Sunday, August 01, 2004
I feel ill. Really. *coughs*
Woke up this morning with a horrible headache. Plus a sore throat. And a sniffly nose. Damn. Aish.
But enough about that. Kanaii came on today! MSN of course. It was great seeing her again. And she said she missed me terribly. Truth to be told, I missed her too. She was a great friend, even if we didn't know each other in real life.
I wonder if I could ever see her in real life? I mean, we're in different parts of the world. Currently she's on vacation in hongkong, and she appears to be having fun. Although she broke her mp3 player...poor thing.
I'm the only one who replies to her emails, so she says. Well of course I do. Whoever I consider my friend, I will treat them exceptionally well. Well most of the time that is. It depends...on the friend and on my mood. If the friend is someone worth it, then I'll risk life and limb for them. I'm like that.
Of course, as for the people I dislike, I generally avoid them. Why risk unnecessary confrontations? It's not worth my time and energy to get into disputes like that. Not that I dislike that many people. Well actually I do, but hate? Hate is a strong word.
But yes, I do hate some people. But if you wanted to get right down to it, I hate anything and everything, especially myself, for being the kind of person I am. I told Dawn once that I was in the process of wearing down what is left of my conscience. That is true.
But deep down I'm not evil. No matter what I say or do, I'm still not completely dark in there. There's a single pathetic flame flickering in there, and I can't and won't extinguish it. To do that would be to lose myself, what's left of who I used to be. Dramatic-sounding doesn't it? Dawn said my life sound like a drama. It's true. And I'm the lead actor, the director, and the producer.
I made it happen this way, don't you see? So many choices, I could have done things differently, but I didn't. I told Dawn that how our life turns out is the result of little things. Big things are the result of little things. One word can change a person's life. So can a decision to accept or decline something. A single moment, that's all our life needs to unfold in different ways.
Sometimes I laugh at all these. How pathetic we humans are. To think that we are in control. No we aren't. All we can do is make our decisions, and see how it is swallowed up in the great web of life, vibrating in unison with the myriad decisons of millions and billions of lives around us. That is our life. We are affected by not only our own decisions, but the decisions of the ones around us.
Fate, predestination. I don't believe in all those. I firmly believe that our lives are in the hands of every little thing around us. We humans hold sway as masters of the earth, but the earth embraces us within its grip. How vulnerable we are...yet we continue to err. Perhaps the only plague upon this earth is us, us humans. We have poisoned the waters, toxified the air, ruined the soil. We're killing that which that supports us. If humans were to die, we would deserve it.
Enough of this melodramatic declarations. I tire even of my own pomposity. Strange isn't it? I tried being a bit more bitter and retrospective in class. It worked out admirably well. I voiced some somewhat controversial views in class, well not that controversial, but you get the idea. I think my life is getting way too much like an overdrawn and angsty soap opera. Good lord...
Even when I'm voicing my views here, I end up making my words and sentences flow out like some professional piece of work that I'm planning to hand up. Haha. Occupational hazard perhaps. Shoddy writing disgusts me. And a mediocre piece of work is enough to give me a fit. I abhore atrocious writing. Anyone who manages to self-destruct a piece of writing within the 1st 3 lines should be dragged out and shot. Anyone who can bore their audience to death with their soppy skills should be burnt at the stake and their bodies mutiliated. Ok maybe I'm going too far, but I'm sure you get my point.
That's one of the reasons why I tend to skim over the works of my own classmates. Well except for those that write well. Or those who for once managed to write well. I'm not an absolute genius at writing, but I hope people will forgive my apparent disdain when I see bad pieces. It's an insult to writing when atrocious works pop up. Of course I don't tell anyone that. Well I'm saying it here, but somehow the effect is different. I could never explain it to you.
Writing is like a religion to me. Authors love and hate very intensely. When true writers see a good piece of work, they will immediately fall before it in worship and adoration. I'm not kidding, I've seen some really good ones online before that made me laugh and cry as the author skilfully laid out the story. I can only sigh and weep that my own efforts are as dust before something like that.
Which brings me to the next part. While we may fall in love with an exceptional piece of writing, we can be filled with a irrational hatred and resentment that someone could produce something that was so much more superior to something we ourselves had produced. It happens. I was on the verge of tearing my skin off because of that irrational fit of anger and jealousy. Trust me, it happens.
There's no worse occupation that being an author, a poet, an artist, or even a musician. We are constantly barraged with the extremes of emotion as we go on with our work. To be raised up into the heavens when we produce an excellent piece, but to be plunged into the deepest abyss of despair when all is not well. Loss of inspiration can kill, literally. We simply cannot deal with it. To lose it is to lose the meaning of our existence.
Maybe I might sound like some insane, overdramatic person with delusions of being a great writer. I may not be great, but I have the soul of a true writer. A true writer does not have to be formally recognised as great. It's just within us. This burning desire to keep writing. To orchestrate the most beautiful pieces of writing that will move the heavens. To write so well that the gods themselves will envy us. That is what every writer wants to be.
Unfortunately, I do not have the iron will. I cannot succeed, simply because I cannot focus. I am weak. That is my Achilles' heel. And knowing this, more pain is caused to me. I know I can do it, but yet...
Imploring hands seek but do not reach
Brushing gently upon forbidden breach
Despair wrecked on tortured wretch
Nothing left for soul to fetch
Burning desire fade to none
Frozen core more than done
Nothing left for one to seek
Death's Toll sounds in charnel reek
Spontaneous. Totally random. It's not too good. Some parts don't seem to click. Oh well.
I'm gonna die. Really I am. Think I can get myself gravely ill? I could...go downstairs and hide in the playground. I'll be sick by morning. Not that I'm already not sick. I feel ill already...
If you can't guess already, writing IS my religion. I don't believe in Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, or whatever other religion. My love for writing seals my fate. Oh well, what a way to go.
There's a bunch of Panadol tablets in the kitchen. Should I take some? I want to sleep. I wanted to sleep a long time ago. Sleep...rest...darkness....
Death's door beckon with frightening ease
Tears of the fallen soothe the raging beast
Soul's loss to endless dark
Avenge the one bound to miss its mark
Silence reigns in night and day
Weep for the foolish one who lost his way
Raven's cry echo and fall
Broken child twist and fall
A single sound rise from rosy rifts
Only this,
Forgive...
Hmm. Inspiration comes at all the wrong times. Impending doom makes me write better poems. Odd isn't it? I'm a gothic poet. Erika says so. How well she knows. And I'm starting to rhyme unconsciously. Oh woe is me.
My granny's calling. I'm ignoring. I rhymed again. Goddamn. This ain't working, not while while I'm rocking. Crap, I did it again. >___<
I should name my poems. I really should. But I can't think of anything. Oh well. I will post these up at solid. See how they're received....
Maybe, just maybe...but then again it's too late for maybes is it? Too late for redemption...
]
Woke up this morning with a horrible headache. Plus a sore throat. And a sniffly nose. Damn. Aish.
But enough about that. Kanaii came on today! MSN of course. It was great seeing her again. And she said she missed me terribly. Truth to be told, I missed her too. She was a great friend, even if we didn't know each other in real life.
I wonder if I could ever see her in real life? I mean, we're in different parts of the world. Currently she's on vacation in hongkong, and she appears to be having fun. Although she broke her mp3 player...poor thing.
I'm the only one who replies to her emails, so she says. Well of course I do. Whoever I consider my friend, I will treat them exceptionally well. Well most of the time that is. It depends...on the friend and on my mood. If the friend is someone worth it, then I'll risk life and limb for them. I'm like that.
Of course, as for the people I dislike, I generally avoid them. Why risk unnecessary confrontations? It's not worth my time and energy to get into disputes like that. Not that I dislike that many people. Well actually I do, but hate? Hate is a strong word.
But yes, I do hate some people. But if you wanted to get right down to it, I hate anything and everything, especially myself, for being the kind of person I am. I told Dawn once that I was in the process of wearing down what is left of my conscience. That is true.
But deep down I'm not evil. No matter what I say or do, I'm still not completely dark in there. There's a single pathetic flame flickering in there, and I can't and won't extinguish it. To do that would be to lose myself, what's left of who I used to be. Dramatic-sounding doesn't it? Dawn said my life sound like a drama. It's true. And I'm the lead actor, the director, and the producer.
I made it happen this way, don't you see? So many choices, I could have done things differently, but I didn't. I told Dawn that how our life turns out is the result of little things. Big things are the result of little things. One word can change a person's life. So can a decision to accept or decline something. A single moment, that's all our life needs to unfold in different ways.
Sometimes I laugh at all these. How pathetic we humans are. To think that we are in control. No we aren't. All we can do is make our decisions, and see how it is swallowed up in the great web of life, vibrating in unison with the myriad decisons of millions and billions of lives around us. That is our life. We are affected by not only our own decisions, but the decisions of the ones around us.
Fate, predestination. I don't believe in all those. I firmly believe that our lives are in the hands of every little thing around us. We humans hold sway as masters of the earth, but the earth embraces us within its grip. How vulnerable we are...yet we continue to err. Perhaps the only plague upon this earth is us, us humans. We have poisoned the waters, toxified the air, ruined the soil. We're killing that which that supports us. If humans were to die, we would deserve it.
Enough of this melodramatic declarations. I tire even of my own pomposity. Strange isn't it? I tried being a bit more bitter and retrospective in class. It worked out admirably well. I voiced some somewhat controversial views in class, well not that controversial, but you get the idea. I think my life is getting way too much like an overdrawn and angsty soap opera. Good lord...
Even when I'm voicing my views here, I end up making my words and sentences flow out like some professional piece of work that I'm planning to hand up. Haha. Occupational hazard perhaps. Shoddy writing disgusts me. And a mediocre piece of work is enough to give me a fit. I abhore atrocious writing. Anyone who manages to self-destruct a piece of writing within the 1st 3 lines should be dragged out and shot. Anyone who can bore their audience to death with their soppy skills should be burnt at the stake and their bodies mutiliated. Ok maybe I'm going too far, but I'm sure you get my point.
That's one of the reasons why I tend to skim over the works of my own classmates. Well except for those that write well. Or those who for once managed to write well. I'm not an absolute genius at writing, but I hope people will forgive my apparent disdain when I see bad pieces. It's an insult to writing when atrocious works pop up. Of course I don't tell anyone that. Well I'm saying it here, but somehow the effect is different. I could never explain it to you.
Writing is like a religion to me. Authors love and hate very intensely. When true writers see a good piece of work, they will immediately fall before it in worship and adoration. I'm not kidding, I've seen some really good ones online before that made me laugh and cry as the author skilfully laid out the story. I can only sigh and weep that my own efforts are as dust before something like that.
Which brings me to the next part. While we may fall in love with an exceptional piece of writing, we can be filled with a irrational hatred and resentment that someone could produce something that was so much more superior to something we ourselves had produced. It happens. I was on the verge of tearing my skin off because of that irrational fit of anger and jealousy. Trust me, it happens.
There's no worse occupation that being an author, a poet, an artist, or even a musician. We are constantly barraged with the extremes of emotion as we go on with our work. To be raised up into the heavens when we produce an excellent piece, but to be plunged into the deepest abyss of despair when all is not well. Loss of inspiration can kill, literally. We simply cannot deal with it. To lose it is to lose the meaning of our existence.
Maybe I might sound like some insane, overdramatic person with delusions of being a great writer. I may not be great, but I have the soul of a true writer. A true writer does not have to be formally recognised as great. It's just within us. This burning desire to keep writing. To orchestrate the most beautiful pieces of writing that will move the heavens. To write so well that the gods themselves will envy us. That is what every writer wants to be.
Unfortunately, I do not have the iron will. I cannot succeed, simply because I cannot focus. I am weak. That is my Achilles' heel. And knowing this, more pain is caused to me. I know I can do it, but yet...
Imploring hands seek but do not reach
Brushing gently upon forbidden breach
Despair wrecked on tortured wretch
Nothing left for soul to fetch
Burning desire fade to none
Frozen core more than done
Nothing left for one to seek
Death's Toll sounds in charnel reek
Spontaneous. Totally random. It's not too good. Some parts don't seem to click. Oh well.
I'm gonna die. Really I am. Think I can get myself gravely ill? I could...go downstairs and hide in the playground. I'll be sick by morning. Not that I'm already not sick. I feel ill already...
If you can't guess already, writing IS my religion. I don't believe in Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, or whatever other religion. My love for writing seals my fate. Oh well, what a way to go.
There's a bunch of Panadol tablets in the kitchen. Should I take some? I want to sleep. I wanted to sleep a long time ago. Sleep...rest...darkness....
Death's door beckon with frightening ease
Tears of the fallen soothe the raging beast
Soul's loss to endless dark
Avenge the one bound to miss its mark
Silence reigns in night and day
Weep for the foolish one who lost his way
Raven's cry echo and fall
Broken child twist and fall
A single sound rise from rosy rifts
Only this,
Forgive...
Hmm. Inspiration comes at all the wrong times. Impending doom makes me write better poems. Odd isn't it? I'm a gothic poet. Erika says so. How well she knows. And I'm starting to rhyme unconsciously. Oh woe is me.
My granny's calling. I'm ignoring. I rhymed again. Goddamn. This ain't working, not while while I'm rocking. Crap, I did it again. >___<
I should name my poems. I really should. But I can't think of anything. Oh well. I will post these up at solid. See how they're received....
Maybe, just maybe...but then again it's too late for maybes is it? Too late for redemption...
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