nocturne

Jan. 31st, 2012 04:22 am
methrowrock: (Air Balloon)
Hi. It has been a while. Too long. The words are wedged in my throat, dessicated and scratchy. What a pity: just a week ago, they were stretching and ricocheting about like noisy, messy Catherine wheels. Bah-dah-dum! Insert vague statement about how things change and stay the same. Done. And now what? They say that the best way to distill your heart's purest intentions is to let your fingers gallop forth over the keypads like wild stallions. Who says? I don't know, but they are right. The monitor is darkened, the keypads are illuminated, my fingers are tangoing with the neon-lit skeletons of alphabets. And it is refreshing. Bon Iver is on eternal loop, because don't you know? He has collected the sorrows from aching marrows, turned them into tensile strings to pluck at, and coated them with the viscous ennui that is his voice. His songs are forests pregnant with fog that you dream about on stormy nights. And bah-dah-dum! again, a deluge of adjectives to mask the banality of thoughts.



the road to nowhere begins here )
methrowrock: (My Neighbour Totoro)


The Artist and the week )
methrowrock: (DBSK!)
Reclining against a creaky chair, as the night winds weave around dust-covered figurines and worn shelves, it seems that this is the peace that I have been looking for. Maybe it is the winding down of days, the ripping of sheets from a barely-there and badly-frayed calendar, the trickling of minute minute-sand that is especially visible at the end of the year. People begin to seek closure, attempting to repackage their shapeless days into sizable chunks of meaning and epiphanies. The retrofitted motorcycle emits a syncopated snarl, flaying the silence of the night. Rubber tyres grind gravel, the fan-blades slice through buttery air, the traffic lights take turns to wink: there is a muted and neutral precision that makes it feel that everything that you see, hear, touch, smell, taste is there for you. This world belongs to you. It exists for you. And when you reciprocate by immersing yourself fully in the world, with the world, a palpable calm settles over you, washing away worries and woes. Until, of course, this world that you see cracks and morphs into something else, shuddering from the fractures it had concealed. Self-contentment is a funny little thing, always evaporating just at the point of crystallizing. Ephemeral and fleeting, it lasts as long as, and is as invisible as, the air aspirated for its fricative descriptions. But for now, the hues burnish bright. The surroundings quiver with vibrant surreality. And you breathe, breathe, breathe, filling yourself top-full (not with direst cruelty lolol) with air so crisp that it could adorn your lungs with a thousand paper cuts. Gruesome, but you know what I mean.



there's always time on my mind )
methrowrock: (Air Balloon)
How do you explain two weeks in words, especially after spending the fortnight without them? It has been two weeks of seeing, watching, talking, laughing, listening: mechanical stimulation of the appendages, sensory faculties, and unfortunately, not much else. Sensations have taken over the steering wheel, as Emotions and Thoughts cower in the backseat, queasy at the recklessness. That, my friends, is a horrible and cringe-inducing analogy, hahaha. To paraphrase the words from a forgotten luminary, we do not feel when events are in the process of unfolding. Instead, it is only after the dust has settled when we begin to varnish it with a layer of sepia sentiments. And so, here goes my pitiable attempt to bling the days up.

here comes the sun

dream of a vacant pier, move all your maps to here )
methrowrock: (Air Balloon)
It is a sign of the holidays when the tendrils of thoughts have grown frail and flaccid. Brainwaves, that used to possess soaring crests you could surf upon endlessly, have become subdued, rolling onto the shore and nibbling at your toes like a meek puppy. Watching Taiwanese dramas, The Office, and the hilarious hijinks of Arashi have been heartening, but deadening. It makes one sit on the prickly fence between self-loathing and self-resignation. Then, once in a while, something like Half Nelson comes along, and finally, you are promoted to being an eating-and-drinking machine, to an eating-and-drinking being. Yay! Temporarily.



Half Nelson )

summary of the summery haze )

Okay, this has been obscenely long. Unfortunately, it is true that I talk better when typing. Training in seven hours, wowhee! No sleep tonight, which means more shows tonight. Haha. This won't do, this won't do. I must wake up my idea soon.

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methrowrock

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