Malade

As image after image flash past the diseased mind, this is a time of peace that normal days wouldn't see. But it is that kind of peace that deadens the mind, deadens the life insofar that life becomes a drugged daze that sees no flux.

It saddens me to see the ruined citadels of my friend's blog, a pale shadow of what it once was. Dusty winds blow across the tattered landscape although my abode fares no better. Maintenance is time-consuming, and the real world affords no time, much less this trifling occupation.

Time passes so fast, people age so quickly, citadels fall and mighty structures crumble. Yet everything moves like my feet across the mud and swamps - my computer included. Time moves so slow now.

I need to cry, yet my tears freeze on my face before they even began. The ice spreads across my heart and my blood but glaciers. I feel nothing yet everything. Who can, who will understand this paradox? Except my other self.

Old boy, old boy, when will the time come? I have waited for so long. And you ask me to wait still.

Odd

I'm always reminded and fascinated by the two characters from a serial that I've seen. One is cold on the outside and warm at the inside, and the other is warm on the outside and cold at the inside.

For those who know me, no points for guessing which one do I belong to.

The fact is, I don't think I will ever be able to muster the least bit of love for anything. Everything is designated as merely duties. It feels ridiculous to ask for anything more. It feels absurd to ask me what I love doing, what I want to do when I grow up and all that related stuff.

It's not to say I don't put in as much effort if I consign everything to Duty. It's just that I don't get that involved if anything collapses. That's the point. I don't feel anything, much less if it collapses.

Of course, the downside is, most of the time, you are alone in your undertakings.