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BANG BALLS
FREEDOM OF SPEECH NOTHING SHOULD BE IMPOSED
IDEAS NOT LEECHED ONLY CREATIVELY COMPOSED |
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Wednesday, August 26, 2009
When in doubt. What's in a name? That which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet. 船到桥头自然直。 Tuesday, August 25, 2009
At times like these... Time isn't quantifiable. Qualitative in nature, things are in constant flux. What then is eternal? All we know for certain are the truthfulies we keep deep down in our hearts. Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Game. Does the hunt precede the trophy? Monday, August 17, 2009
人生大道理。 山不弯，路弯。 路不弯，人弯。 人不弯，心弯。 君子能屈能生。 Sunday, August 16, 2009
Lucky Strikes a Zippo Light. As I sit alone in the stairwell with a pack of Luck Strikes and a red zippo, all that is before me is stationary. Nothing moves. Yet inside, everything is moving. The blood in the veins are pumping, the air molecules are whizzing to and fro, atoms in the walls are vibrating. All that's stationary actually moves. The body may not move, but the mind does, the heart does too. Physical actions are restricted, forced to be held stationary by conditions not set and bound by itself. Externalities are always in control. Life is never about the oneself but the many around. Thoughts race through your mind. You are compelled to behave in manners only condoned by circumstance. What else is there to do but sit stationary? You are not yourself, you are society's self, you are her self. You can never do what you want. It's never about you, always about the other. And that's where the pain of life sets in. The restrictions you're bound and answerable to. Every action that you thought was permissible, never truly was. To break free of the chains of life is a gamble I wish to take. Life cannot grab you by your balls. You grab life by its balls and lead it where you want it to go. You give it an occasional squeeze to let it know that you are in control. It shouldn't be allowed to squeeze yours. And when that mould you're trying to shape doesn't let you do what you want, you break it. You crush it and you leave. You don't say you're sorry. Sorry is overrated. I can murder and say I'm sorry, but it wouldn't resurrect the dead, would it? Brutality is all that counts. Once bitten twice as shy. What's broken can be mended, but it'll never be the same. Breakages are ephemeral while cracks are eternal. In life, what use is there for an imperfect object? Emotion can be a God-sent. It too can be the Devil's greatest advocate. Is lust wrong? No, it isn't. The manifestation of lust is what determines its moral nature. Lust is just like anger. Getting angry is not wrong, but hitting someone out of anger is. As with lust, anger and all other emotions, the manifestation is all that counts. When man lives on emotion alone, he is bound for disaster. To the millions in the world who sleep ever so soundly tonight, I wish you well when dawn breaks. For your period of stationary rest and solitude was met with my insatiable appetite for kinetics and revolution. Goodnight. Saturday, August 15, 2009
When Strings Snap. They flick it on As how they can flick it off. They turn you over Just to let you rot. A massacre of hearts They wallow in felicity. Songs so sweet only they can sing Only to hear later that it's a fling. They guard themselves with Kevlar and steel From your body the skin they'll peel. As you coil in pain They won't let you faint. They'll wake you up with a little care Just to strike you down when you're on your way up there. And just as you think it'd end It starts all over again. Friday, August 14, 2009
Blood of a Different Ink. Writing is my catharsis. Some people drink, others slash themselves. I write to rid myself of pain. This is my catharsis and no one can take it away from me. If I were to die painfully, I'd bleed words enough to write the whole Encyclopædia Britannica twice. Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Transient Affair. And so the room was adorned with balloons. It reeked of happiness. Something very much foreign to us all. It seemed so happy, so pleasant. But deep inside, we all had a stabbing pain - one to call ours, one to call our own. We all kept silent about it, we didn't want to show our vulnerabilites, we had to be strong, we have to be strong. Chatter permeated the room, conversations were made, what of, I bet no one knew. It was sensless banter, just chatter. People kept talking, others were laughing, some left whispering, only two sat silent. Alone in a corner, a perculiar face stood out. It was a look of solitude, the look of fatigue. It reeked of despair, of hopes lost and never found. She sat there alone, gentle and sweet. We made eye contact. A small grin ensued, what that meant, neither of us knew. We just knew of a mutual connection. Bashful as all strangers are at the start, we tried avoiding getting caught in an exchange. Each stolen glance spoke in a way words never could. That brief moment said so much; Hello there sugar. How are you? What's your name? What are your pains? Are you single? Are you available? These questions, they never stopped, it soon became a conversation made up of just visual stares and facial contractions. It was amazing. She signalled for me to go closer, just like how all the other women have. And though it was the very same game played, it just felt different. There was an air of romance in this rendevous. That was the concern - my concern. Women, they knew this game much better than their counterparts. They knew their privillages, they knew their rights. We men were left to guess their thoughts and to play the romantic fool. Some excelled at the game while others only knew the bitter taste of rejection. Don Juans were crowned and Romeos were lost, that was how brutal the game of love really was. But the sweet rose, the object of romantic desire never let them falter in their romantic cause. The mustering of sufficient courage to approach the sweet botanical creation was a Herculean feat, a feat far more insurmountable by the mortal man. As love creates, love too destroys. It breaks the individual down to become the epicenter of something more powerful than the lone entity of a person. It takes the good, the bad, the ugly and the sad; mixing it all into a concoction of love. Love is something so mystical and powerful that even the great philosophers of Greek antiquity could never actually understand. The ability to feel a myraid of confliciting emotions leaves us at a lost. The question of love, on love was: how real and true can this feeling be? Contact was made. Words were exchanged. Interests were shared. Sweet nothings whispered. But all of it amounted to nothing, for fate wasn't on either of their sides. Friday, August 07, 2009
Drag Race Romance. Too fast Too furious Not knowing Possibly assuming Rushing madness Irrational foolishness Lacking patience Too impatient 'Sordid' crush Both blush Shockingly sudden Love's garden But whoever said that falling in love Couldn't be any of the above? Sunday, August 02, 2009
Love - a car shopping affair. Buying a car's no easy task, and that, as with love, is very much the same. Everyone steps into a showroom looking for his individual Ferrari. Some might want a F430, others an Enzo. Choosing your dream car is as relative as Einstein's concept of space and time. To some, a 0-100km under 3.9s might be that one deciding factor; to others, it might just be the simple elegance of an oak finished console, topped off with luxurious seats made out of a young calf's skin. Right from the start, you might have gone out searching for that Ferrari, but a sudden pop into the Lamborghini showroom might just prove to be an eye opener. You feel the car, you floor the throttle. Everything seems just so sweet. Soon, the iconic bull has engulfed the prancing horse. Whatever happened to that sweet sweet love for red? And when you eventually find your true love of an automobile, you hesitate not. You fall head over heels in love with her four wheels, her chassis, her purr and her curves. What more can a man ask for? You sign the papers readily and without doubts. You take her home. You caress her ever so gently; caring for every scratch, bruise and dent she would ever sustain. You become one with her, never independent, forever reliant. Then comes the puzzling thought of changing yourself a new ride. What happens to your Lady? Yes, newer and faster models will emerge. With better specifications; quad-turbos, super-duper chargers and TSG (Triple Shift Gears), who says you're not to be tempted? But know that temptation is not a sin, falling for it - that is. As quoted from Blake's My Pretty Rose Tree; But I said, 'I've a pretty rose tree,' And I passed the sweet flower o'er. You stand by your Lady for eternity. And just in case you're wondering, that's how vintage cars come about. Buying a car is like falling in love, it's a feeling that one must first possess before pleasure and satisfaction can set in. |
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