halloween...

halloween, a night for ghosts, ghouls, spirits and what have you to pay a visit to those still existing in the living realm. very much like the oriental's hungry ghost festival, except that it is a one night event while the hungry ghost festival goes on for a whole month.

miss the back and spoon breaking carving that can drive a person nutty, and creative devilish pumpkin faces that seemed to litter every corner of the street. miss the spooky halloween decorations of cobwebs, flickering lights and colors of orange, red and black. miss the door to door trick or treating, and candy stash enough to last a month, and more depending on how far one decided to trawl this night, that is likely to be every kid's dream and parent's nightmare.

it is a night of dress up, a night of make believe, a night of supposed absolute freedom; a night of sin, a night of all things evil, a night of debauchery and greed; a night where a person could be anyone and everyone, and yet not be anyone, but anything; a night where a person finally lets down that farcial mask, only to dorn another, and live behind that other.

in all honesty, really prefer the kids version of halloween despite the hassle from the intricate preparations needed to make this one night happen. it is after all the lesser evil, and an endless night of surprises with the mystery game of "wonder who is going to show up on my doorstep". yet, if it were possible, really would love to try doing it the traditional way when all hallows eve was still not quite so commercialized. just candlelight, and you at the grave, commemorating the dead. not quite as spooky and skin crawling as it seems. in fact, there is a peace that surpasses all understanding when one can actually muster the courage to spend the night over at the graveyard, provided one does not have skeletons hiding in the closet. maybe just not the chinese cemetary.

having said that, where will you be this very night???

and yes, the devil in me has to say, peek a boo, happy halloween.

memories...

life can be likened and metaphorically described to most if not anything. a canvas, a jigsaw puzzle, a box of chocolates, and so on and so forth as the list could go as far as the mind can go. and with that, a close loved one shared certain thoughts, experiences and teachings that was deemed gold worthy, or perhaps to some, just all of two cents.

it was heard that night, that one brings nothing with one into this world, and that one can bring nothing with one when one leaves this world. yet, when one leaves, one can leave with riches beyond one's wildest dreams. that bountiful chest of treasury, is one's memories, solely known and belonging to that one person, and the people who were involved in the making of that particular memory at that certain point of time.

the memory need not be spectacular, nor did it need to have too much meaning, nor overtly special. being the pot of optimism, of course the close loved one had to add that there has to be an elemental ladleful of happiness and joy, though of course, needless to say, it ain't always quite the case.

there was no particular disagreement with this reasoning for it did have its valid merits. it just so happened that it was and is non applicable in the life that is mine. and with what little wool gathering that was done that night, the conclusion was that a memory just needed to have a little meaning, and a whole gunny sackful of emotion.

with being born on the other extreme end of the spectrum, the blunt, but true, words that were quietly uttered with a smile that greying and misty night, in return, were cruelly brutal. a splash of cold water??? quite indeed to any other who does not know me any better. and a thunderstorm with frigidly wintry winds if might add. in a blur, it just is.

busy ears...

assiduous ears...

listening... prying... disintegrating...

a earful... so much... yet so little...

seeping... permeating... seeking...

leaving unforgettable impressions... soulful depressions...

shape shifting... everchanging...

invisible inscriptions of distinct sharps and flats...

concatenating in euphonious harmony...

respiring in quiescent respite and melancholic trite...

failure...

for no real reason why...

it always is...

it always has been...

it always will be...

somehow...

embracing another...

life as a human is absolutely detestable, so much so that there will always be a discrepant abstruse desire to have that inconceivable opportunity to relive, somewhere, somehow, as someone else, or rather, something else. erratic??? not at all.

occultic as it may be wanting that, am pretty sure it is not an unwonted longing on my part alone. really, would rather have that arcane shot at that silence, cryptic as it is. touch wood... me will not.

embracing another entity... another epoch... another existence of no vim. that of the living dead. that... is me...

boiling...

kept busy in the kitchen, pottering around like mrs potts would in "beauty and the beast", trying to make right what were predestined culinary disasters right from the start. the pots were boiling over, spewing smells of fragrant ruin. little comfort was taken in the congee that turned out barely presentable since gone were my taste buds with a taste test gone wrong. nonetheless, sent it over to granny's me did, albeit with decrepit senses. bad timing on top of that, goddamnit.

decided to retry picking up soup making, not my forte honestly, particularly that of the oriental style, though have a rough idea with the recipes. in short, another catastrophic nightmare. fifty over hours over a slow fire ain't no joke. yet, despite all the effort and time, it was pretty much fated to stay in a world where it would reach no mouths and gain no oohs and aahs. sad.

it seems that the pots were not the only ones threatening to boil over, causing splotches all over the stove. along with them, as if singing a similar tune, were my own emotions, bristling and churning in smoldering effervescence. honestly, would not be surprised if the kitchen went up in smoke, really.

pieces...

in little bits and pieces...

an enigmatic jigsaw...

pieces neither here nor there...

a world of compulsive mayhem...

casual precipitation of accidental fragments...

perfection a million miles away...

the genesis of damnation...

just another misfit of eccentricity...

hear me...

accustomed to a laconic reticence...

monumental hesitance...

hearing no one... no evil...

agonal vexation...

no one listening...

a flash in the pan...

a vermiculate stalemate...

hear me...???

trip up...

what should one do when the words fail to come to mind??? keep mum or try to toggle words of old to bring about kind intentions that may fall short??? a trip up… a crash and burn of goodbye… an awkward tumble… an effortless plummet into foolhardy glory…