of floorwork that leaves blisters so bad bandaids ain't enough to cover it all, of ecchymosis so black and blue it is painfully hideous. Little wonder why it is said that one can tell a dancer by the ugly feet. Correction, fugly feet. Not to mention the duck waddle, or the penguin walk.

And so when the lights come on, it is back to where it was; it is indeed, a point of no return, for there really is, and can be, no turning back. There can be no mistakes, frowned upon so much it is a taboo. Even if... the show goes on... it has to go on... In the halcyon stillness of surreal serenity... it is the freedom of expression... done my way...

the boulevard of broken dreams...

right back at square one...

shattered dreams...

true indeed it is to say...

that this one walks...

the boulevard of broken dreams...

point of origin...

Coming back to the start... or not???

an ode to...

... chocolates that tempt and torment, for instant gratification, and making bad days a tad better in a little sweet treat.

... a girlfriend who love chocolates, for sharing a common love, and maybe some freshly fried churros in warm milk and dark chocolate in spanish harlem.

... a girlfriend whose favourite and very contagious pet phrase of "oh my tian" and "no good piece of nonsense", for reminding me of the simple tickles in life with shared laughter.

... a girlfriend who loves everything and anything absolutely out of this world, "eww" and "yuck" people go, "acquired taste" we say, pointedly, with the brow in place.

... pulchritudinous lemons all lined up in a row, for that tangy zest of sourness that sends a shiver up my spine, and goosebumps down my epithelials, jolting and refreshing all my sleeping senses.

... the lovely combination of both my favourite treats that then sends my senses reeling, a heavenly delight of half and half, in a little plastic ben's and jerry's cup, our little secret.

... that girlfriend who is nothing but a bundle of cheer and blessings all rolled up into one, for making life that much easier to bear just by being, and by being around in those inconspicuous moments.

Words could never really express it all, though to sum it up in the odd number of five, "thank you... i love you".

monkey business...

The past week has been a cluttered mess and a fluster of sheer exertion that leaves little for breathing even. What is the whole hustle and bustle about? Unadulterated eggcitement one might say.

To sum it up, time has been spent being a bona fide coolie yet again. Have gotten myself tangled up in ribbon strips and roll, papercut by cards and sheets signed by an agitated nervous wreck of a pseudo groom to be, sticky from being part of an egg and cake factory production, cramped up to the point it was short of lock jaw from smiling at the reception table, to being the post easter bunny prechristmas santa's elf helper with gift distribution. Even got myself conferred a fantastical new title. Another brilliant acquisition to my resume.

In truth, pretty much got the short end of the stick as compared to the parent, especially with the ardous carrying and painstaking labour for the poor pitiable mother. Three years of parturition is certainly laboriously exigent. No mother in her right mind would put herself through that sort of childbearing torture. Then again, no thanks to the ingrained program called maternal instinct, thanks to mother nature being the unceremonious joker, there is a spanking new youngun to be the future bringer of tidings of joy and misery. Trust her to still utter the cliched words of "he is worth it". That undoubtedly baffles this brain.

Being a participatory allotment in this unpalatable accouchement felt a lot like being a part of a whole medical team in the operating theatre, waiting in anticipation to welcome the new addition to this unforgiving world at the very golden moment. Taxing as it was, satisfaction was in abundance at the end of it all. Not too bad a final result for this medical doctor to be.

The birth has been nothing but a bittersweet process for one and all. Although it is still mindboggling as to why this dodo would illogically choose against better judgement to dabble in such mussy monkey business, perhaps it is the monkey lineage that irrevocably draws me to that intangible ligature. One would never really quite know. After all, it is such, monkey see, monkey do. And now to satisify the curiosity of onlookers and bystanders, here is introducing... the latest newcomer to the monkey family... the one and only... darling baby monkey...

Ain't it a beauty???

a star is born...

A star is born this very day...

Ordained for greater aspirations...

Predestination written in the stars for heights far beyond the common's reach...

As it soars high above the skies...

May the invisible path of before be never forgotten...

Impalpable the stellar destination is...

For who could ever catch a falling star...???

the changing drifts of the winds...

There are times when life is a maze...

There will be those who get caught up in it and lose all sense of direction...

To the point of losing oneself...

In such times where there is no east... west... north... south... or even a central spot...

And there is no guiding light to lead one back...

Nor a life buoy in sight to extricate one from the whirlpool of asphyxiation...

One's saving grace would only be to go where the wind blows...

Or would it be to stay behind... stationary... in that one locality...

In wait for a fresh bearing to embark on an untrodden trajectory... or be stuck in reverse...???

a total eclipse of the heart...

a shadow in the night...
haunts me in my dreams...
a penumbra of paroxysm...
taunts my very being...
a cry in the dark...
of morose morbidity...
an affliction of ache...
nary any comfort nor aid...
an indocile reluctance to play that waiting game...