January 2012
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December 2011
7 posts
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lisieux: Love, perhaps, is nothing but the convenience of timing and geography. Who comes closest first, who comes closest last is all but a great black comedy. In the great space of coincidence, it really is not about the race but about strings of fate that mock us.
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When you leave me alone with the devices and tricks of love, you’re asking for it. Starting from the tips of my fingers, flesh rots slowly and then very gradually spreading upwards till I can’t bear to touch you any more because it hurts. It starts melting from inside my face, degenerating till you can see it from the outside. I really want to pull my disfigured face apart for you; for...
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November 2011
7 posts
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The afternoon sort of romps exist only because there is nothing else to do, and even more so because nothing else can be said. Stuck together and tightly wrapped between the layers of sheets, skin and sweat and then more of these puffy flakes of half-truths that lay softly over, it’s just impossible to peel myself off this mess. The breath on my skin and your smile on my jaw and your lashes...
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不知不觉中，不知什么时候，你又钻进我心. 在个演唱会，在个平凡的餐厅，在过马路时．一时之间，我还不知道该想你或狠你．以前问我会不会后悔，我勇敢大声地说不会．就是怕会有一天我会后悔当时所说的话．可是到了我们这地步，我只后悔为什么当天我没有好好审问你，或把你的罪摆在你面前．我现在那么不好过就是因为我不忍心让你一个人过着开心日子．你不值得．你不值得过着好日子因为我还在扛我们的负担．一丝一毫也好．我只想留下一丝一毫的内疚在你心里．这是你欠我的．
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October 2011
13 posts
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The place where all the “I love yous” stealthily hide actually exists at the back of parched lips, right where words deign to escape; hard pressed against pursed lips and rushing to run out at the inappropriate times, all I can do is to slowly let them out in a soft sigh.
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lisieux: Even heaven has a place for whores.
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Oh god this morning I woke up to an image of you behind my eyelids and I just sprang awake. I’ve stopped seeing you in my waking hours but when it’s a different story in a different realm. And today I just cannot seem to erase your image from the back of my eyelids; it’s like you never left. Or it’s like I never left. But why talk about the technicalities of who left first...
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September 2011
4 posts
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Train of Thought
And so in the pockets of silences within the roaring rushes of winds into the tunnel, where have you hidden your heart?
And in between the tight spaces and tangles of bodies and legs, where have you hidden your heart?
And in the the midst of glares and soft gazes, where have you hidden your heart?
And in the middle of the night between the morning and the light, where have you hidden your damn...
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Three in the morning and I am still awake, working hard at digesting and silently throwing away the remnants of my guilt down the chute. But that’s another story for another place.
And while bringing out the trash, the typical short walk turned into one too long and too unfamiliarly familiar. Maybe it was the wind and the sudden chill in the air. Maybe just there and then, time and...
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I don’t know why you bother to lie to me; because English majors can spot a liar from a mile away. We got our experience from the likes of unreliable narrators like Humbert Humbert, Holden Caulfield and Briony Tallis. All these sorts. Okay? The use of distracting flowery language for the horrible truth to be palatable, the emotional manipulation to cover the abhorrent behaviour and the...
August 2011
7 posts
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lisieux: It’s about having someone to do all the bad things for you and mostly with you; to bring out the worst under the sheets and over the veil; to be eye piercing, tongue staring, unclean and unwhole and maybe one day right about what’s left.
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Sometimes words fly in and out and they come in again in another form and manner and I forgot what was it that I wanted to say. Warbled and mumbled, tumble out and flow all over the table and body. I know you try to pick it up sometimes, but it’s not that they were meant to be collected up and put together anyway. Just leave it there. It’s okay. It doesn’t need picking up neither do you need to...
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Strangely enough it is when the heart yearns to be free than it grows restless. It is when the heart is free that it yearns to be rooted.
July 2011
7 posts
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How is it that Portishead and Vitalic played back to back become so perfect in the middle of silence, smoke and solitude; that they recollect your little fragments of life, love and death that have been strewn all over, little by little by little.
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Opened the shop at 9 am, decided to put on Portishead’s Dummy. Worst decision ever because it was that sort of mood where alcohol, stripping, silent giggles, visible breath and death complimented Portishead. It was too early for all of that in the morning, so I drank two cups of coffee and waited for life to pass.
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June 2011
5 posts
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