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the so-called gift

the so-called gift ( paragraphs of rants, of the frowning clown, of the drowning sun ) I often wonder, how odd it is, the so-called gift, we were born with. Us, as of those who are alive, who could do things that then breathe life to each and every step of our being, amongst the ability to see and watch, hear and listen, speak and talk, we are capable of creating interconnections between those capacity which were the generic settings for who we are, those connections create magic that gives us the ability to have desires, the wants for things that are within the capability of our minds, but not in reach of our hands, the tools which move reality, the rotor for the stale life, consists of abiotical matters. We move the grounds we walk on, nurture the soil we stomp on, paint the air we breathe on, touch each and every materials, dead and lifeless, into a complexity that intertwines, interacts, unfolds, uninterrupted, fall in a cross, of time, place and motion, roll and roll, the further ...
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mother, release yourself

  " mother, release yourself " ( a passage to the tormented time, to the corroded love, scarred, left unspent in corners of mankind, of a woman in gravity and a child in vitality, of a mother and a son ) "The sound of ticking clock what calms me, nobody can give comfort to me" At first listen, that part of the song, strikes to me as a soft and lenient cotton string, flowing as waves through the air, wafts softly around ears of mine. But for the next of second and third, it weighs heavier, heavier and heavier. So much filled with weight that if I were to squeeze it now, it'd excrete droplets of life, of emotions and colors, breathe flowers to any part of the air it touches. The song played at a scene where a woman and a mother, of a child killed in the mischief of another, is opening boxes of what the child had left, rewinding time of memories, stood reticent in bereft. ...  a yellow-red backpack, an origami-made medal, decorated with a writing of his, "I lo...
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strands of my being, each as individuals

"strands of my being, each as their own individuals" (  these are stories to the brokenly parted anatomy of existence ,  which then grew to their own scars and dreams  ) (I) I antagonize people, for that is the easiest way to read the air wafting around nuances, gestures, and response. In that way, the less of burden I have to get hit with, the less of darkness I have to plunge myself into, for I know, if I had accepted what I see as what I know and see, I do know, it will all come back to me, turning sharp to pierce me straight from the first to the last of layers, from air to another air, as ligtning strike the solemn air with the loudest of chaos, then leaving the most silent of response. It left. It left the air dead. (II) I feel like, places are just moments away, I've stored lots of places in memories of senses, sighst, sounds, textures, shapes and colors, all the gradation collide into an integrity of complexity, then the most of all, of smell. A slight of smell co...
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the truth to my marks

"the truth to my marks" ( a last trial of attempt to whatever well-being is ) ...again, the lumps and molten rocks never fail their task to stood beneath the flesh and bones, holding hostage of my life forces, at night, when I'd unconsciously suffocate.  All this interpretation I do, of the screams I feel around my body, of the ghouls I see lingering around me, haunting. The act of it, drains all the desperate lights under my skin to the lowest of settings, putting me in battery saving mode.  But, surely, there's no denying that on the very last bit of it, it spares me, from the tormenting tornados, thunders, beggars, eruptions, earthquakes, red massacres and eroding sea waves.  The act of it, is the very last thing I could do, to salvage what's left from the rotten dreams and quirks, to avert eyes from the glaring abyss, to at least leave scars and remarks to the ground whilst I struggling for the tinies bit of sanity, to at least have the possibility for leavin...
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oh, we egotistical weaklings

"oh, we egotistical weaklings" ( a memoir of a body who's forgotten its death  ) I'll never stop my wonderings to why do I always ever so doggedly seeking out the shades of grey in my normally carved days, why do I feel truly reluctant to pop out of the soap bubble right in front of my eyes, right on my nose. I put my palm there, and all I need to do is just a slight pressure towards, but why can't I ever do it, I know it's anything but a guarantee to lost, it is a lifetime worth chance, though it is an absolute scare, it is the only answer to all my 'hows'. Then, lastly, why do I feel like I'm all coverd up in a sense of security, of warmth, of assurane, when if I were to raise my head and try to grasp what's around, water, water, water, water is all I could see in the four directions. Humans often ask 'why's', without a slight concern to ask 'how' I believe, that is one of the reflections towards the human ego. We are livi...
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mysterious thunder

"mysterious thunder" (  how the body shuts off its own mind ) it's like everytime i feel a bulge,  a part of skin and flesh  bending, curving, spilling out,  from my clothing,  it sets an alarm, like the japanese earthquake sirene system it triggers an opening from the ceiling, dropping off dusty, moldy, dirty, wretched thoughts of me, of people, of my family, of the world, of my body all in all feels as if the sirene sounds and the voices are so solid and so brutal, it creates a crevice in between clouds and blue sky, the air cracks, the sky is falling down leaving a dark void, no stars, just utter darkness it all happens in a day, in an hour, in a minute, in seconds it could come like raging thunder in the middle of broad summer daylight my body shuts off its own mind leaving me dead for a few seconds just laying there, flies flew a few then a bell rang,  with the last consciousness I had, I got up, then shiver for the thought of my post-poned responsibil...
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animalistic mind

        " animalistic mind" ( change is too laborious, I'm not tough enough, I'm fearful )         I've been listening to lots of talks about the human mind and how it consists of a person (which is the thought) riding an animal (the animalistic desires such as eat, sleep, sex, etc.). When a person is stuck with a default setting and just go through the day with idling, or doing things that they're not meant or supposed to do, it's like losing control of the animal, the person riding it doesn't have much control of how the animal will act, thus leading to a person unable to pursue or unable to do tasks at hand, which then ends with lost. It's really just talking about the simple act correlating to basic human need, motivation and how do we fight the evolutionary features with a new one, in order to pursue what we aren't. Basically it's just about how we, each and every one of us, has this big worldview, our perception on reality, w...
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