The Sleight of Hand

I am almost pretty sure the comment is referencing me. This is presuming that I am avoiding the person when I am presuming that the person likes me. Hmm. What a whole lot of presumptions that seem to bend back onto itself, much like the mobius strip. But for those who know me, nothing Venusian is possible for this postmodernist freak. Love is a mere illusion, a sleight of hand that sedates and incites the individual into an oxymoronic frenzy.

Once More Unto the Bridge, My Friend

The days passed by quickly and surely enough, that I am finally back once more in that cosy corner I call Normalcy. It is time to rig up my usual activities, and fulfill my resolutions once more, once more unto the bridges. Time is limited, and my husk awaits my modifications to the unsightly wobbles that have been there as far as I can remember. My mind seeks a respite while my taste for life has become sharper with each melody in trance mode. The poisons shall run again through the vessel. The end is nigh, I say, or rather, the night has no end, as I shuttle between solipsism and endless partying with known and unknown entities.

Countdown (to Home) 10

It's Tuesday, and nine more days before touchdown. Resting at the hotel now, as I ponder on my eccentricities and if ever it could be reconciled with society's norms. And that probably I should abandon my idea of living with another person, novel as it is initially. I am too solipsistic by nature. I miss my original lifestyle and today is the closest I have ever come to it. The end of the year draws near and my resolution seems more than ever pressing, being the resolution so many years hence. At all costs. I have made up my mind not to travel next year, just to further my cause. Would I get a chance to enter something into my blog tomorrow? I have no idea. I have no idea what comes tomorrow.

He keeps saying that it is a waste to stay in the hotel, but yet, is it really such a waste when I get the time to myself? 10 days will pass. but in what manner, I may ask.

Road March

The days grow longer. The excitement pales as the mucus grows longer. I cannot imagine myself saying this, but I am slightly homesick. Would I ever grow accustomed to the alien tongue that casts me as the outsider? Would I ever overcome the puzzlement and the irritation that the language barrier presents? My speech betrays me although my skin resembles theirs. My face mirrors the exhaustion, its blotches of angry redness in contrast to their pasty whiteness, and but a nasty reminder to the days passed in coldness and tiredness. My money runs out as fast as my energy. My roommate finally succumbs to the exhaustion although he is hesitant to admit the weariness. The road march continues, as I lower my head to the blistering cold wind howling in my muffled ears. Where everyone suffers, I am the god of suffering and shall render its administration in due order. No one is spared. The road march continues.

Dickens

Once again, the night and weariness have drawn out the words that should never have seen light. The constant barrage on the pyschological turf has taken its toll and I become more weary than ever. Ghosts of the distant past revisit in the way Dickens' story materializes for Scrooge. And ironically, Christmas draws near. The present may reign but there are moments like these when I wonder the 'what is to come', while dwelling on the 'what has been'.

As said, the bones are better left undisturbed. The Quixotic is never meant to be, neither the Gump. What is ever pressing is the adage; 'Live your life every day as though it is your last'. I may be a social construct, but when the destruction of everything is complete, what will be left is my Will alone. I am not of the Faith, nor of Nature. Instead, let my Will guide me in the ways of the unseen, let my cryptic ways form my identity, for I am me. I may be subsumed in the traditions of humanism, of civilization, but beneath it all, I subscribe to nothing, except my free Will, for lo and behold, it is what I have left.

The husk will not last long.

My name's Gump. Forrest Gump.

I have been hinted on my apparent stupidity before, but it has always been on a subconscious level. This time round, however, it was a direct frontal assault that left no hope of recovery.

'You are not that smart'.

Coming from him, it was rather unexpected, but what with tired minds, it was the truest and most sincere statement issued forth. The words still ring in my ears, and the shock of the aftermath remains. It is but another scar over the old wounds on my psyche, and it hardens my resolve ever than before. The ex-student is scathing indeed, and on retrospect, it is not surprising. Elitism is a cold hard fact of society and prejudices, a natural aspect. I am unwittingly guilty of that and the hunter becomes the hunted. It is indeed ironical.

So what are the earmarks of intelligence, I am wont to ask. Is the bearer of the RI and NUS badge the intelligent person? Is the person possessing an IQ of 350 intelligent? Are the lawyers and doctors the only intelligent people around? And the rest are but mere blabbering fools, I presume? Or should we continue to delude ourselves by insisting that everyone is intelligent? Hold on that thought. I seem to be contradicting myself.

But the question remains. Does he know me well enough to deem me stupid? I need to fight stupid, stupid I may be.

The Day I Died

It was a disaster, as I had more or less expected. It was like asking a dog to fly. And yet again, I had to endure the incredulous stare and the patronizing smile that set one on cold fire. With his subconscious blasts of frustration directed towards my direction at my ineptness, I could only wish it ended earlier than it was supposed to. The gaze was unintentionally withering, although polite on the surface. I swore that the incident would not recur.

It rained at my funeral, although it would have been better if it had been pouring.

The Evening Descends

The battle rages, as I desperately sought the words that I thought I knew well. This confused state of debilitation corresponds the internal turmoil that I thought was over. My mind blanks, withdraws into the familiar shell of darkness. It is a familiar state bordering sickness and wellness.

The evening descends, as the sorrow reigns in its pure, unadulterated form, I reach out to the connective states of sick-wellness in my previous modes of life. I am unsuitable for anything. What would I do?

Doppelganger

A man in his 20s
Was found dead in the rivers of Clarke Quay
Is that me
Is that him
As I stare into that visage
As it takes on my mug
Who is it then, who is typing out the words here
Who is it then, who is lying so dead over there
And where is here
And where is there
As we continue
To stare
Time stops

Children's Day

I refused to be looked down upon. As I see the scurrying and the floundering, the flashing and the blasting of heat and sound, I refuse to succumb to the mundanity that is required of me. I am not the average worker. Despite my ordinary intelligence, my inanely unhandsome looks, I refuse to succumb. Swimming, swimming upstream against the lifeworks of destiny, claiming a ledge for myself, I struggle, I weep against fate, for my life has been a work of struggle ever since I took my first breath of this tortured existence that few know about.

I will not reside in this confounded and mind-boggling mesolect that pervades the corners of the institution. I am tired, ridiculously tired yet struggle still, with my might, my energy. I will fulfill the resolution and the quaser, until I expire, which will be welcoming in the face of this dreary life.

In flames

And that is the end of the life that I thought I knew well, and as softly as it came, as softly did it go. The anguish and the torment would have been finally over for him, and as I looked into the picture of serene repose, I cannot but help if wonder if his life was a fruitful one? Was he satisfied with his life till the very end?

All the troubles that came with that woman he called his wife, the foreign girl that he would be inclined to label his 'daughter'. To what extent was the relationship a cemented one? Relationships are not limited to blood alone. Yet, would the airy connections that pass for a relation suffice?

The anguish seems all the more poignant when the house burned. Everything that he treasured, his possessions, all in a flurry of heat and light, all gone in seconds. The troubles that come with marriage.

Conversations between the Mage and the Fanatic

Fanatic: We cannot take too many things for granted...Imagine [that] if light was never given to us, then we [would] have to live in darkness for eternity, or rather, imagine this, if the next morning you wake up and light has [been robbed] from us forever and [we are in] total darkness, how would you feel? Won't you be afraid?...are you sure that you can leave the world with no regrets? Won't you feel it will be too late by then? Won't you feel any regrets?

Mage: I don't hope, I will it. You are JP, yet you willingly succumb to the wheels. That, I believe, is how you have changed. Do you still even question anything, old friend? I am not sure what comes after death, I can only say that if really there is life after death, life is even more miserable than I thought possible. You keep on saying that you want to spend eternity in heaven. To me, that is worse than the human life I am living. Life is precious and beautiful simply because of its transcience. But you fail to grasp that. To you, eternity seems to be everything.

You keep saying that you are afraid of being an animal after you die. Can I know what is so fearful about that? An animal is not sentient and in many ways, that is a blessing. It doesn't know boredom, not the futility of the world. Every day is just another day.

Wanting to do good to evade the reincarnation into a beast. How selfish the aims are then. Others help simply because they want to help without due consideration of the rewards. That is the truest form of morality. And how can you be sure that the goodness that you have done would tip the scales in your favor?

All quiet at the front

Everyday, I am reminded of A, that I am not to stagnate, to linger in that comfort zone that promotes no growth, but a degenerate state of being. I look at F, and promise myself that I must improve in all fronts, intellectually and physically, he constantly in a state of improvement. And between these extremes, L is the impetus, that to avoid being looked down upon, I must fight.

I dont understand human beings, why they are beings capable of so much love and cruelty at the same time.

Anniversary of 'Lif'e's a b(itch/each)'

All these years of being cast the disdainful eye, the aghast look that spurs me, that convinces me that I do not belong to that group of human beings, that I am the paradox, the enigma that escapes definition, escapes understanding psychologically. My cadaver is no longer my cadaver, with chemicals oozing out from every pore, I am just a walking husk.

Where is my mind? Floating aimlessly across the aether in search of eternal peace, that is, extinction. All 30 years of existential porings are brought down unto me on this very day that marks the beginning of damnation and bittersweet sorrows and memories. Let things not be rewritten, but erased completely such that entropy reigns. This is the teleological principle.

Quipped

Life is all the more beautiful when you know that it is transcient, fleeting, and one pursues desperately for activities that bestow meaning, and the only true meaning comes from you alone. What is your meaning?

Iceman

If you ask me whether I am happy now, I would tell you I am upset. Terribly upset. So upset that I have contemplated quitting. But that is of no matter. Because I am a civil servant. And being a servant means I am paid to do work, not to feel happy or sad. I am obliged to fulfill my duties, not to feel happy for what I am doing. We are mere pawns, robots, tools, and we are not supposed to feel anything but work. Welfare is but an illusion, a delusion. Corporate needs come first. I am the Iceman.

Where I should go

It is a constant reminder of my present state and the past that hovers behind, that I have to plan for my future. Meaning may be a social construct, but I still must push on. What do I want to do from now on? I am done with the depths of depression for now, and I must surge. But to where?

Why I am not religious

I am not against Religion in any sense, being one of the crucial opiate of the masses, it's the human-centric-ness of it all that I am reeling from. Everything centers on the human and the rest plays second fiddle. Science, on the other hand, resonates with the Natural World, in that humans are mere paltry things that figure as importantly as the blade of grass that I've just stepped on. Humans are bodies of Nature, after all.

This coincides with the shift from pagan cults to the Religions that we see today, the former as being blasphemous and everything.

Humans are the viruses of Mother Nature, and she has engineered a virus within a virus. Such is the power of Nature, but would it be too late, too weak? Or would humans recant their selfish nature and realign themselves with her again?

What passes

What will come to pass, will come to pass, as the full decade dawns and ends, one wonders, what is to come. Should I exert myself in the struggle for another degree? Should I let it go like that? Should I succumb to the realities of life? Should I surrender my ideals? What is to come?

Barrier

As I turn inward, my energies focused on the barrier that I have thought long gone, the remnants of which a dismaying echo of what it once was. I need to erect that barrier once agin, faced with this onslaught.

Nobody knows Xavier Harker, and that is how it shall be. The lingering echoes of my own mind is a comforting silence, a solace that is no other. Let the ice surge again in all its silent rage and power, let the ice reign and cover over. The cold is my comfort!

I wonder

I wonder, what is it like being slim, because I have never been slim before. I wonder, what is it like being handsome, because I have never been handsome before. I wonder, what is it like being smart, because I have never been smart before.

And as I look at the stars high nigh in the heavens, and the trees standing for posterity, my troubles did seem trifle. Yet, what have I learnt today?

Sorrow has come to me, and it is welcoming, for I have missed it so. This nadir becomes me, and in achieving my ideals, the sadness becomes inevitable. Is this my fate? Should I continue? O Sadness, O Sorrow, let it wash over me, despite the little bits of happiness found around me, this inundation is my destiny. Is there no escaping my destiny, as my dreams become reality, in that oppressive place of work, where I have no illusions left, everything is ripped bare and stark for all to see, that the place is not the place for me.

He remains in that place, his yearning for another time, another place, remains elusive, rendering him frustrated, yet for all that is worth, he cannot leave. Another sad little fellow that seeks asylum in the traps of jokes that bear no trace of true happiness. Pitiable, yet deserving. He is the representation of all that is human; suffering to the ends of time, until the Lord claims him.

Xavier Harker is nigh.

They passed me by, with disinterested stares, paying no heed to the drifting figure, who bears no recognition of his surroundings. His mind, delibilitated, memories and the mind receding until all that is left is the husk, a shambling husk. Slowly, slowly, the delibilitation may prove fatal, as the husk shambles towards his death, ironically a welcomed prospect.

How can one survive such an onslaught? Is it what I want? I am losing my language, constantly under barrage by the mesolect and the basilect. It is horrendous, and I wonder how long would it be before I too, succumb to the hideous linguistic environment.

Stagnate

Yet again, I press on keenly for change, for everything around me stagnates. It is puzzling and a dismay that people languish in perpetual constancy. Change, it may be, but towards which direction?

I cannot allow myself to remain mired in that pool anymore. So I will change. Marriage is not for me.

Hardships

Hardship is a necessary evil. It is human nature to suffer, no more, no less. Human beings suffer the moment they draw breath, interspersed with occasions of pleasure, although a temporary respite, it balances the perpetual suffering borne by human kind. When will it end, that is the question.
Christians sought this end through God, Buddhists through Nirvana. I would have it through my Lord, Time and Mind.

Mathematics

In life, people find out what they are good at and leverage on that to eke a living. And my heel is Mathematics. No matter how I see it, it's not going to work, be it teaching or learning, the disgust is thorough. I cannot imagine going through that pain of that again. What does she want? I don't know either, except that she has utterly killed my interest. I abhor Mathematics to the core. It's the end. Give me an egress, I say.

Heraclitus

There must always be change. The rule is, the only constant is change. No change is the worst of all, that rancid stagnancy that reeks of ineptness. Every day, I need to sense some change, facing off that intangibility that we call Eternity. Immortality in heaven is not a blessing. That is why I am not a Christian. To linger in that immutable state of existence is sheer torture.

One must change, learn something every day, get fatter or slimmer or obsolete. When I try to connect with the past I left behind, it's that bittersweet experience of utter degeneracy that makes change all the more sweeter now that that was gone. God forbid that I lapse into that hell. I see that image before me in FX, and I shudder. That mindless state of being horrifies me no end.

Have you changed today?

Jessica

She left a deep scarring on that emotional plane, and I would never feel whole, nor adequate again to face the world outside, that I would never be able to handle relationships, that I would never be confident of whoever I may be. Or maybe there isn't anyone to begin with.

In the after years, He left me wondering too.

There are times when lonliness seems too much, yet indelibly remains a part of me. There are times when it overwhelms, yet with the submersion, it is altogether subsumed, and that I lose the need for company. Such is my fate. Yet I wonder sometimes of the what-could-have-beens. Such is not my fate.

The fight

Everyday, we have to fight. We fight for our breath, for our space, for our identity as a human, fight to exist. The level of fighting differs. I have become sedated enough, that often I forgot how to fight, and sometimes, I am weakened. It is part of us, this fighting, and when weakened, it exposes me. So once again, I rouse myself, throw myself into the battle and resume fighting. It never ends.

God knows

God knows how much crap it was. Only God knows how it seems so deja vu. The one with the least emotional intelligence. Nothing clean will come out of it, I promise you this. Nothing good and the resultant reclusion repeated.

Carnival

It was a carnival, no less. No one knew much about each other, everyone's identity masked, but everyone was there to find something, I should think. Some wanted love, some wanted other things, so it was like a hunting ground or something, except that a lot of the hunters were drunk. But as I look on, I know I would not be able to find what I was looking for. It is after all, a carnival, and an amusing one at that.

A carnival has to end, eventually, and it ended with a headache and a stomachache which lasted long enough. Would I enter again? Things would decide for themselves, I think. But I am changed, I think.

It is all there is to it

Human lives are teleological by nature, without which, there can be no derivation of meaning. Like a story, one apparently must have an end in mind whenever one undertakes an action, although sometimes the journey, as always said, matters more than the end, still, there must be an end. Still, it is with Death at the end of the human life that probably establishes meaning in our otherwise meaningless existence. Immortality is a curse. Or perhaps you have heard it already.

And so it is with the human life that I subsume myself into, unrealistically that may be, it is the only realistic path. That I should find love, and hence, watch myself grow old with each evening, and inch ever closer to impending death. That is the life of a human.

This reminds me of the Lord of the Rings ending, where everyone boards the ship to some faraway place, where one doesn't die, ironically, it is with death that they become immortalized.

It begins anew

Resolutions made, expectations configured, do I really know what I want? They say, pursue your dream, yet is it an impossible one? I am destined apparently, to be short and pockmarked, this eternal search for perfection and fulfillment of the soul.

The show must go on.