陈绮贞-九份的咖啡店

这里的景色像你变幻莫测
这样的午后我坐在九份的马路边
这里的空气很新鲜 这里的感觉很特别
仰望这片天空 遥望我对你的思念
窗外的星空像你嬉笑不眠
这样的午夜我坐在九份的咖啡店
这里的街道有点改变 这里的人群喧闹整夜
望着朦胧的海岸线 是否还能回到从前
昨日的单纯今天的实际像你
而你也早已不是你
我的心 是一杯调和过的咖啡
怀念着往日淡薄的青草味
窗外的景色像你
没什么道理
这样的午后
我在忠孝东路的咖啡店
这里的街道有点危险
这里的人群面无表情
想问你也问自己
是否还会记得从前
昨日的单纯今天的实际像你
而你也已不是你
我的心 是一杯调和过的咖啡
怀念着往日淡薄的青草味
怀念着往日的坚持和现在你我的改变

to the ghost that refuses to leave

last night i fell asleep with you watching. this is the second time, is this not.
if you'd to ask me, i'd still say no, because you are not the one who makes my heart palpitates, you are not the one whom i want to painstakingly make care-packages for. but all these shall pass, for right now, all it matters would be having the passion to live as it is, the chances to explore beyond whats given to me, the ability to write, the will to make things happen and the opportunity to experience life coupled with travelling trips, in-and-out burgers, sushi, jeans, photo-taking sessions and lotsa sleep. let me never forget this.

on normalcy

i ought to start doing things. like now.
these days, normalcy comes to me like it never did before. i now, have a 9-6 full time job, a decent pay-check and attend school 3 times a week. i've a functional social life, keeps a healthy number of dinner dates every week, attempts to watch movie every Monday evening.

normalcy is now comfort. normalcy is now, exclusiveness, normalcy is dimmed lights not far away from the computer, normalcy is now waking up at 6am. normalcy is now having the ability and will to cook for people, the ability to accept compliments, the ability to be yourself. normalcy is getting to know new friends and get together to have a good time, normalcy is grocery shopping and playing hide and seek in between the isles. normalcy is also holding hands and gaining acknowledgment. normalcy is not fearing of being ridiculed because of random crying. normalcy.

normalcy is being here, at this moment.
normalcy is how my heart palpitates while you laugh, normalcy.
oh the curse.
much love.

five songs that i listen to a lot right now

1. I'll find a way- Rachael Yamagata
2. Inside and out- Feist
3. Calendar girl- Stars
4. Such great height- Iron and wine's version
5. Lonely lonely- Feist

oh, you didn't know

and this morning, i wake up feeling that i dreamt, but i don't remember what it was. it's sunny, and hot again, and spectacular, and i feel a terrible pain. it's the familiar weigh of the past, of having-done-like-so, for having-been-like-so. hurts. but it is so, and so it is, and it feels like birthing pains; not the pains of giving birth to something, but the pains of being born, perhaps... pains of becoming less, or something something. it's not very dramatic. (just like parting silk.) yellow curtains hang mostly still, and a bird settles upon a branch.

oh, i can't pretend to understand, this all. nor make sense yet, and again. now just is a skinless time. oh changes, and times... and i notice that i'm smiled, for seeing myself tangled so.

what a strange, incomprehensible, wonderful, gasped, life

sometimes, like now

it's not happening.

regrets are among the most sickening feelings ever.
one day, i want to be able to look at you in your eyes again and say, i'm sorry for hurting you.

becoming strangers

i've been overjoyed. but this sense of joy, it does not stay, instead, it came and went. i was just thinking about how we don't talk anymore. these days, i see you and there's this dull ache. what happened. those futile attempts at polite small talks, they just don't cut it. do you even understand? maybe we've outgrown each other. let us both become strangers, now.
perhaps, it's better this way.

across the streets we stood and said hello

i've yet to feel this alive for awhile now. tonight was somewhat magical in its own little ways.
sometimes when too much of a good thing happens, i get cynical but now, now, i just want to bask and soak up all these positive vibes. i'm incredibly psyched and suitably glad that despite my corporate whoring day job which is threatening to turn me into a lifeless being, people and resources are often found near and easy to aid me in my artistic endeavors. and for that, i'm grateful and happy.

oh yes, i'm very happy.

there, there

there, i failed my last exam. i don't even have to wait for the results, i just know i failed.
tho' i feel awfully shitty, i'm also comforted by the fact that i've done reasonably well for all the quiz/assignments during this and last semester so i'll still pass the module overall.

the end the end the end is here. there's this seething fear of coming to the end of everything. and now that this is ending...let it all go. breathe, let it go, let it go. breathe.

back and staying

a night with longing that does not belong to me. to the person across that seven seas, far and beyond, she's not lost and gone. to the boy with the paining ache in his heart bursting with wants and needs, she, she is not lost and gone.

as for me, i just want to run away to where the air is free, where my heart sings, i want to leave.

at the front of my mind

i'm worried.
this is the end of my youth.

silent noises

i'm feeling suitably lugubrious and it's really not very pretty.

so...

i wonder what to say about it. waiting for the words, i see, in idleness, the light across the keyboard. other light spills across the backs of books that stand upright on their shelves. i don't know why it's there, where it is, like that. just forgotten, there. on the desk, more books, more papers, more things. and the words are yet to come.

last night, i was thinking about things. i remember what it's like to like things. and i remember what it's like to dislike things. to be glad for owning something. and to be sad for owning something. to love a thing, to hate a thing... same thing. last night, i suddenly felt neither. i looked around at all the things i used to own. they were much the same as they'd always been. yet at the same time, it was all so very different. the things didn't belong to anybody, suddenly. suddenly, nobody owned any of it. every thing was at my use, but not at my command, nor at my disposal. i could pick up any thing without wanting to treasure it or destroy it.

if i owned something, i owned it because i owned it. and if i didn't, it was because i didn't.

peculiar. it felt like i suddenly had more time, now that i no longer thought as i had before.

i grow easily used to doing things in certain ways. thinking in certain ways. thinking. learning in certain ways. understanding. grasping. getting an idea. planning. building. creating order. creating structures. drawing. making sentences. making sense. creating sense. certain motion.

but it makes me laugh, every now and then, to notice how habitual it is. up comes a thought, and here's this old road, right there, all ready. the motion is the same. the motion of understanding. but, from time to time, it just so happens that it builds up to nothing. a thought, proceeding in this familiar motion, becomes nothing. no answer at the end of the road. usually there is. usually, something is understood. some shape is grasped, some structure made. but when there's nothing, there's confusion. that's when i notice how i am. and so i laugh, not on purpose, but because it's hilarious. like a good prank.

i don't know good words for it. suddenly i just notice that i'm (thinking) fumbling at water, trying to fold it into a box, or build a house or a bicycle out of it. trying to make some shape that i might then use. but nothing comes of it. i approach things with the general assumption that there's something there to be understood. that there is 'a point'. something to 'get'. it's only when i reach the end and find nothing (here, slip and fall off the edge of the world) that i realize that i was looking for something specific.

every time i start writing about one thing, i end up writing also about another thing. i start writing about encounters, and soon find that i'm writing about intentionality. from intentionality, i wander off to instinct. i become mired in concepts, brooding over which contains which, which gives birth to which, which counters which, which kills which, while the moon rises and falls, and orion might raise his sword for the first time ever, for all i knew.

like eating sand off paper plates.

but i have oranges, too.

and maybe i can just go on from there. let the written pages remain, and write more, to show why the questions that i've asked are as inessential as their answers. there's going to be a period in the end. the void that prevails before the first word, during the other words, and after the period - that may be why i write in the first place. no longer trying to force it into words (capturing scents of you and you into jars), i find it somehow comforting, that it's there, in between each word, in each word, in the hollow of my o's, like the air that accepts every sound ever uttered, and a horizon that welcomes every step, regardless of who takes it.

sunshine and clouds.