actively I am writing.
belatedly I am thinking.
carefully the night tires me.
dreadfully the day caresses me.
eccentrically another day passes.
freakily I live another day.
gently this wind cools me.
hastily this rain went as it came.
irkingly I am passive.
jokingly I am active.
kindly my breath continues.
lovingly the earth nourishes me.
merely a long vacation.
newly reborn after a passage of change.
openly nothing has changed.
peacefully suffer the duration.
quietly say nothing.
restfully nothing really happens.
scarcely he leaves me untouched.
thankfully i still live
usually homesick
viciously repeating
wistfully running
xenophobically greet the other
youthfully meet the Other
zealously dying.
there is always an egocentric sequence at work.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Thursday, June 19, 2008
persistence of metaphors,
we insist on speaking in riddles.
'I am' ?
must 'I' always come with a verb? a labour towards a direction?
a spatialized entity, from experience to entity.
isn't movement towards the Said, the Being, the end of somewhere? content with the stable metaphors? metaphors that represent nothing?
Isn't the present, a concept, an idea that is never material? Is it not both isolating and mobilizing an entity at the same instant? The instant becomes an event.
is it not a spatialized entity that never occurs? There is no present because it is evanescent.
can we even view 'presence' and 'present'?
music comes closer to revealing the nature of experience: a happen-ing, an unfold-ing.
pain, is the progress of the self; the awakening of what is stillness, idleness and contentment.
there exists a more complex movement. One that is cruel, deadly and absolutely unforgiving.
The disaster of duration
it is duration that gives us the consciousness of presence and absence.
but it is also the immediacy of an encounter that summons the 'I' to a relationship.
I always appear at the summit of presence.
but I am also doomed to be annihilated at the end of my time on Earth.
I become absent in the world of things.
Duration is the gift that makes us wary and weary.
It is both a slow-working poison and the progress of salvation.
In this (limited) duration, one comes to term with oneself.
One cries.
One crawls.
One walks.
One talks.
One plays.
One learns.
One laments.
One works.
One laments again.
One lies.
One sins.
One labours.
One dies.
One can never escape the work/verb that determines his or her position in the world of things.
one cannot escape a disaster unforetold.
one cannot escape the pain.
one must deny and forsake the Other that conceived you.
only then does the relation re-establish its enigmatic and rhizomatic nature, its dialectical birth/death, destruction/creation flux
I -> I -> I ->
I persists.
but I change.
It is duration that delivers us to the ending, come what may.
It is impossible to live in the now. There is no now.
there is currency, there is immediacy but there is no now.
The first experiences of life all unfold in a duration.
what you achieve or lose happens in time.
Without recognising this finitude, no one can understand his or her freedom of will. (another paradoxical metaphor)
Therefore, submit.
Submit to the will of duration: that which rises up, and rushes to its end.
tbc.
we insist on speaking in riddles.
'I am' ?
must 'I' always come with a verb? a labour towards a direction?
a spatialized entity, from experience to entity.
isn't movement towards the Said, the Being, the end of somewhere? content with the stable metaphors? metaphors that represent nothing?
Isn't the present, a concept, an idea that is never material? Is it not both isolating and mobilizing an entity at the same instant? The instant becomes an event.
is it not a spatialized entity that never occurs? There is no present because it is evanescent.
can we even view 'presence' and 'present'?
music comes closer to revealing the nature of experience: a happen-ing, an unfold-ing.
pain, is the progress of the self; the awakening of what is stillness, idleness and contentment.
there exists a more complex movement. One that is cruel, deadly and absolutely unforgiving.
The disaster of duration
it is duration that gives us the consciousness of presence and absence.
but it is also the immediacy of an encounter that summons the 'I' to a relationship.
I always appear at the summit of presence.
but I am also doomed to be annihilated at the end of my time on Earth.
I become absent in the world of things.
Duration is the gift that makes us wary and weary.
It is both a slow-working poison and the progress of salvation.
In this (limited) duration, one comes to term with oneself.
One cries.
One crawls.
One walks.
One talks.
One plays.
One learns.
One laments.
One works.
One laments again.
One lies.
One sins.
One labours.
One dies.
One can never escape the work/verb that determines his or her position in the world of things.
one cannot escape a disaster unforetold.
one cannot escape the pain.
one must deny and forsake the Other that conceived you.
only then does the relation re-establish its enigmatic and rhizomatic nature, its dialectical birth/death, destruction/creation flux
I -> I -> I ->
I persists.
but I change.
It is duration that delivers us to the ending, come what may.
It is impossible to live in the now. There is no now.
there is currency, there is immediacy but there is no now.
The first experiences of life all unfold in a duration.
what you achieve or lose happens in time.
Without recognising this finitude, no one can understand his or her freedom of will. (another paradoxical metaphor)
Therefore, submit.
Submit to the will of duration: that which rises up, and rushes to its end.
tbc.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Lukewarm,
the weight of passion falls on me.
loving is to keep me running,
lifting and sweating, but it feels,
lukewarm.
i should explain, the earlier the rain falls, drenched;
patience is not contemplation.
moving the world in a closed room.
roam the desert of redemption.
long live the fireflies!
stay a bit longer, rainbows.
the resistance has to last a bit longer,
longer than any expectations.
lukewarm,
the canals of the Ancheron don't flow here,
erupt the torrents of change.
then clean us with white snow.
lukewarm, my touch is lukewarm.
is the playground rebuilt? oh? where's the sand? we live a life in synthetics.
is the city rebuilt? oh? where are the walls? we live a life in technicolor.
are the fields plowed? oh? where are the men and women? we live a life in mechanics.
without the sun, without the rain, without the moon,
with you,
i won't smile. I won't smile. ich wird nicht lächeln. .
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
wouldn't it be nice, to be able to meet you again?
as though you have not changed since then;
those same cheeks and those small dreamy eyes,
revealing though a huge interest in that poor plastic straw.
Perhaps, this time, this place,
I could see through those eyes and guess accurately what you could be thinking,
this time, this place.
that time, that place,
I wished I could have hanged on to them,
motto motto, mousukoshi unsere Zeit,
together. longer.
时间，短，断。
你不再是你，我不再是我。你是你，我是我。
tabun.
若しかすると?
language is a barrier to the inner depths of consciousness.
that which is always an irony: to express with the fear of being misunderstood.
maybe.
I'm listening to Homenaje a Martha Valdés.
Difference is not the repetition of loss.
Difference should not be the reason for conflict.
Difference should be the reason why love triumphs all.
gentle breeze, the night sky, earth is not alone, with the moon, and the stars, across the universe, so alone and not alone, each shining not because they shine on their own, for the gaze perceives as such, so let all of us not be boastful, and the wind blows because we feel the air blowing against us, and grains of sand fill the ground we thread, together with the pebbles, the shells and the polluting trash, in times of loneliness, in times of merriment, in times of company, in times when we walk to the brim of the sea, treasuring, hallucinating, being who we are, or who we are not, moments when voices speak loudest, moments when everyone is silent, and those rainy days, those sunny days, the laughing crowds, the midnight traces of yesterday's fun, today is the time of twilight, peace be those who keep still, whose desire to keep quiet is strong, but foreign is the tongue that speaks alot but means nothing; so quit talking, and start loving, even in silence, aye, even in passive silence. with you.
salut.
fais-moi justice. eins zu eins.
一对一。
one to one.
as though you have not changed since then;
those same cheeks and those small dreamy eyes,
revealing though a huge interest in that poor plastic straw.
Perhaps, this time, this place,
I could see through those eyes and guess accurately what you could be thinking,
this time, this place.
that time, that place,
I wished I could have hanged on to them,
motto motto, mousukoshi unsere Zeit,
together. longer.
时间，短，断。
你不再是你，我不再是我。你是你，我是我。
tabun.
若しかすると?
language is a barrier to the inner depths of consciousness.
that which is always an irony: to express with the fear of being misunderstood.
maybe.
I'm listening to Homenaje a Martha Valdés.
Difference is not the repetition of loss.
Difference should not be the reason for conflict.
Difference should be the reason why love triumphs all.
gentle breeze, the night sky, earth is not alone, with the moon, and the stars, across the universe, so alone and not alone, each shining not because they shine on their own, for the gaze perceives as such, so let all of us not be boastful, and the wind blows because we feel the air blowing against us, and grains of sand fill the ground we thread, together with the pebbles, the shells and the polluting trash, in times of loneliness, in times of merriment, in times of company, in times when we walk to the brim of the sea, treasuring, hallucinating, being who we are, or who we are not, moments when voices speak loudest, moments when everyone is silent, and those rainy days, those sunny days, the laughing crowds, the midnight traces of yesterday's fun, today is the time of twilight, peace be those who keep still, whose desire to keep quiet is strong, but foreign is the tongue that speaks alot but means nothing; so quit talking, and start loving, even in silence, aye, even in passive silence. with you.
salut.
fais-moi justice. eins zu eins.
一对一。
one to one.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
the unnatural that is the natural inwardly,
is only that silent, unspeakable daily trauma and melancholy, which is
the nightly rejoice and invisible embrace before the morning rising of the pale;
before the full glory that is its zenith.
the divine will, or a gliding principle pulling me up into the skies,
is trapped behind the walls of skin, skin deep, my parasitical presence and finitude, in all its gnashing darkness and silent screams, heard over and over again,
which is a gravity opposite pull of a human, o so human consciousness; exterior and interior -
negotiated and mediated by what is the face that I can never see outside myself.
The third, the immanent third allegorised in the growing of hair, the growing of the body,
even the disintegration and its dying, but it is the voiceless charm that speaks silence;
the unknown spark that makes nuclear fission seems foolish; but it is the source of every blessings uncalled for, every manifestation in the visible, external world, that shows the narrow path, with all its thorns, trappings, ravenous wolves and obstacles of sin.
Is there a witness, a fourth? Another person who has to reflect everything, and provide the biographies for the day of judgment? The always Other who sees me from the outside, staring, peeking, stalking and perpetually there.
Perhaps, whoever or whatever there are, there just is.
Peace, be still.
is only that silent, unspeakable daily trauma and melancholy, which is
the nightly rejoice and invisible embrace before the morning rising of the pale;
before the full glory that is its zenith.
the divine will, or a gliding principle pulling me up into the skies,
is trapped behind the walls of skin, skin deep, my parasitical presence and finitude, in all its gnashing darkness and silent screams, heard over and over again,
which is a gravity opposite pull of a human, o so human consciousness; exterior and interior -
negotiated and mediated by what is the face that I can never see outside myself.
The third, the immanent third allegorised in the growing of hair, the growing of the body,
even the disintegration and its dying, but it is the voiceless charm that speaks silence;
the unknown spark that makes nuclear fission seems foolish; but it is the source of every blessings uncalled for, every manifestation in the visible, external world, that shows the narrow path, with all its thorns, trappings, ravenous wolves and obstacles of sin.
Is there a witness, a fourth? Another person who has to reflect everything, and provide the biographies for the day of judgment? The always Other who sees me from the outside, staring, peeking, stalking and perpetually there.
Perhaps, whoever or whatever there are, there just is.
Peace, be still.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
you can imagine all you want,
you can imagine what you want,
you can imagine who you want,
you can imagine the rich landscapes of your mind,
i won't be there, then.
you can tell the DJ to repeat the last song,
you can watch the same show twice,
you can read the same book twice,
you cannot ask me to come back.
you can change my life in so many ways,
but each way runs its own course.
your face changes each time I look at you.
every bit and every trace, I don't recognise.
But we stay to the end.
I won't entertain illusions.
and delusions.
I won't repeat fantasies,
and dreams.
you can imagine what you want,
you can imagine who you want,
you can imagine the rich landscapes of your mind,
i won't be there, then.
you can tell the DJ to repeat the last song,
you can watch the same show twice,
you can read the same book twice,
you cannot ask me to come back.
you can change my life in so many ways,
but each way runs its own course.
your face changes each time I look at you.
every bit and every trace, I don't recognise.
But we stay to the end.
I won't entertain illusions.
and delusions.
I won't repeat fantasies,
and dreams.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
joy may be far away now,
but for that, she is also close to him.
how he lives his life, he is often clueless.
floating, is what he might describe his life, this life.
all he asks is a simple release from this place, this place.
maybe the simplest answer now, is to wait.
like once in a bar, a pineapple cocktail, 2 hours before the jazz and within an hour it ended.
that's how goodnights are.
a few hours before you sleep, and when you do, you wake (you bid goodnight), almost immediately.
but for that, she is also close to him.
how he lives his life, he is often clueless.
floating, is what he might describe his life, this life.
all he asks is a simple release from this place, this place.
maybe the simplest answer now, is to wait.
like once in a bar, a pineapple cocktail, 2 hours before the jazz and within an hour it ended.
that's how goodnights are.
a few hours before you sleep, and when you do, you wake (you bid goodnight), almost immediately.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Thursday, May 29, 2008
hollow. hallo.
the contrasting will to negate my promise
shallow, shalom
the peace is threatened by the quiet invisible
i can't pretend to be someone else.
i can't appear to be someone else.
i am not who you think i am
silence can be so painful
but those definitions hurt more
i'm alright with the truth
'we only know each other when we're miles away'
when i don't know what to do, I know what to do.
i can't paint. i can only imagine.
gently picking the words to fill up the gaps.
foolish dreamer. only a passing phase. but don't give up.
the contrasting will to negate my promise
shallow, shalom
the peace is threatened by the quiet invisible
i can't pretend to be someone else.
i can't appear to be someone else.
i am not who you think i am
silence can be so painful
but those definitions hurt more
i'm alright with the truth
'we only know each other when we're miles away'
when i don't know what to do, I know what to do.
i can't paint. i can only imagine.
gently picking the words to fill up the gaps.
foolish dreamer. only a passing phase. but don't give up.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
slow dance
certainly, most truthfully,
to let go
of all promises, possessions and that stubborn stupidity.
perhaps, he has enough.
Instead, to release all, to bear all, to fly away as if there is nothing chained to him, that is perhaps his way out.
He doesn't know what he is doing.
but he, certainly, most truthfully, has enough of what he is doing.
have you met anyone who is so tired that he just lies flat and quietly and no one could move him? as if he is dead?
it is, probably, his slow dance of resistance to what the world tells him. A complete alien who dances by keeping still.
to let go
of all promises, possessions and that stubborn stupidity.
perhaps, he has enough.
Instead, to release all, to bear all, to fly away as if there is nothing chained to him, that is perhaps his way out.
He doesn't know what he is doing.
but he, certainly, most truthfully, has enough of what he is doing.
have you met anyone who is so tired that he just lies flat and quietly and no one could move him? as if he is dead?
it is, probably, his slow dance of resistance to what the world tells him. A complete alien who dances by keeping still.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Excerpts
1. I am constantly at risk of forgetting the most intrinsic nature of my existence: that is my identity as an image of God.
2. At the very least, then, is a very basic mirror stage that defines my relationship with Almighty Him; nevertheless, it is a reduction of a very complex relation of the Image and the Absolute Source of the Image.
3. This relation, more appropriately, should be understood as a relation of the Self and the Other. Yahweh as Other to 'I' and 'I' as other to Yahweh. (we have forgotten how to pronounce this word)
4. "Let us make man in our image, after our likeness" Genesis 1:26; for that very simple yet profound purpose of being in relation, we enter into a garden where Yahweh and 'I' calls into question the consciousness that the otherness creates. What can the other teach me? What can the other do, that having given free will to do as we please, what will we do (and have now done)?
5. The divine drama, is a long and gruelling journey in which Yahweh and Man have to constantly learn and understand that which is both forgotten and remembered. The covenants made at each historical interval reminds both Yahweh and Man, this divine lesson.
6. But more importantly, as an inexplicit clue: "Thou shalt love thy neighbour as you love thyself" as the second law illustrates (quite literally) the importance of the 'Other' relation with 'I'.
7. I am worthless without the absolute Other. I am absolutely alone.
8. The greatest gift is not that He has given us a free will. But the greatest gift is the circumstances to share this likeness with Him.
9. Consider then, that the divine will is not only (popularly known as) the call of the gospel to believe in His Son and to restore our family relation to Yahweh, but more complex than that is a similar will that the divine drama of Job would have us known.
10. That, for nothing that Job has done except to be a faithful servant, but allowed to be inflicted pain and suffering by Satan, it would seem very absurd. Indeed. But as I am now trying to suggest, though not confirmed, is the divine will of consciousness: the 'I' consciousness to know the Other.
11. Indeed, as classical theology would have us believed, God knows everything. However, the special relation of the 'I' and 'Other' allows that to be possible. For the lessons run their course to teach us and the Creator Himself about creation.
12. Transcendental God to Historical Jesus to Immanent Ghost, these phases of the biblical triune Yahweh then weaved a narrative that is beyond all proper definition. Even as I write, I feel the weight of being wrong in the way I understand the divine will.
13. Perhaps then, apart from this linear interpretation, that more rightfully belongs to an enclosed world of time and space, which is made isolated from the Book of Life, Logos, etc, to exist out of this enclosed world, that His grace may be effacacious; that grace does not have to be bound to the enclosure of the 'I' and 'Other'. Instead, it penetrates the sphere of finitude to grab Yahweh's children and to position them back into infinity - from 'thrown-ness of the being-there-in-time to the being-here with Him-out of time'.
14. But it is the 'I' and 'Other' relation that eventually makes it likely that the curses and the pouring of death onto the people of the last days were written in Revelation to warn us of an effective end this to the historical condition; that the isolation of the enclosed world will be broken and New Jerusalem can be established.
15. Nevertheless, these are my speculations. What is more important is to take note of the persistent recurrence of Jew/Gentile or Christian/Pagan; "Saved/Unsaved.
16. The condition of duality or the double 'I' and 'Other' (Jew and Gentile for example) is a divine separation that makes us become Yahweh-centric. For in sin, there is grace. All for the purpose of fulfilling the divine will; or simply put: to glorify Yahweh. Without sin, there can be no grace in which we may praise Him for His mercy and unconditional love.
17. For it is how the Other relates and reacts to the one other than Himself (and vice versa) that makes us all part of an enormous realm of divinity - one that makes us all responsible and unconsciously (or for some consciously) teaching Him and us about Himself and ourselves.
18. For I saw in every alien face, different and same altogether, I see Yahweh.
Muslim, Hindu, Atheist, Christian, Catholic, Black or White, Male or Female, Homosexual, Murderer, my Father or Mother; I see Yahweh.
19. For in every other that is not me, I interpellate him or her into a state of alterity, such that his or her alterity immediately tells us what is different about us when compared to the other; even though we lazily like to stereotype people, it is not the definition of people that we should bother ourselves with. It is the inescapable state that when 'I-perceive-You' that immediately places us in relation to each other.
20. So that this relation then in turn, without questioning what Yahweh will do to the knowledge, places me in a similar state that Yahweh perpetually places Himself in; all the more after the consciousness of Jesus Christ exploded in the particular time and space of humanity. 0 B.C to 0 A.D.
21. The knowledge of the Other is a powerful mechanism that has been happening throughout human history. For it is the rainbow covenant, the grace covenant, and the Revelation promise of the 2nd coming, that are profound results of the knowledge.
22. In every living consciousness is Yahweh's consciousness. In every psyche, anima/animus or persona of a person, God learns the complex mix of sin, grace, repentance, choice, predestination, etc. Every move He makes and our reaction. Every choice and action we make and His reaction. Every human logic, emotion and even madness. To know ourselves is to know Him. To know our finitude is to know His infinity.
23. Hence, grace is a (similar to Kierkegaard's leap of faith) is Yahweh's hands pulling us from the small universe of the size of Earth into the universe of the infinite.
24. But to consider further of the concept of cosmology, Jakob Boehme's concept of the inner cosmos of Man makes a great revelation the inner man's correspondence to this infinity of the external Other and Yahweh. The internal human world is His external world. For to look up into the skies, we realise how far the next galaxy is. But to look at another human being and into ourselves, we come into an immediate relation between the other and our inner self. The galaxies and black holes within us makes me see Yahweh as both personal and ever-present within me. The presence of the Holy Ghost in His children is the stamp, the mark and the cross that firmly establishes the eternal relation. Perhaps then, I wonder if it is still absurd to suggest that the garden of eden is actually within us...and the casting away is actually the moment when we begin to forget that we actually have Knowledge.
25. When we breathe, Yahweh breathes with us. When we laugh, He laughs with us. When we cry, He cries with us. Though He does not sin, the pull of the 'I' and 'Other' makes it impossible not to feel the consequences of sinning, or even the act of sinning. A clear illustration of the pull and Yahweh's own personal experience of His-Other-than-Himself's suffering would definitely be the moment when Christ said "Why hast Thou forsaken me?". Isn't this act, absolutely finite, an example in which even Yahweh cannot escape the 'I' and 'Other' intentionality that moves this world of objects and subjects? Isn't this then, His own immediate experience of the Other in the course of His own divine lesson to be learnt, felt and experience?
26. So consider then of your personal relation to the Other who is Yahweh, for in any response, it tells both of ourselves and Him.
27. No moment is a lost moment to Him. The immaterial and intangible nature of Yahweh is not irrelevant. For it is us, the material and tangible us, that becomes this renewed Yahweh-image, that makes us all responsible in reflection of that Original, our Creator. For to be Christ-like, is not really to behave like Christ, (absolutely impossible now), but to be given the key to the divine will and the consciousness of the 'I' and 'Yahweh'. For in salvation, it is not only the promise of eternal life that is given, but a heightened consciousness of Yahweh that makes us irrevocably part of the divine will; the Job or Jonah who cannot escape from His consciousness.
28. To see the other is to see the enigmatic but immediate Yahweh. For everyone is an enigma. The mysterious other that us, as condemned to meaning, would always attempt in some form of definition, deduction, etc. of the other and his or her thoughts. Instead, look at the Other face-to-face, without that killing of the other who is both simple and complex.
29. For it is not meaning that is important, but the awareness of the 'I'-'Other' that must be maintained at all costs, consciously. To 'Follow Me' as Jesus asked of His disciples is to understand that the 'I'-'Other' is an eternal encounter of following this relation. And nothing else can maintain it except faith, which is the gift from grace.
30. Perhaps then, we find ourselves inescapable from this 'I' and 'Other' divine relation. But instead of thinking it is a kind of bondage, it is to be consciously aware that in every moment when we encounter the 'Other' (any person, animal or being), we are in relation to Yahweh.
And that made me smiled so clumsily, I wondered if anyone saw me. It's been long since I had such a divine revelation. Nevertheless, I am indebted to Levinas and Jakob Boehme for their insights. Absolutely grateful to get this far after 8 years.
To be further edited and reflected on to see if the words actually illuminate what was actually revealed to me.
31. Death is not the road to awe. LIFE is. The dead cannot tell or teach us what consciousness and unconsciousness can.
2. At the very least, then, is a very basic mirror stage that defines my relationship with Almighty Him; nevertheless, it is a reduction of a very complex relation of the Image and the Absolute Source of the Image.
3. This relation, more appropriately, should be understood as a relation of the Self and the Other. Yahweh as Other to 'I' and 'I' as other to Yahweh. (we have forgotten how to pronounce this word)
4. "Let us make man in our image, after our likeness" Genesis 1:26; for that very simple yet profound purpose of being in relation, we enter into a garden where Yahweh and 'I' calls into question the consciousness that the otherness creates. What can the other teach me? What can the other do, that having given free will to do as we please, what will we do (and have now done)?
5. The divine drama, is a long and gruelling journey in which Yahweh and Man have to constantly learn and understand that which is both forgotten and remembered. The covenants made at each historical interval reminds both Yahweh and Man, this divine lesson.
6. But more importantly, as an inexplicit clue: "Thou shalt love thy neighbour as you love thyself" as the second law illustrates (quite literally) the importance of the 'Other' relation with 'I'.
7. I am worthless without the absolute Other. I am absolutely alone.
8. The greatest gift is not that He has given us a free will. But the greatest gift is the circumstances to share this likeness with Him.
9. Consider then, that the divine will is not only (popularly known as) the call of the gospel to believe in His Son and to restore our family relation to Yahweh, but more complex than that is a similar will that the divine drama of Job would have us known.
10. That, for nothing that Job has done except to be a faithful servant, but allowed to be inflicted pain and suffering by Satan, it would seem very absurd. Indeed. But as I am now trying to suggest, though not confirmed, is the divine will of consciousness: the 'I' consciousness to know the Other.
11. Indeed, as classical theology would have us believed, God knows everything. However, the special relation of the 'I' and 'Other' allows that to be possible. For the lessons run their course to teach us and the Creator Himself about creation.
12. Transcendental God to Historical Jesus to Immanent Ghost, these phases of the biblical triune Yahweh then weaved a narrative that is beyond all proper definition. Even as I write, I feel the weight of being wrong in the way I understand the divine will.
13. Perhaps then, apart from this linear interpretation, that more rightfully belongs to an enclosed world of time and space, which is made isolated from the Book of Life, Logos, etc, to exist out of this enclosed world, that His grace may be effacacious; that grace does not have to be bound to the enclosure of the 'I' and 'Other'. Instead, it penetrates the sphere of finitude to grab Yahweh's children and to position them back into infinity - from 'thrown-ness of the being-there-in-time to the being-here with Him-out of time'.
14. But it is the 'I' and 'Other' relation that eventually makes it likely that the curses and the pouring of death onto the people of the last days were written in Revelation to warn us of an effective end this to the historical condition; that the isolation of the enclosed world will be broken and New Jerusalem can be established.
15. Nevertheless, these are my speculations. What is more important is to take note of the persistent recurrence of Jew/Gentile or Christian/Pagan; "Saved/Unsaved.
16. The condition of duality or the double 'I' and 'Other' (Jew and Gentile for example) is a divine separation that makes us become Yahweh-centric. For in sin, there is grace. All for the purpose of fulfilling the divine will; or simply put: to glorify Yahweh. Without sin, there can be no grace in which we may praise Him for His mercy and unconditional love.
17. For it is how the Other relates and reacts to the one other than Himself (and vice versa) that makes us all part of an enormous realm of divinity - one that makes us all responsible and unconsciously (or for some consciously) teaching Him and us about Himself and ourselves.
18. For I saw in every alien face, different and same altogether, I see Yahweh.
Muslim, Hindu, Atheist, Christian, Catholic, Black or White, Male or Female, Homosexual, Murderer, my Father or Mother; I see Yahweh.
19. For in every other that is not me, I interpellate him or her into a state of alterity, such that his or her alterity immediately tells us what is different about us when compared to the other; even though we lazily like to stereotype people, it is not the definition of people that we should bother ourselves with. It is the inescapable state that when 'I-perceive-You' that immediately places us in relation to each other.
20. So that this relation then in turn, without questioning what Yahweh will do to the knowledge, places me in a similar state that Yahweh perpetually places Himself in; all the more after the consciousness of Jesus Christ exploded in the particular time and space of humanity. 0 B.C to 0 A.D.
21. The knowledge of the Other is a powerful mechanism that has been happening throughout human history. For it is the rainbow covenant, the grace covenant, and the Revelation promise of the 2nd coming, that are profound results of the knowledge.
22. In every living consciousness is Yahweh's consciousness. In every psyche, anima/animus or persona of a person, God learns the complex mix of sin, grace, repentance, choice, predestination, etc. Every move He makes and our reaction. Every choice and action we make and His reaction. Every human logic, emotion and even madness. To know ourselves is to know Him. To know our finitude is to know His infinity.
23. Hence, grace is a (similar to Kierkegaard's leap of faith) is Yahweh's hands pulling us from the small universe of the size of Earth into the universe of the infinite.
24. But to consider further of the concept of cosmology, Jakob Boehme's concept of the inner cosmos of Man makes a great revelation the inner man's correspondence to this infinity of the external Other and Yahweh. The internal human world is His external world. For to look up into the skies, we realise how far the next galaxy is. But to look at another human being and into ourselves, we come into an immediate relation between the other and our inner self. The galaxies and black holes within us makes me see Yahweh as both personal and ever-present within me. The presence of the Holy Ghost in His children is the stamp, the mark and the cross that firmly establishes the eternal relation. Perhaps then, I wonder if it is still absurd to suggest that the garden of eden is actually within us...and the casting away is actually the moment when we begin to forget that we actually have Knowledge.
25. When we breathe, Yahweh breathes with us. When we laugh, He laughs with us. When we cry, He cries with us. Though He does not sin, the pull of the 'I' and 'Other' makes it impossible not to feel the consequences of sinning, or even the act of sinning. A clear illustration of the pull and Yahweh's own personal experience of His-Other-than-Himself's suffering would definitely be the moment when Christ said "Why hast Thou forsaken me?". Isn't this act, absolutely finite, an example in which even Yahweh cannot escape the 'I' and 'Other' intentionality that moves this world of objects and subjects? Isn't this then, His own immediate experience of the Other in the course of His own divine lesson to be learnt, felt and experience?
26. So consider then of your personal relation to the Other who is Yahweh, for in any response, it tells both of ourselves and Him.
27. No moment is a lost moment to Him. The immaterial and intangible nature of Yahweh is not irrelevant. For it is us, the material and tangible us, that becomes this renewed Yahweh-image, that makes us all responsible in reflection of that Original, our Creator. For to be Christ-like, is not really to behave like Christ, (absolutely impossible now), but to be given the key to the divine will and the consciousness of the 'I' and 'Yahweh'. For in salvation, it is not only the promise of eternal life that is given, but a heightened consciousness of Yahweh that makes us irrevocably part of the divine will; the Job or Jonah who cannot escape from His consciousness.
28. To see the other is to see the enigmatic but immediate Yahweh. For everyone is an enigma. The mysterious other that us, as condemned to meaning, would always attempt in some form of definition, deduction, etc. of the other and his or her thoughts. Instead, look at the Other face-to-face, without that killing of the other who is both simple and complex.
29. For it is not meaning that is important, but the awareness of the 'I'-'Other' that must be maintained at all costs, consciously. To 'Follow Me' as Jesus asked of His disciples is to understand that the 'I'-'Other' is an eternal encounter of following this relation. And nothing else can maintain it except faith, which is the gift from grace.
30. Perhaps then, we find ourselves inescapable from this 'I' and 'Other' divine relation. But instead of thinking it is a kind of bondage, it is to be consciously aware that in every moment when we encounter the 'Other' (any person, animal or being), we are in relation to Yahweh.
And that made me smiled so clumsily, I wondered if anyone saw me. It's been long since I had such a divine revelation. Nevertheless, I am indebted to Levinas and Jakob Boehme for their insights. Absolutely grateful to get this far after 8 years.
To be further edited and reflected on to see if the words actually illuminate what was actually revealed to me.
31. Death is not the road to awe. LIFE is. The dead cannot tell or teach us what consciousness and unconsciousness can.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Jacob Boehme
"Und die sichtbare Welt ist eine Offenbarung der innern geistlichen Welt, aus dem ewigen Lichte und aus der ewigen Finsterniss, aus dem geistlichen Gewirke; und ist ein Gegenwurf der Ewigkeit, mit dem sich die Ewigkeit hat sichtbar gemacht"
{"And the visible world is a manifestation of the inner spiritual world, from the eternal light and the eternal darkness, from the spiritual working; and it is an opposition of eternity, which eternity itself hath made visible"}.
Vide "Jacob Boehme's Saemmtliche Werke" -- edited by K. W. Schiebler, Leipzig, 1831-1846
Vol. I, p. 144.
{"And the visible world is a manifestation of the inner spiritual world, from the eternal light and the eternal darkness, from the spiritual working; and it is an opposition of eternity, which eternity itself hath made visible"}.
Vide "Jacob Boehme's Saemmtliche Werke" -- edited by K. W. Schiebler, Leipzig, 1831-1846
Vol. I, p. 144.
"Ich bin auch nicht in den Himmel gestiegen und habe alle Werke und Geschoepfe Gottes gesehen, sondern derselbe Himmel ist in meinem Geiste offenbaret, dass ich im Geist erkenne die Werke und Geschoepfe Gottes"
{"I however have not climbed up to Heaven so as to have seen all the works and creatures of God, but the selfsame Heaven is revealed in my spirit, so that I in spirit perview the works and creatures of God"}.
Vide Vol. II, "Aurora", p. 19.
{"I however have not climbed up to Heaven so as to have seen all the works and creatures of God, but the selfsame Heaven is revealed in my spirit, so that I in spirit perview the works and creatures of God"}.
Vide Vol. II, "Aurora", p. 19.
"Die ganze aeussere sichtbare Welt mit all ihrem Wesen ist eine Bezeichnung oder Figur der inneren geistlichen Welt; alles was im Inneren ist, und wie es in der Wirkung ist, also hats auch seinen Charakter aeusserlich"
{"The whole external visible world with all its essence is a sign or figure of the inner spiritual world; all what is in the inner, and how it is in effect, also indeed has its character externally"}.
{"The whole external visible world with all its essence is a sign or figure of the inner spiritual world; all what is in the inner, and how it is in effect, also indeed has its character externally"}.
Vol. IV, "De signatura Rerum", p. 346.
"Denn die sichtbaren empfindlichen Dinge sind ein Wesen des Unsichtbaren; von dem Unsichtlichen, Unbegreiflichen ist kommen das Sichtbare, Begreifliche"
{"The visible and sensible things are an essence of the invisible; from the unseeable and incomprehensible are come the seeable, the understandable"}.
Vol. V, Mysterium magnum, p. 3
{"The visible and sensible things are an essence of the invisible; from the unseeable and incomprehensible are come the seeable, the understandable"}.
Vol. V, Mysterium magnum, p. 3
"diese Welt ist ein Gleichniss nach Gottes Wesen, und ist Gott in einem irdischen Gleichniss offenbar"
{"This world is in likeness to God's essence, and God is manifest in the earthly likeness"}.
Vide Vol. VI, "De incarnatione Verbi", p. 319.
{"This world is in likeness to God's essence, and God is manifest in the earthly likeness"}.
Vide Vol. VI, "De incarnatione Verbi", p. 319.
Friday, May 23, 2008
IMPOSSIBILITY
Allways an allready concluded possibility.
forged with a fiery passivity.
a profound jealousy for the ignorance present in beasts
instead, we developed a bestiality that resents, and yet begs for the ultimate prize of our curse:
the knowledge of duality: absence/presence.
hence we violate our nature with an unholy intercourse. we violate first and foremost, the totality of the human psyche. we violate our virginity that is also our duality. We cannot run away from duality.
- But, I am both female and male only when I come face to face with my opposite.
first, the violence of the anima and animus. then, the violence of metaphysics.
There are always departures, instead of total and inward transcendences; or the inward leap of faith. instead we are condemned to meaning. Falling into places. Poor Aquinas and Albert Magnus...Poor Augustine. and Calvin...........and yet, I am not confident that I am falling into the wilderness. With this revelation, it makes me even more lonesome.
(hence, only the virgin birth could save us.)
desire is not a lack. It is an overwhelming Eros that burns within us; the raging inner war of polarities.
Logos deals with it externally. Mythos deals with it internally.
But the Geist shakes you; breaks you; overpowers you; slips in between.
As Jung puts it, our focus has to be on the Geist. No doubt, we look to Christ; but the supply of Ghost; the chronological baptism of the spirit at Pentecost; the great emblem that is ironically always invisible; immediately separates us from our wretched bodies, but holds the anima and animus together, till the outward persona may somehow manifest this sanctification: I am trapped alongside my Ghost and inside my body - Ghost in a shell. The Geist holds an immediate relation to 'I'. The ultimate stranger and friend. The super Other.
Hence, nothing is more volcanic, more trembling, more fearful, more exciting, more shocking and haunting than the Ghost. It shakes my shell into submission. It wages war against the flesh. It rocks me. I cannot see, feel, hear or speak as dialogues are conventionally done. It makes no sensory transmission. It just does not relate to me as objects of this world does. It just is; within and outside of me. It is so quiet, I thought it does nothing. And yet this nothingness is so profound, so deep and so loud. I can become deaf hearing it. It is a black hole, that staring at this deep pit, I can become blind. And the numerous times I scream, cry and pray at it, I can go dumb. But when all fails, worm that I am, shall dig with nothing but into the underground I go and instead, find the hidden talents and rhizomes that have always been there.
Ah. Unhappy Marriage. Ah. Happy Mourning.
There will be no bestial intercourse at a mass grave upon death.
Death shall make us perfect.
Death shall be the perfect manifestation of love.
I just hope I don't go mad before that happens.
forged with a fiery passivity.
a profound jealousy for the ignorance present in beasts
instead, we developed a bestiality that resents, and yet begs for the ultimate prize of our curse:
the knowledge of duality: absence/presence.
hence we violate our nature with an unholy intercourse. we violate first and foremost, the totality of the human psyche. we violate our virginity that is also our duality. We cannot run away from duality.
- But, I am both female and male only when I come face to face with my opposite.
first, the violence of the anima and animus. then, the violence of metaphysics.
There are always departures, instead of total and inward transcendences; or the inward leap of faith. instead we are condemned to meaning. Falling into places. Poor Aquinas and Albert Magnus...Poor Augustine. and Calvin...........and yet, I am not confident that I am falling into the wilderness. With this revelation, it makes me even more lonesome.
(hence, only the virgin birth could save us.)
desire is not a lack. It is an overwhelming Eros that burns within us; the raging inner war of polarities.
Logos deals with it externally. Mythos deals with it internally.
But the Geist shakes you; breaks you; overpowers you; slips in between.
As Jung puts it, our focus has to be on the Geist. No doubt, we look to Christ; but the supply of Ghost; the chronological baptism of the spirit at Pentecost; the great emblem that is ironically always invisible; immediately separates us from our wretched bodies, but holds the anima and animus together, till the outward persona may somehow manifest this sanctification: I am trapped alongside my Ghost and inside my body - Ghost in a shell. The Geist holds an immediate relation to 'I'. The ultimate stranger and friend. The super Other.
Hence, nothing is more volcanic, more trembling, more fearful, more exciting, more shocking and haunting than the Ghost. It shakes my shell into submission. It wages war against the flesh. It rocks me. I cannot see, feel, hear or speak as dialogues are conventionally done. It makes no sensory transmission. It just does not relate to me as objects of this world does. It just is; within and outside of me. It is so quiet, I thought it does nothing. And yet this nothingness is so profound, so deep and so loud. I can become deaf hearing it. It is a black hole, that staring at this deep pit, I can become blind. And the numerous times I scream, cry and pray at it, I can go dumb. But when all fails, worm that I am, shall dig with nothing but into the underground I go and instead, find the hidden talents and rhizomes that have always been there.
Ah. Unhappy Marriage. Ah. Happy Mourning.
There will be no bestial intercourse at a mass grave upon death.
Death shall make us perfect.
Death shall be the perfect manifestation of love.
I just hope I don't go mad before that happens.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Das Gift
Yo, yo, you my bloved, allways and forever called by time.
Writingg lives longer than me. My words, soaked with the tears that will dry, filled up our imaginations.
Das Gift of writing is a poison.
I don't genau know when the page will end. Forgivee me, my words are little. Less. Less is more.
my lovee, little can't be say, none the wiser.
Das Gift of love is a poison.
Yo heard beforee, these repetitions. A couple of butterflies that accompany the dead.
wiesowie a pair of thieves, aligning Grace, only one out of four reminded us that one is saved.
Das Gift of salvation is auch ein Gift.
My way is a strange way, wie ein Wanderer. Next sudden gone the twain, to leave me alonee.
Eins. The lingering sss of the soul. Say no. say stay. I go. gone, without the wind that blew me first.
Das Gift of Wind is its strength.
So on, the love stays, where the man is gone from. From, say gone. vanished from a presence, treeless roots, stuck where water nourishes. said gone. noch nicht done with yoo. Yoo the thorn, in my flesh.
Das Gift of flesh is its vulnerability.
Allways, gone. Said gone. Little left for the living to mourn. But life, goes, say go, where the going is the leading by something unknown. To say 'alone' is not to be alone. A reader reads.
Das Gift is the reader that reads the words of a loner.
I stay, think stay. I promised that before.
Variation of the same explosion.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Sunday, May 18, 2008
《夜长梦多》
我
今晚，能不回家吗？
她
（看不懂的眼神）
为什么？
我
陪我。
她
陪你嘎吗？
我
没什么。也许过了今晚，我们不会再见面了。
安静。
她
是吗。
我
是的。
她
如果我现在就走呢？
我
我。。。我们不会再见面了。如果你不走，我们还能延长结局。
她
为什么我得答应你的安排？
我
我累了。
安静。
我
今晚，能不回家吗？
她
（看不懂的眼神）
为什么。
我
陪我。
她
陪你吗。
我
过了今晚，我们不会再见面了。
她
好吧。
我
我。。。我不能再。。。关心你了。
她
我明白。
我明白。
再见。
dissolve to white.
my days are long,
my days are short,
my nature consists of a lack,
cover me when I feel exposed.
when you go, don't say goodbye,
when i leave, don't say goodbye.
i'll fly away like pollen,
i'll sink down like an anchor,
lift me when everything's done.
meine Fantasie, mein Traum, die Tage ging so langsam weg.
i won't see you again. i won't.
my days are short,
my nature consists of a lack,
cover me when I feel exposed.
when you go, don't say goodbye,
when i leave, don't say goodbye.
i'll fly away like pollen,
i'll sink down like an anchor,
lift me when everything's done.
meine Fantasie, mein Traum, die Tage ging so langsam weg.
i won't see you again. i won't.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Friday, May 16, 2008
not another goodbye.
I was the tree, you were the wind,
circling around the tree.
to meet you again after all these years.
I'm afraid you were the only one who understood me as much as I understood you.
It's a pity.
I wish you happiness.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
No Surprises.
I'll take a break today. Silent. So there will be no surprises today. Just the song on repeat.
I'll take myself out for a walk to rounded hills, with cotton clouds casted over the blue colored canvas, a scenery littered with tiny dots of white sheep and blue cows.
I'll build myself a pretty treehouse with a pretty garden. I will play with kids I invite every evening; around a fireplace at night, where I will tell them stories long forgotten, but always bring a tear of joy and sadness to us all.
Only the beautiful ones will be here, those aching, heavy-burdened, tired, blind, thirsty, deaf, hungry, those who don't belong in the other world.
There won't be angel wings here, white-sewn garments, and you won't turn into something you're not. You won't be high here. You won't be asking for more. You'll be infinitely contented with your finitude. There is nothing eternal about here. There is nothing difficult here. There are only you and everyone you see here. You won't think of anything before, now and after. You will just look at this new world and smile. You have the best thing you will ever have.
And all day long, you will create, with this happiness, and paint a new scenery, over and over again, and yet keep it refreshing and new each dawn.
Here we are all beautiful. There we are all sad. Here and There, we are.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
a small florist shop will be nice.
Next to a train station, where communters come and go, hestitate to say a long farewell with a hug; why not buy a little daisy, to quietly tell the person how much you will miss him or her? Perhaps, it is Mother's day, Valentine's day, Father's day, or just any ordinary day, make the day special with the thought of patronizing me, while I sit there in my shop, sprinkling moisture to preserve the flowers for as long as I can. Without bothering how the world change before me, just my flowers, my soft music, and a book everyday; observing the people around me, speculate what stories their faces tell, smile if someone bothers to look in. If a hundred flowers should wither and die, I am at peace when one flower should make a person smile and forget their troubles for a while.
I've never denied that I am hopeless romantic, only because I have hardly experienced the sort of romance that leaves me breathless. The sort that fills you up and you feel as if happiness is swelling within you. If I can't have that, at least I will feel happy seeing that happen for someone else. Shouldn't we all take a short break from our mindless races and just close our eyes to feel those intangible emotions your loved ones have inexplicitly or explicitly showered us with?
With people around me getting married, I feel that we have reached a stage where the past doesn't matter anymore and what really matters is the future. I would like to move on, really. However, won't it nice too, that I don't need to move on but to remain in one place, wishing that people will be happier than me, because that will make me happy as well? I don't want to be selfish. Sometimes, being selfless can also give us happiness. And yet, that is a virtue one can never easily possess. One/I often like to escape, hoping that my disappearance will signal a future happiness for someone else. In reality, it is just cowardice to be sincere in my well wishes, to be there to truly do my utmost to make them happy. Happiness doesn't have to be one that is highly tangible, like a certificate or ROM. Happiness feels the sweetest when you are exhausted, lonely, hopeless and even wasted, and someone (or something) extends that hand of love, to drag you out of your mess. Perhaps, a flower is all we need.
need some more time to reflect on this...
Monday, May 12, 2008
symptoms of this era, a landscape cold and barren
loaded with mysteries, forgotten by our grandparents.
what is das Ding? the apparition that haunts every generation.
unable to remember my dreams,
I have nothing to materialise. I cannot see das Ding.
you know what? forget it.
Das Ding is the gentle breeze that welcomes me in the morning, when the glory of dawn tightens its grip on my sleeping body, and every bird sings about das Ding, unable to hide their excitement, soaring into the sky to proclaim das Ding, that is also the water that freshens us, the sustaining mana of our bodies, but mostly, das Ding is the wind that helps me fly, and I am the tree, which is das Ding, that flows through me, and das Ding lifts me to a full view of the landscape, the world as it is, which is also das Ding, and everyday I feel lifted, descending only towards the end of the day, to the arms of das Ding, who accost me to sleep, and to dream of das Ding, only to wake up, forgetting what das Ding is, but to allow das Ding to welcome me again, so much so I can't bear to end my dreams of das Ding without knowing what das Ding really is, but I have to end with a full stop.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Saturday, May 10, 2008
le sentiment du déjà vu
I had an intense sentiment du déjà vu, swathed up like a ball of dust; I shuddered at the mere presence of this paramnesia. Every time I felt as if I had experience an event all over again, I am paralyzed. However, this is different. It is not a sudden consciousness of things past. It is, instead, a grasp of my present helplessness, repeated once again.
Acheron River is never an easy river to travel on. This river of woe brings me ill tidings. It is a journey which I experienced numerous sleepless nights, pondering over the essence of the world spirit and finding no logical answers to the ancient question. Words swell up but if they are not released appropriately, they become gibberish, unedifying and useless to the soul.
Acheron River is never an easy river to travel on. This river of woe brings me ill tidings. It is a journey which I experienced numerous sleepless nights, pondering over the essence of the world spirit and finding no logical answers to the ancient question. Words swell up but if they are not released appropriately, they become gibberish, unedifying and useless to the soul.
I cannot express myself. The minute I do so, I cease to exist.
The lives I take each minute. The air I breathe each minute. Are answers found in the brutality of one's choices and actions?
speak fool, but who will understand you?
Are you, o green man, always on my mind, ceaseless in your torments and tautologies of threats?
When will the hidden personality see light? To take you to the final battle?
I miss my Nemesis, like a baton of light that gives me a reason to continue my resistance; A ball of fire (not dust) to incarnate my feverish passion to unearth the darkest and brightest of secrets. I never cease to stop thinking of you. Do you think of me when the night draws to a close? Do you think of me when the day begins its mundane sequence? Do you think of me when you see the beauty of something only you will understand? Do you think of me when you lack someone to argue for the sake of arguing? I do.
And yet, the distance grows into an impregnable wall I cannot break down.
But who are you? - to have such a lasting influence on me. I cannot shake you off. Physically, yes, at least for now. But always residing somewhere in the hidden tiers of consciousness, you strike me when it affects the most. I am defenseless - against your voice of innocent quality; so soft but it opens up my entire psyche into disarray; confusion but an extravaganza of passion and heated reason. Dialectics does not explain the meaning behind our relation. We are not opposites. But like a crazed rabbit who finds its holes to burrow into, I escape from the freedom of closure, and suspend myself into an entrapment of the other side of future anxiety and unknown possibilities. Such violence to myself whenever I escape.
No writing can express how I feel. No writing can speculate what goes on in your world and who you think of yesterday, today and tomorrow. The thrust of time endangers the presence of the moment. Already, with the chirping of the morning birds, and the sunlight stealing into my room, they remind me of our rotten consciousness of modern time; this lack of a time to forget time and be at somewhere far away from this monotonous human machines, but closer to the birds and the open fields where the sun can just be a sun.
Forgive me, if I should once again use words to proclaim this agony.
It is the agony that writers have - the phobia of not being heard. It is also an agony of having to live with the irony of writing - the phobia of not being heard, but once heard results in the phobia of being misunderstood. Either way, writing alone does not allow us to penetrate into the human psyche.
But who are you? - to have such a lasting influence on me. I cannot shake you off. Physically, yes, at least for now. But always residing somewhere in the hidden tiers of consciousness, you strike me when it affects the most. I am defenseless - against your voice of innocent quality; so soft but it opens up my entire psyche into disarray; confusion but an extravaganza of passion and heated reason. Dialectics does not explain the meaning behind our relation. We are not opposites. But like a crazed rabbit who finds its holes to burrow into, I escape from the freedom of closure, and suspend myself into an entrapment of the other side of future anxiety and unknown possibilities. Such violence to myself whenever I escape.
No writing can express how I feel. No writing can speculate what goes on in your world and who you think of yesterday, today and tomorrow. The thrust of time endangers the presence of the moment. Already, with the chirping of the morning birds, and the sunlight stealing into my room, they remind me of our rotten consciousness of modern time; this lack of a time to forget time and be at somewhere far away from this monotonous human machines, but closer to the birds and the open fields where the sun can just be a sun.
Forgive me, if I should once again use words to proclaim this agony.
It is the agony that writers have - the phobia of not being heard. It is also an agony of having to live with the irony of writing - the phobia of not being heard, but once heard results in the phobia of being misunderstood. Either way, writing alone does not allow us to penetrate into the human psyche.
Aphorism #5
Ἄκεα.
silence, healing - Heraclitus.
compared with noise, chaos; exercised control over zeitgeist, with the inner geist, strength of river, flux of river, flowing, ever flowing, with richness healing, healing geist und chaotic soul, combined to battle evanescence, living in the shell, the skull of presence, with my own eyes, I see the flux of the healing, hearing voices, calling out to me, inside the light, burning incandescence, with tears, reason cannot explain, fire burning in water - silence, healing.
Ἄκεα.
silence, healing - Heraclitus.
compared with noise, chaos; exercised control over zeitgeist, with the inner geist, strength of river, flux of river, flowing, ever flowing, with richness healing, healing geist und chaotic soul, combined to battle evanescence, living in the shell, the skull of presence, with my own eyes, I see the flux of the healing, hearing voices, calling out to me, inside the light, burning incandescence, with tears, reason cannot explain, fire burning in water - silence, healing.
Friday, May 9, 2008
Saturday nights.
Saturday nights always come in the simplest of manners. They arrive quietly. Jazz them up a bit with a tune from Lisa Ono. Fridays are meant to be forgotten. Caught in between the presence of free nights, Saturdays nights are the beginnings of ends. Hollow as the week may be, cast the worries aside for a night of forgetting. Borrow some time, without returning, to enjoy moments of gentle breeze into the illuminated room. Or is it a warm and humid night? Fix a cocktail of freezing desire. But never drink more than you should. Nights are wasted if you drift away in careless slumber. Are the night lights everywhere? You can do with a little darkness. In an easy manner, be somber and awake to the intangible peace of the Saturday night. Ten minutes older, you remember to forget the five days before the Saturday. What did you do in the day? Cannot remember huh? Be invincible; be forgetful, as noisy as a bat with a sudden obstacle to avoid. Nothing touches you if you forget. Saturdays are not for us to reflect. The nights are for us to forget. Remember to forget. Je suix vivant! Choked by uttering in a tongue you are clueless about? Tu es mort. As silent as silence can be. Close those weary eyes and imagine darkness, where no light can touch and be glad; very glad that the week is beginning again. Ich bin immer hier. Midnight comes as quickly as the night departs. It’s Sunday.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Aphorism #3
Love, then, is an act of stupidity, which either traps you in a tangled net, or captures you midway while falling from the pinnacle of despair.
____________________________________________________________
Death: I'm not telling you what to do.
A.: At least tell me which way to go.
Death: HA HA! you ask the stupidest of questions.
A.: Why was that a stupid question?
Death: Surely, death is a narrow path that, without hope, is as certain as your birth?
A.: (speechless) But there must be a good way to die!
Death: Ah. Of course, by your standards, perhaps. (He looks away, towards the city found below the cliff they are on.) Look at all the lights.
A.: What about them.
Death: It's a heavenly sight isn't it. Once there was darkness everywhere and I could lurk in the shadows and come to people like a thief. But now. It's getting harder.
A.: And?
Death: There is no good way to die. Only better ways to live.
A.: Tell that to the aborted foetuses, the famine victims of African Sahara; the drowning Burmese families, HIV positive children!
Death: I just do what I must do.
A: To what end!?
Death: To the end of the collective experience of humanity. We must all die. For the sake of those who may one day live to understand what death means. To know me.
A: I don't think I can understand.
Death: You won't, (takes a good look at him) your time is not up yet. We will meet again A. (readies to leave)
A: Wait. One last question.
Death: This had better be good.
A: If I want to kill you, what must I do?
Death: (smirks) No one can. I'm immortal.
A: Ah. Then let us meet more often, since you are always around. I have more questions to ask.
Death: ...
A: I doubt you have a choice. Shall we dance to celebrate the brokering of this contract?
Death: I forgot to tell you something.
A: What?
Death: I am you.
_____________________________________________________________
Love, then, is an act of stupidity, which either traps you in a tangled net, or captures you midway while falling from the pinnacle of despair.
____________________________________________________________
Death: I'm not telling you what to do.
A.: At least tell me which way to go.
Death: HA HA! you ask the stupidest of questions.
A.: Why was that a stupid question?
Death: Surely, death is a narrow path that, without hope, is as certain as your birth?
A.: (speechless) But there must be a good way to die!
Death: Ah. Of course, by your standards, perhaps. (He looks away, towards the city found below the cliff they are on.) Look at all the lights.
A.: What about them.
Death: It's a heavenly sight isn't it. Once there was darkness everywhere and I could lurk in the shadows and come to people like a thief. But now. It's getting harder.
A.: And?
Death: There is no good way to die. Only better ways to live.
A.: Tell that to the aborted foetuses, the famine victims of African Sahara; the drowning Burmese families, HIV positive children!
Death: I just do what I must do.
A: To what end!?
Death: To the end of the collective experience of humanity. We must all die. For the sake of those who may one day live to understand what death means. To know me.
A: I don't think I can understand.
Death: You won't, (takes a good look at him) your time is not up yet. We will meet again A. (readies to leave)
A: Wait. One last question.
Death: This had better be good.
A: If I want to kill you, what must I do?
Death: (smirks) No one can. I'm immortal.
A: Ah. Then let us meet more often, since you are always around. I have more questions to ask.
Death: ...
A: I doubt you have a choice. Shall we dance to celebrate the brokering of this contract?
Death: I forgot to tell you something.
A: What?
Death: I am you.
_____________________________________________________________
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
A. vs A
Aphorism #1
The tightrope truth suspended high above versus the trip-rope truth inconspicuously extended across my ankle; I've never been able to walk to the other side of the net to find out the truth.
The tightrope truth suspended high above versus the trip-rope truth inconspicuously extended across my ankle; I've never been able to walk to the other side of the net to find out the truth.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
the cosmos of my inner world
1st order
Trinity (discovered before Time)
Job
Daniel
Enoch
Paul
Solomon
2nd order
*Soren Kierkegaard (discovered 2006)
Jakob Böhme (discovered 2008)
Jacques Derrida (discovered 2006)
Emmanuel Levinas (discovered 2008)
Samuel Beckett (discovered 2005)
Franz Kafka (discovered 2007)
Fyodor Dostoevsky (discovered 2007)
Friedrich Dürrenmatt (discovered 2004)
3rd order
Heraclitus (discovered 2008)
Jean Baudrillard (discovered 2006)
Carl Gustav Jung (discovered 2007)
Roland Barthes (discovered 2006)
William Shakespeare (discovered 2003)
Maurice Blanchot (discovered 2008)
J.R. Tolkien (discovered 2001)
Charles Spurgeon (discovered 2000)
Jonathan Edwards (discovered 2000)
John Calvin (discovered 2000)
金庸 (discovered 1995)
Fredrico Fellini (discovered 2006)
Akira Kurosawa (discovered 2006)
Stanley Kubrick (discovered 2006)
Jean-Luc Godard (discovered 2007)
Michel Gondry (discovered 2006)
Friedrich Nietzsche (The Outsider) (discovered 2007)
Blaise Pascal (pending) (discovered 2007)
Maurice Merleau-Ponty (pending) (discovered 2007)
I believe that by listing out these names, we can have a clearer picture of my psyche. These people are responsible in screwing up my mind, especially those of the 2nd order. With these names, I'm able to paint a clearer picture of how they came to influence me and my thinking and continue to do so. As you can see, most of the influences came post-2000. I find this really significant but I can't explain why and how. There are names I have left out because they are of lesser importance. Nevertheless they are still significant in their own ways, though only intellectually. People like John MacArthur, John Bunyan and Augustine would have made into the list but I decided that they lacked something that say Charles Spurgeon would have as a preacher. More significantly, the important omissions would include the likes of Louis Althusser, Deleuze, Michel Foucault and Jacques Lacan were not exactly good role models. But they have in some ways forced me to think of certain issues in a different light.
With this, I can next embark on remembering the other influences and factors that have shaped my entire existence and personality.
Trinity (discovered before Time)
Job
Daniel
Enoch
Paul
Solomon
2nd order
*Soren Kierkegaard (discovered 2006)
Jakob Böhme (discovered 2008)
Jacques Derrida (discovered 2006)
Emmanuel Levinas (discovered 2008)
Samuel Beckett (discovered 2005)
Franz Kafka (discovered 2007)
Fyodor Dostoevsky (discovered 2007)
Friedrich Dürrenmatt (discovered 2004)
3rd order
Heraclitus (discovered 2008)
Jean Baudrillard (discovered 2006)
Carl Gustav Jung (discovered 2007)
Roland Barthes (discovered 2006)
William Shakespeare (discovered 2003)
Maurice Blanchot (discovered 2008)
J.R. Tolkien (discovered 2001)
Charles Spurgeon (discovered 2000)
Jonathan Edwards (discovered 2000)
John Calvin (discovered 2000)
金庸 (discovered 1995)
Fredrico Fellini (discovered 2006)
Akira Kurosawa (discovered 2006)
Stanley Kubrick (discovered 2006)
Jean-Luc Godard (discovered 2007)
Michel Gondry (discovered 2006)
Friedrich Nietzsche (The Outsider) (discovered 2007)
Blaise Pascal (pending) (discovered 2007)
Maurice Merleau-Ponty (pending) (discovered 2007)
I believe that by listing out these names, we can have a clearer picture of my psyche. These people are responsible in screwing up my mind, especially those of the 2nd order. With these names, I'm able to paint a clearer picture of how they came to influence me and my thinking and continue to do so. As you can see, most of the influences came post-2000. I find this really significant but I can't explain why and how. There are names I have left out because they are of lesser importance. Nevertheless they are still significant in their own ways, though only intellectually. People like John MacArthur, John Bunyan and Augustine would have made into the list but I decided that they lacked something that say Charles Spurgeon would have as a preacher. More significantly, the important omissions would include the likes of Louis Althusser, Deleuze, Michel Foucault and Jacques Lacan were not exactly good role models. But they have in some ways forced me to think of certain issues in a different light.
With this, I can next embark on remembering the other influences and factors that have shaped my entire existence and personality.
The Myth of the Bloody Palms
('Myths' refer to all dreams, memories and fantasies.)
Of the many dreams I had when I was young boy, this dream and experience stood up the most.
It's morbid nature was of course not lost to me but what was often concluded that I had since blurred the surreal dream with reality, which resulted in a complete denial in learning to swim.
While I cannot remember explicitly the contents of the dream, the reality was that I had childhood eczema and asthma; the combination proved to be crucial to my childhood psyche. I often attempted to compensate my shortcomings by insisting that many things could still be done and I was better off alone to do everything else. However, on the surface, I enjoyed the attention I get elsewhere. The things I did had indirect relation to my medical condition, ultimately because if I could not swim, I had to be better on land.
The dream, however, was a stark reminder that on land, I was no better. Since young, the motif of blood have always been the main image of the unconscious. My gums bled often. My palms bled when I swam. I cut my finger with a scissors. And more recently, the blood motif was replaced by the scar motif. However, it was not just blood that was the only image, but the blood had to cover the entire palms. The dream or image, was stamped into my mind. I remembered how I (the dream self) turned my palms to reveal bloody palms and 'I' showed myself (the dreaming me) those palms. I forgot how that came about but that image was definitely fed by the few instances when I did go to the swimming pool and soaked myself in the pool, only to cause my skin to inflame and with the skin peeling, started to bleed.
It is not to say that I experience stigmata, but the image of the bloody palms was not lost to me. The importance is not where the blood came out from, but blood has always been of importance to me. Nevertheless, the association of this image to the Christ symbol was a recent thing. The consequences are, however, the ongoing dilemma between the personality that wants to escape with the excuse of bloody palms, but at the same time, ashamed and lonely that I could not be like the rest of my class.
I believe the therapeutic act I did to resolve this was my first few blood donations. The bags of blood were, each time a moment of relief that my blood was important to someone else, instead of being an embarrassing feature of my body.
Of the many dreams I had when I was young boy, this dream and experience stood up the most.
It's morbid nature was of course not lost to me but what was often concluded that I had since blurred the surreal dream with reality, which resulted in a complete denial in learning to swim.
While I cannot remember explicitly the contents of the dream, the reality was that I had childhood eczema and asthma; the combination proved to be crucial to my childhood psyche. I often attempted to compensate my shortcomings by insisting that many things could still be done and I was better off alone to do everything else. However, on the surface, I enjoyed the attention I get elsewhere. The things I did had indirect relation to my medical condition, ultimately because if I could not swim, I had to be better on land.
The dream, however, was a stark reminder that on land, I was no better. Since young, the motif of blood have always been the main image of the unconscious. My gums bled often. My palms bled when I swam. I cut my finger with a scissors. And more recently, the blood motif was replaced by the scar motif. However, it was not just blood that was the only image, but the blood had to cover the entire palms. The dream or image, was stamped into my mind. I remembered how I (the dream self) turned my palms to reveal bloody palms and 'I' showed myself (the dreaming me) those palms. I forgot how that came about but that image was definitely fed by the few instances when I did go to the swimming pool and soaked myself in the pool, only to cause my skin to inflame and with the skin peeling, started to bleed.
It is not to say that I experience stigmata, but the image of the bloody palms was not lost to me. The importance is not where the blood came out from, but blood has always been of importance to me. Nevertheless, the association of this image to the Christ symbol was a recent thing. The consequences are, however, the ongoing dilemma between the personality that wants to escape with the excuse of bloody palms, but at the same time, ashamed and lonely that I could not be like the rest of my class.
I believe the therapeutic act I did to resolve this was my first few blood donations. The bags of blood were, each time a moment of relief that my blood was important to someone else, instead of being an embarrassing feature of my body.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Memories, Dreams and Projections
My pseudonyms failed miserably. To put it simply, they simply do not interest me; and it would seem extremely detrimental to my mental health to narrow down my existence into separate characters, each performing a discourse with a particular form of rhetoric. The entire enterprise was, ultimately, a failed attempt to embody virtually a psyche into personae. However, while manifestations of the personae may be distinct and diverse, the human psyche is not. It courts both the sense and the nonsense, oscillating between reason and madness.
Can the theologian clearly speak for a universal experience, such that the testimony penetrates into the core of the inward person, and he or she trembles at the mere mentioning of the experience?
To speak as a theologian is to participate in a particular religious discourse. It is a discourse that legitimizes and maintains the “shepherd” (the one who knows the answers) and the “sheep” (the ignorant morons who need to be guided by another mortal) relationship. Professions of our ‘holiness’ or good deeds are always so dubious, in that to paint a beautiful picture perpetually is only to deny oneself the temperament to reflect on the ambivalent areas of misdeeds and inevitably, the on-going course of repentance. To put it simply, the inward experience or the ongoing struggle of the person in relation to his or her numinousity is always going to be compromised and excused. We will be denied the nature of struggles to lead us to a better understanding of our human psyche. Of course, this would then assume that struggles are easy to handle. In fact, they are not. But to renounce the basic dialectical relationship between ‘good’ and ‘evil’ (or more accurately, the moral conscience and the sin principle) is to chain the man to a misinformed projection of one’s destiny. It is a bungee jump that gives you that momentary ecstasy but does not give you the actual plunge to the realization of an actual fall. Moral conscience and the sin principle are never easy to define. Nevertheless, the position one takes in relation to the conduct of the persona, is crucial to the development of the future persona. To simplify without over-determining the crucial relationship between the two opposites: an intense sense of grace or salvation can only be felt when one recognizes the contradictions of the opposites and at the same time recognize the importance of ‘evil’ to inform the conscience that this evil has to be eradicated. The human predicament is more pronounced in the event when the human being realizes his or her utter inability to escape or eradicate his or her wretchedness.
Already, I recognize my flawed position and my inability to articulate what is a very profound inward experience that simply cannot be uttered or experience outwardly – I cannot simply demonstrate repeatedly the ‘process of salvation’ and the manifestation of grace in a scientific order of recurrence under the same conditions.
The personae portrayed are not the ‘I’ that is complete and total, but each makes up the sum total of the collective identity of ‘I’. But by clearly identifying the various selves, the process of self-understanding will be counter-productive if I do not consider the relationship between all the distinct identities and how they actually alienate each other and at the same time teach each other. They are mere representations; a performative discourse that cannot probe deeper than what their individual structural system has imposed on them. But they are also mouthpieces of a side of us that cannot find the language or the performative idioms to articulate if they remain within the confused whole.
But can the aesthetical stage of me speak for the loose thoughts and fantasies; in so doing, define what they mean?
Forms without contents to substantiate the existence of forms are just flukes, disguises for a hypocritical person whose only concern is to spectacularize his or her existence. It is to scratch the surface but he or she ends up falling flat to the ground without having to leap into the skies. (He or she dreams of a starry night when in reality the clouds obscure the heavens) The aesthetic persona is only concerned with the present, the immediate experience of the moment. He cannot look back and cannot project a future. He finds pleasure and rejects responsibility for his actions. The fragments of his thoughts express different moments of pleasure and madness. Grace is an alien word to him because if there are no guilt and causality, why would he need grace to save him?
Hence, the form and content I will adopt now are those of fantasies, memories, dreams and projections. This is like a synthesis of the consciousness and unconsciousness of the human mind. When emotions threaten to derail me from my normalcy, I extract fantasies and dreams to control them in the rational world. When reason has no answers, I seek the unreason, the paranormal to understand the normal. I will speak in riddles, dreams, myths and prose whenever appropriate. I will talk about my childhood memories or significant incidents that I believe shape my personality. More importantly, these are not answers but meditations of some deep dark nature of mine that in forcing the inner thoughts out to the surface of the public domain, I may in some way reveal things I never know about consciously. Nevertheless, they can be secrets that the conscious mind may be afraid to reveal.
To be at my mid-twenties I cannot be the old man to reflect back on life. I can only project, towards a certainty and unpredictability of death. It is to accomplish a task in future but can never be certain what the task really is and strangely enough know how to accomplish the task. I feel a great pull and a push from behind that I cannot do anything about these forces. I can, however, sit down and have conversations with my personalities, my dreams and my fantasies. There are always aspects of us that we fail to recognize. Nothing is sadder than not knowing ourselves. For it is wisdom of ourselves (not knowledge) that makes us understand the mysteries of the Other.
Friday, May 2, 2008
unpost secrets,
there are stickers I meant to send,
little caricatures of the third kind,
monsters are smiling deliriously back.
stickers should be happy, leaving a long impression;
not unsend.
there are melodies, loud trumpet solos,
percussion of heartbeats, leading us to spend starry nights in empty ballrooms.
or do you prefer guiter rifts that linger and fade very much later,
gently rocking us out of our stubborn slumber, exalting us to a new high,
a lift into the starry sky.
there are letters unwritten.
words in tones of uncertainties,
waiting to be brought into existence.
they should not be written.
we don't have the right words to say.
so close to falling apart,
so let my No. 1 take over for now.
The other me is taking a leave, to reflect and face the void.
a particular song comes to mind,
"The only moment we are alone" by Explosions in the Sky.
lately I have been mindful of:
to be less of him who speak riddles.
residing, henceforth as a virtual voice.
to impress on us unconscious images.
perhaps, it is true. loneliness is a hypostasis of the outward man.
that which is on the exterior always have an inner reality, unbeknownst to us all, including the inner man.
that which the three hypostases could teach one another, the consciousness of the totality.
little caricatures of the third kind,
monsters are smiling deliriously back.
stickers should be happy, leaving a long impression;
not unsend.
there are melodies, loud trumpet solos,
percussion of heartbeats, leading us to spend starry nights in empty ballrooms.
or do you prefer guiter rifts that linger and fade very much later,
gently rocking us out of our stubborn slumber, exalting us to a new high,
a lift into the starry sky.
there are letters unwritten.
words in tones of uncertainties,
waiting to be brought into existence.
they should not be written.
we don't have the right words to say.
so close to falling apart,
so let my No. 1 take over for now.
The other me is taking a leave, to reflect and face the void.
a particular song comes to mind,
"The only moment we are alone" by Explosions in the Sky.
lately I have been mindful of:
to be less of him who speak riddles.
residing, henceforth as a virtual voice.
to impress on us unconscious images.
perhaps, it is true. loneliness is a hypostasis of the outward man.
that which is on the exterior always have an inner reality, unbeknownst to us all, including the inner man.
that which the three hypostases could teach one another, the consciousness of the totality.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Clementine
(impatiently)
What, Joel? What do you want?
Joel
(at a loss)
I don't know.
(pause)
Just wait. I just want you to wait for a while.
They lock eyes for a long moment: Clementine stone-faced, Joel with a worried, knit brow. Clementine cracks up.
Clementine
Okay.
Joel
Really?
Clementine
I'm not a concept, Joel. I'm just a
fucked-up girl who is looking for my own
peace of mind. I'm not perfect.
Joel
I can't think of anything I don't like about you like now.
Clementine
But you will. You will think of things.
And I'll get bored with you and feel trapped
because that's what happens with me.
Joel
Okay.
Clementine
Okay.
(impatiently)
What, Joel? What do you want?
Joel
(at a loss)
I don't know.
(pause)
Just wait. I just want you to wait for a while.
They lock eyes for a long moment: Clementine stone-faced, Joel with a worried, knit brow. Clementine cracks up.
Clementine
Okay.
Joel
Really?
Clementine
I'm not a concept, Joel. I'm just a
fucked-up girl who is looking for my own
peace of mind. I'm not perfect.
Joel
I can't think of anything I don't like about you like now.
Clementine
But you will. You will think of things.
And I'll get bored with you and feel trapped
because that's what happens with me.
Joel
Okay.
Clementine
Okay.
okay.
change ( ) heart.
change ( ) heart.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
jungian dreams
in jungian dreams,
black is both white and black;
vividness is both a willy-nilly blurred image and as clear as the sun shining at you.
the tree is split into two by an invisible force,
and naked bodies dance in ancient rituals unknown.
the unknown bodies surround the boy that never could escape the school compound.
in jungian dreams,
the manikins are both secrets and obvious tautologies.
where the tearing of flesh by canine beasts,
felt without any pain but a profund emotion bathes you into a quiet submission.
leaves you lying on floating clouds and the great buildings crumbled beneath you.
in jungian reality,
the voices of men are automated voice-overs,
so cold and distant, mockeries to the profound unknown,
a collective secret to all, but a discreet thorn in the flesh, never to be removed by mere intellect.
so I love solitude, and to leave the old man to decide my fate.
so I despise the young man, so passionate and bold in his desires,
an archetypal behaviour no doubt, but who is that green man who haunts me?
back to jungian dreams,
the talking creatures warn me of future trials and tribulations.
seasons of faith will not save me.
the stones will fall on me, and I will be just be like another stone,
cold to the touch, unfeeling, left alone for centuries, small and insignificant.
skips three times when I throw it onto the surface of a lake.
the empty house returns to haunt me.
remember my dreams of trees.
deja vu of my future existence.
only to separate my personalities into two.
ever so familiar hunger and thirst,
release me, no relief.
my entire consciousness against my unconsciousness,
feeding each other, fighting, peaceful interactions, constantly;
where it is no longer about strength and courage,
but a flight to an eroticism of violence,
the more I am not myself, I am returning to being myself.
the more I hate, the more I can love.
to fall is not to immediately begin with a free fall,
glide for a moment, the wind surrounds me, suspends me,
I am lifted,
to leap is to fly up,
it is to suspend, to fall.
Yes, Jung, so your secret is not that secretive after all.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
travelling,
latent footprints,
tracks that bring us to undiscovered countries.
floating,
soft ripples,
waves that bring us to stationary ferry points.
we can start sooner than later,
homecoming happens without deliberate attempts.
keep on trying to not try.
the choice has not been made, it was taken.
we're not here to understand the choice,
we're here to be here.
to maintain the distance,
always a mystery.
as I progress,
the silence deepens,
my eyes turn,
and yesterday becomes today.
dialectics do not work here.
it is actually a fight to the end.
loneliness if not in body, at least in my dreams.
to meet the unknown.
to hesitate, cursed by the fecundity of my rich ignorance;
give birth to death.
zeal to go beyond death,
alas, vanity.
listen to whispers ceaselessly.
fallen to the point of numbness,
numb to the touch, but mostly,
to the soul.
release occurs, at the point of leaping,
when the fall is endless,
truth departs,
to reveal just mercy,
loosening my grip,
am I?
the echoes disappear.
to the final horizon,
future extinctions of hope,
annihilate fire itself,
perpetual thirst,
floods end.
the titans of tidings,
bolts of fiery sarcasm.
but to face them all,
one has to do so in silence.
a silent void.
ready to contain more than one can.
plates crumple,
to reveal new worlds,
clashing in swords and amass banners,
the inner war will end.
the final consciousness to make us all look like idiots.
but the void remains.
always too early to say.
The Said has been said.
what more? what else?
always a mystery.
always meant to say adieu.
a fatal thing to do, but between life and death,
one doesn't have much choice, yes?
yawns
there are always a lot more other things to do, unwillingly.
they are done, anyway.
any second now.
can't stop the flow,
there are also a lot of things we give up. gave up.
so,
keep the visions in us,
ungraspable,
unspeakable,
unfathomable,
only to torment us each night, that which refuses to acknowledge the repetition of the new,
so
find not worlds here,
but to destroy the here and now,
with the fire of creation.
unable to reach more hearts eventually,
to be the other of myself,
a body with broken organs (you're both wrong Deleuze and Zizek)
der Sieg der Vernunft
ist, vorloren.
der Weg ist von innen heraus.
always other and Other.
ich vermisse mich sie, meine Angstgegnerin.
an absence highlighted,
awaiting a predestined latent sign,
wait, and
KEEP QUIET,
BODY,MIND,SPIRIT.WITNESS;
i do not know what else to say.
BODY,MIND,SPIRIT.WITNESS;
i do not know what else to say.
Monday, April 28, 2008
13
13.
one male.
ignore the symbolism.
pretend it's a hoax.
but 13 and one male just sound too insane to ignore.
but that's for another day to reflect on.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
the end of the beginning is the middle.
take nothing away from this free verse,
in the middle always,
of something for the future,
looking back at some foggy apparition.
won't know the difference,
unless some form utters its message.
IN.ROMAN.SCRIPTS.
Italicised emphasis.
ORJUSTABOLDNESSOFLANGUAGE
pity, we can't escape the superficiality of life.
what do you appear to me as?
an angel of strife?
or a demon of peace?
tell me a bedtime story that has no words.
or about tributaries of ancient genealogy.
confusion creeps inside me,
raining down,
don't know how to get to me,
except through some rhizomes.
invisible to the eyes.
it's about time to remove the anamorphic lens,
reflections lie too much,
in the days of our youth.
call me, when those days are over.
call me, when the telephone is mouth-free.
no peace of mind,
as far as words are concerned.
ready to change history,
as far as words are concerned.
kinetic thrust of endless forgotten words,
i am so weary, so very weary,
a punishing fatigue. o so very slippery.
as far as words are concerned.
"I know, that in time, it would just fade away."
in the most silent and painless way.
without words.
just Juliet drinking the poison.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
sakura petal, leaning on my shoulder,
never seen them before,
praising a mental image,
feeling beautiful for only me.
you are watching fervently, away.
the glow of your voice, though, I can't cast the sound away,
the falling, gently caressing my ears before the landing.
stagnant water, flowing to nowhere,
never could speak, proper words again,
pressing a formal image,
forgetting how I once behaved,
I am watching, feverishly, away.
the faint mumble of my voice, repetitively, you cannot cast the sound away,
the rising, rapidly to take the past away after the landing.
comes the centre,
where both depart,
that will happen,
here,
now.
where both depart,
to each
separate way,
meeting, perhaps next sakura season,that will happen,
here,
now.
a van,
a scooter.
selling teapots in a rundown street.
Friday, April 25, 2008
gratitude towards a lack,
always a lack, a lesson of brutal frailty,
and desire can have her punishment
hatred for a lack,
always a lack, a tarnish to the spotless mind bent eternity
and desire can be the opposition to faith
;few steps aways from the sky
faces of Sirius blink at me,
whose pups will not stop licking me.
they look at me with wide-eyed amusement,
or are they curious to know why I'm still alive?
who cares, for we all fade and disappear, eating ourselves up along with others around us with our bright gaze.
hollow roots, rhizomes of ephemeral apparitions,
I look up because I am underground, with parts surfacing out of the ground for only a season.
grateful still, water seeping through, refreshing, what cannot be washed away so easily.
but they say with feverish opposition:
"wither away, you without a flower to manifest your worth."
who cares, for as long as the roots are there (even if they are hollow),
what withers on the surface will grow back again.
I look up to the sky, underground.
I am tree that cannot grow unidirectionally, arborescently.
I am an imploding machine of desires,
a lack because of those excessiveness,
therefore I challenge Cerberus, only to lose, fallen, waiting for the time and chance,
to bite my existence back, to shed my metallic body,
to be no one and a variant of Prometheus.
and give him his final death.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
(black) dogs
dreams.
#1
first, an escape in a forest,
a pack of hounds, mostly black.
could not escape. fell. they bit.
it did not hurt. the rest pursued the unknown people who were with me.
blinded. but I waited, and waited, for that right moment,
just me and my enemy, then,
I bit back.
#2
second, I was the hunter,
with a group of unknown companions, (3 of us, one was an african)
place: next to Braddell Road, where the overhead bridge to Lor 8 is.
a radio or voice recording ensues,
of mockery and diabolical laughter,
we looked up at the trees,
to find an oversized black dog staring down at us,
with a pack of black dogs (even a poodle)
they landed, actually there were 3 to 4 of them. can't remember.
We stepped back, cautiously.
they threatened, stepped forward.
we clashed.
#1
first, an escape in a forest,
a pack of hounds, mostly black.
could not escape. fell. they bit.
it did not hurt. the rest pursued the unknown people who were with me.
blinded. but I waited, and waited, for that right moment,
just me and my enemy, then,
I bit back.
#2
second, I was the hunter,
with a group of unknown companions, (3 of us, one was an african)
place: next to Braddell Road, where the overhead bridge to Lor 8 is.
a radio or voice recording ensues,
of mockery and diabolical laughter,
we looked up at the trees,
to find an oversized black dog staring down at us,
with a pack of black dogs (even a poodle)
they landed, actually there were 3 to 4 of them. can't remember.
We stepped back, cautiously.
they threatened, stepped forward.
we clashed.
la melodia von Wümboo Wumboo
Wümboo felt sorry for Wumboo,
who slip when he danced on the dance floor, with vodka, had to be vodka, spilled, not from a glass, from the stomach, the guts, why of course, for Wümboo was the culprit, only that he was too drunk to know, but he felt sorry, because both Wümboo and Wumboo wasted the alcohol.
Wumboo felt happy for Wümboo,
who teased him, while Wumboo was on the floor, and Wümboo looked very tall, for he was always so short, but now he grew taller, suddenly, and so Wumboo was happy for him, and he thought for a second, how strange, that everyone grew taller as well.
Wümboo and Wumboo were, both dancing, to a melody, remixed in patches of Brazilian flavour, but had a confusing scratching to it, so much so, that the spinning of the track, was synonymous with their own head spinning.
It didn't matter, and as a matter of fact, they both soon found out, they were both lying on the floor, dancing quietly to shifting phantasms, tunes resembling Hindi and Muslim, and had a Japanese pop percussion to it, that went, easily mistaken as a siren, while visually, a blue and red pyschedelic looping reel, approaching them, under the full moonlight.
Who are you?
Wümboo Wumboo.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
keep a little handkerchief in your pocket,
it'll come in handy.
for moments like this --
teach, learn, undo that magic, relax, freeze, skip to the next beat, break the bone of another, yell for help, help, sacrifice, bloody, woah, there is someone stalking me, wipe, kick that, someone is hugging me, freedom, origin, of destiny, the paper airplane flies across the road, the flakes drop,
bubble wrap me, gravy, the sauce is on the table, folding clothes at the side of the stage, sucking chilli from plastic packets, sneeze, wave goodbyes, the bell is ringing, make that phone call, alarm clocks, MTV, the radio is playing a crazy song, progressive rock, there is no one to say hello to, yesterday was a good day to reflect on, babies are crying, the milk had a bit of water mixed into it, the ass needs some wiping, skipping down the road, torn a ligament, infection and pus, blood is dripping from the nose, no drugs tonight, the refreshing drink is coke, zero, the world is beginning in a minute, win a free meal voucher, had a sushi buffet, there is a boy running a bike, the taxi takes us to nice places, may i have your number, a pen to write, can i come up to your place, the tap is still running, boil the water please, sing a song when the heater is switched off, there is a stalker knocking on the door, the email is flooding, i hate spams, the t-shirt is hanging there for days, the ants fell into the cup, eating, electronica, books to read in the loo, waking after a dream, coffee spilled, yelling at the top of one's voice, had a hockey match, there is no one to pass to, the tense moments of holding your pee, teeth left un-brushed, Sundays, the focus on the morning news, nothing is in the oven, the fire is burning next door, Singapore dreaming, grey skies, she has been playing that song again, the wind is blowing the trees, weeds, the world is contemplating, pray, next to the weighing machine, no one there to listen, happy days, the loose tie, the gun is not loaded, playing the next favourite show on streaming, reward, the fruit is not ripe, the fan is not moving, the sunshine, windows are shut, Hoffnung, the park is dark now, take along your newspaper too, the wind is still blowing, the sandy beaches, the plane flies across, just break up, the faulty camera, the watch is ticking, the dissolved girl, reaching for some stars, the painful expression of an actor, the green fields, day and night, missing some dvds, children laughing, eternal sunshine of the spotless mind, run into trouble, jazz is playing, crazy vibes of hokkien nostalgia, the hand holds us close, closer to the end, the belief, grace, thinking about the dream I had yesterday, receive a mail, pick up a dollar on the floor, the toilet is flooding, living in an apartment, the treasure chest has already been opened, woah, the human bone is mistaken for a giraffe's bone, faceless, the bus is leaving the station, the blog is not updated, the lost and found has not be updated too, repeating the nights, the car is parked next to us, the tea is too sweet, the phone won't stop ringing, the words won't stop coming, the attention is too much, the drums are hit, the ghosts are not visiting tonight, the train takes us to far north, the fish is stationary, the bubbles, arrival, the game is played, scoring goals for fun, the fire is still burning next door, the wind is not blowing, the trees are never left alone, weeds, tissue paper used up, summer again, the falling leaves, want some more icecream, the quiet room, the wall is still not painted, the cup is not half filled, energy, machines are moving, the music player is faulty too, passions overrated, the safe is opened, the ring is missing, a scar is formed, a cat walks away without turning back, yawns, the umbrella is not big enough, save the drink, earth, the tree is still there, on the expressway, went fishing, waiting, under the tree, the handkerchief in someone's hand, wipe sweat, and smile.
it'll come in handy.
for moments like this --
teach, learn, undo that magic, relax, freeze, skip to the next beat, break the bone of another, yell for help, help, sacrifice, bloody, woah, there is someone stalking me, wipe, kick that, someone is hugging me, freedom, origin, of destiny, the paper airplane flies across the road, the flakes drop,
bubble wrap me, gravy, the sauce is on the table, folding clothes at the side of the stage, sucking chilli from plastic packets, sneeze, wave goodbyes, the bell is ringing, make that phone call, alarm clocks, MTV, the radio is playing a crazy song, progressive rock, there is no one to say hello to, yesterday was a good day to reflect on, babies are crying, the milk had a bit of water mixed into it, the ass needs some wiping, skipping down the road, torn a ligament, infection and pus, blood is dripping from the nose, no drugs tonight, the refreshing drink is coke, zero, the world is beginning in a minute, win a free meal voucher, had a sushi buffet, there is a boy running a bike, the taxi takes us to nice places, may i have your number, a pen to write, can i come up to your place, the tap is still running, boil the water please, sing a song when the heater is switched off, there is a stalker knocking on the door, the email is flooding, i hate spams, the t-shirt is hanging there for days, the ants fell into the cup, eating, electronica, books to read in the loo, waking after a dream, coffee spilled, yelling at the top of one's voice, had a hockey match, there is no one to pass to, the tense moments of holding your pee, teeth left un-brushed, Sundays, the focus on the morning news, nothing is in the oven, the fire is burning next door, Singapore dreaming, grey skies, she has been playing that song again, the wind is blowing the trees, weeds, the world is contemplating, pray, next to the weighing machine, no one there to listen, happy days, the loose tie, the gun is not loaded, playing the next favourite show on streaming, reward, the fruit is not ripe, the fan is not moving, the sunshine, windows are shut, Hoffnung, the park is dark now, take along your newspaper too, the wind is still blowing, the sandy beaches, the plane flies across, just break up, the faulty camera, the watch is ticking, the dissolved girl, reaching for some stars, the painful expression of an actor, the green fields, day and night, missing some dvds, children laughing, eternal sunshine of the spotless mind, run into trouble, jazz is playing, crazy vibes of hokkien nostalgia, the hand holds us close, closer to the end, the belief, grace, thinking about the dream I had yesterday, receive a mail, pick up a dollar on the floor, the toilet is flooding, living in an apartment, the treasure chest has already been opened, woah, the human bone is mistaken for a giraffe's bone, faceless, the bus is leaving the station, the blog is not updated, the lost and found has not be updated too, repeating the nights, the car is parked next to us, the tea is too sweet, the phone won't stop ringing, the words won't stop coming, the attention is too much, the drums are hit, the ghosts are not visiting tonight, the train takes us to far north, the fish is stationary, the bubbles, arrival, the game is played, scoring goals for fun, the fire is still burning next door, the wind is not blowing, the trees are never left alone, weeds, tissue paper used up, summer again, the falling leaves, want some more icecream, the quiet room, the wall is still not painted, the cup is not half filled, energy, machines are moving, the music player is faulty too, passions overrated, the safe is opened, the ring is missing, a scar is formed, a cat walks away without turning back, yawns, the umbrella is not big enough, save the drink, earth, the tree is still there, on the expressway, went fishing, waiting, under the tree, the handkerchief in someone's hand, wipe sweat, and smile.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
the roads, a silent roar,
motionless to the point of no return,
homeless, to the return of the day.
the roads, a liminal space,
ceaseless to the destination of choice,
yieldless after a choice of prisonment.
safe, for a season of safe journeys;
mercies, the tender chants of quiet prayers;
grace has her season in the living world.
there are always words we cannot hear ever again.
When the speakers are gone.
silent foams, gravitating from below,
underneath, flowing into forms, bubbly repetition,
the roads, now slippery, fading windscreens, the rain that didn't fall...until dawn.
the dew of sacrifice.
a velvet sky cast over the horizon.
separates, me, and, you.
intangible tangibles.
leaving me with an uchronia:
but both have their lightnings and thunder.
in spite of love,
faultless to a flaw,
exergue throws us into a chronology of existence.
veiling the anterior
revealing the exterior
and hastening an immediate reaction.
a motive that haunts us, so long a time.
in spite of love, we hardly show that love.
how sad.
how very sad.
a tender hand to stroke our oily hair,
perhaps,
is all we need, to let the tears flow,
in a shelter, opened.
leaning on a sprouting flower, lifting us and allowing us to fall
a dandelion next, to spread us far into the wide field,
of yellow and green, spots of red, stopping us in a while, that we may continue our flight.
brave souls, just tiny wicks, to light a room of flaming existence,
bright, fleeting,
enough to engulf, burning, everyone around us, immediately,
almost reaching out, almost covering us,
in flames of Daniel,
to find hands to hold us,
near bushes that burn ceaselessly;
protect us, from nightmares,
of dogs, biting limbs, torso,
paralysed, blind.
after long sprints, reaching nowhere but a forest,
fallen, and they bite, without the pain, teeth sunk deep.
all fours, waiting, patiently, to open our eyes again,
to bite back, ten times more hard, in reality.
forever is a long time.
reality is always the immediate.
peace is a chaotic stranglehold on us.
a resistance to turbulence.
no journey has no bumps.
tripping and standing.
reveal what must be shown.
the centering comes later. always later.
know both. both and none of the double.
no more simple cliches.
always seasons, to fluctuate.
gone in 60 seconds.
truimphant in disappearing.
not immortality,
mortality, teaches all of us.
growing patience.
refreshing dew, dew...flooded with rain, instead.
the earth is always washed dry.
to start anew, old.
to accept more than acceptance. cruelty.
overcoming, unbecoming, becoming.
the saying and not the said.
in relation to the said.
more than enough, is said. always too much.
took an hour.
must come to an end.
hope not.
but,
being nearer than near,
hold hands, with whom you cannot hold hands with.
your neighbour,
your immediate neighbour; whom you love, as you love yourself.
rain pours.
sun shines,
when we wake.
new morn.
old refreshed.
to whom I can no longer talk to verbally.
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