reflections

i can't stand the thought of your phone, because it's not me there.

a concatenation of fizzling, high-pitched signals in ultrasonic, sparking and spitting in waves across distance through the air gravid with rain to you, and you smile,

and it's not me, not me reaching out to you through the condensed mist, walking through puddles reflecting the blue and green and red and yellow neon of nightglasgow, catching the transience of this time, just for tonight,the shifting images say, just for tonight. manmade stars, synthetic magic strung up from grecian-columned modern monstrosity to the homes of hedonism across the way. i'll never walk there without thinking of you of the green eyes and sudden smile.

why not this sudden short sweetness, it's gone and now it will never come again.

my weakness is dreams. so shoot me now.

through the woods

"Somewhere along the line I knew there'd be girls, visions, everything; somewhere along the line I knew the pearl would be handed to me."

jack kerouac, on the road.

brilliant in places, always rushing breathlessly on in search of the next thrill. relentless, spare-yourself-not hedonism. yes hedonism can be a duty. but i don't connect with the beat generation, their concepts, ideals, morals, i don't see the pleasure in the things they did and i don't understand their philosophy, perhaps that's why i don't get the greatness of this book, i am about two (or three) generations down the line from beat and all it stood for. but words, strung together in perfect polished sequence, always move me. and that's why it's brilliant in places.

on another note, there are silver sequins from the top i wore to last night's party all over the floor, trodden into the dark-blue-mottled-with-dirty-pink matted fibre that is my room carpet. i tried to think of a word to describe its texture and colour and what came to mind was 'tweed'.

bits of light, bits of shattered innocence and ideals winking out regretfully at me from the dull corrupted tissue of pretence and disappointment that i am caught up in. can i pick them up one by one and fit them together lovingly back, each to its own original place, sew them on tightly and those ideals and hopes will never drift away from me while i'm distracted by flashes of glamour from a world that i was not made for and which i cannot live in. sew them on and wait patiently and maybe they will drift back together and take shape and i will have my old life back again.

but i'm conflicted, is that what i really want? i want my old life with something added. yes that something.

starbucks caramel frappucino at 11pm, the feel of the car veering round that bend on the kesas highway after the subang exit at 110 km/h as i take my foot off the accelerator and let it gain momentum, controlling it by just a finger on the rim of the wheel. shopping for branded bargains in 1u. movies movies whenever i want. high heeled strappy sandals and swingy skirts.

sequins have holes through their hearts.

i go places hoping to see you, hoping against hope for a little of that magic that i had that night so long ago. i don't know, have i said/done the wrong thing again? i'm invariably and inappropriately clumsy and awkward and this behaviour belongs to fifteen instead of twenty-three.

it's a great weight in my heart, the wishing you would come and then when you do, the wishing you would take the place next to me that used to be yours. laughing, smiling, being outgoing and friendly to strangers, that's all on the surface, inside i'm one great pool of wanting you to be here. and sometimes the outside of me lapses into momentary forgetfulness and is distracted by the inside's self-absorption and that's when i look lost and people notice that i've stopped talking and no they don't notice that i look sad because that's how i've always been, with a little core of sadness at the deepest part of my soul, permeating my thoughts always, it's going to be that way until i find someone to take it away.

do you think it's natural to be always a little sad?

heartbreaker, you. how many have there been before me?

i'm such a girl. it's so easy to find excuses for you, to forgive you. and traits like this will probably make me vulnerable all my life and that's why i need someone who will never hurt me that way.

there's a little ache inside whenever i think of you = all the time.

on the western front

i want something good to happen, desperately. perhaps you might say that it's no good waiting around for something to happen, one has to go out and make things happen, put in some effort. but (almost) nothing i've done lately has been successful. i'm unhappy about so many things, and so conflicted and torn inside that it's a wonder that facade i keep up against the world and its lack of understanding hasn't crumbled

i miss writing. it helps me to clear my head and to straighten out things in a way that talking can't do for me, not right now, not when i have no one who will understand. perhaps blogging is a cry for help stemming from a suppressed hope that someone will see the pain inside and help me, not judge me, not condescend to me, not pity me.

nights on the crowded dance floor, swaying to the beat, shading my eyes from coloured strobe flashes and scanning, eyes always scanning the club for a glimpse of him, desperately wanting to know what he's doing, who he's with, what they're talking about. wanting him by me, wanting all of his attention to myself, small gnawings of jealousy eating away at my heart all the time. defending him after what i saw, wanting to believe him rather than my own eyes.

oh i wanted him, more than was good for me.

and now, not a word, not a goodbye kiss, i thought we were friends. did i do something wrong again i'm always making a mess of things. i can't ask anyone for an opinion because i'm too proud and i don't have someone who loves me unconditionally and will share my hurt.

you know, i would be okay right now, despite everything else that's going on, if only he had cared about me.

hiding under my skin, nursing my wounds, sore in every part. it saps me of my self-confidence, never very strong. am i attractive am i interesting am i good, even. you have to come back to the question of why am i still alone, why haven't i found a man who appreciates who i am, who thinks the world of me, who wants to give me the best he can.

stripped down to nothing but soul, here i am, cowering, dreading the next blow.