if i did what i said

if i did what i said I'd say what i do because i never know
what it is i did to you with you for you or
what it is i said to you for you with you  
so i'd rather say what i do than do what i say
because in the end it seems both are the same
be it said or done or unsaid or undone
because in the end i never know which 
was said and which was done 
because you heard what you heard me say
and saw what you saw me do
and out of all these saids and dones
i never know which i did and said and done
much like how i don't know about now. 


so much in me wishes to issue in the form of words out of me and they come out in dribs and drabs not the way they usually do but it's just the way they do sometimes especially mostly most probably in times of sweet music an overactive mind a yearning desire what-to-call-it maybe addiction? to the need for someone to recognise my presence and maybe appreciate me love me caress me make me want to give myself without second-guessing myself and in these moments yes sweet sweet music makes me sick drunk even completely intoxicated i think i speak i believe like the very words that ride on the melody sad songs don't make me cry they just bring the tears right to the eyes and stop hold it back so my head feels heavy and if i even as much as tilt my head it falls to the side swish swosh yet still nothing comes out so i give up trying like how i give up trying or at least convince myself to give up but i never really do give up hope to know you more to actually get to be beside you to maybe fall in love with you without an erect penis maybe get into your pants because i really really like what's really really inside not just inside the pants but inside right inside you and well i don't even know who you is who is that you i'm talking about i don't even know not cause i ain't bovvered but i will never know will i i will never know and that makes me sick and so full of these words once again which wish to issue in the form of words out of me but still never manage to come as full complete comprehensible sentences they come in disjointed facebook personal messages or verbose streams like what you see now but still after all this i can't actually say it is all out or that everything i say is what i am feeling right now because after all really we are human aren't we and we can never simplify and thus insult ourselves by reducing the language of the heart never conquered never fully understood or written academically about into just plain words which make sense only because they stick together in phrases and sentences and paragraphs but who can really put a full-stop to all this so at the end of the day we all prefer to add a smiley face or the seductively and unfortunately appropriate question mark isn't it? 

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    Case Of You | Joni Mitchell
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hiatus. prose.

i sit, the next morning, after occupying my mind so prone to wander with tutorials, casual chit-chat and dramatics, on this chair, in this room, alone. although the voice of keren ann sings in french and breathes 'elsewhere..., elsewhere..." on loop i am sane enough to say i am where exactly i want to be. despite the tangible shadows of us last night scurrying around me in fast forward, despite the noises we made now stuck like post-its all over the walls, despite the feeling of supposed joy we shared having become a pool of endless depth in the middle of the room, so large, so stark, that i cannot miss. 
i look out the strip of window, and the spotless sunshine of midday darkens swiftly like the opening of an opera; it's all dark and it is last night. and you are there, walking past the carpark, towards your car. after a kiss and a hug, after changing my bedsheets, after cleaning up, after sleeping with me, after talking about something that nearly made you cry, after stealing into the room, after dinner, after being driven around, after i asked that you come over, after i thought it will be all nice and fuzzy, after i thought we will be happy. 
now. no more of last night. 
my stomach is queasy. i feel like throwing up. i cannot concentrate because scenes of last night flash in my mind like placards in a demonstration, red, red, red, spilled across in stiff lines making up words, making up phrases, making up objection. when a sign shoots up in your mind you either grab it or don't look. i didn't look last night, and now, it grabs me. 
what was i saying, loving you through an sms? after the orgasm everything becomes clearer. along with guilt. 
it is a joke. maybe a riddle. i've seen them couples, in their forties. and they get an apartment together, they live together, breathe together, and then they break up, and one of them gets another boyfriend, and the other calls me over to his place. it's okay, they say, they know it's like that. but like what, i ask. like what? that you know more of what love is as you grow, or that you know how to deal with love as you grow, or worse, that you know how to give love names and definitions as you go by? is there no one whom i can say sweet nothings to and mean it now, later, next week, next year, maybe till forever?
why, he asks, do i feel this way all of a sudden? why did i say that i had feelings for him? 
i did, i do. but who's to put a finger on these feelings? not that i am being irresponsible, but really, that was how i felt. i felt a burst of emotion. you came back, you spoke, i got to know you again. i will not blame myself for having such a strong desire for you. i needed that closure. maybe now i can say so, but i didn't know what i was feeling then, how was i to know? 
i can't explain this suddenness, except maybe that i have always had my doubts. but i had chosen to ignore the doubts, to let them continue to fog over the details, to fog over the rift of uncertainties gaping between my hand and my mind, to fog over the romance i've dedicated to my endeavours. 
and as said. after the orgasm everything becomes clearer. 
and after that some of us go on to blur our own vision, while others go on to stare at that growing pool in the middle of their rooms. 
some write about them, without necessarily knowing what they are writing, without necessarily knowing more than they already knew before. 

To A, after;

you came
strip me of the years 
i knew so well i had
that i know not what it means
to love, to hold, to know
any more than i used to
think i knew. 
you left
a kiss, a hug, a sweet goodbye
now that i have known you
i know that i don't know
any more than i used to
think i knew
about you.
so, do you know
as you grow
that there is in fact no love
as you grow
or that there is no fact in love
as you learn to let go
and think no more?
je voudrais toujours te plaire
mais, je ne sais pas quoi faire
c'est la vie, mon cher
L'aime ne restera pas
après la soirée.

To A, again:

you return
bringing your word with you.
too long a comma
makes strange the sentence 
i didn't think
i didn't know
how to finish.

i do still love you,
and it spills over the period
but that's bad grammar


To A:

you left,
bringing your word with you. 

since then, 
you've been a sentence
i could never complete. 

i would like to love you 
maybe again,
then forever,

the need to stop.

there are so many things people need to stop doing:

North Korean scientists need to stop testing nuclear weapons
Brazilian loggers need to stop cutting down the Amazon
Chinese Uighurs need to stop protesting and destroying things

Singaporeans need to stop using plastic bags like how they use water
Singaporeans need to stop using water like they use plastic bags
Singaporeans need to stop being assholes on public transport

We need to stop killing young minds by calling force-feeding 'education'
We need to stop making really bad drama serials and calling that TV
We need to stop writing angry blogs and bitch in the comfort of the couch

Singtel needs to stop holding back that iPhone 3G S
HTC needs to stop holding back that Touch Pro 2
LV and other top brands need to stop holding back that 90% sale season

Gays need to stop cruising and keeping to themselves
Teenagers need to stop touching each other in public
Moms and Dads need to stop ignoring healthy sexual relationships

Some of us need to stop socially-destructive family (mis)planning
Some of us need to stop neglecting the importance of language mastery
Some of us need to stop lounging at corners and wasting time

I need to stop spending like I am the solution to recession
I need to stop eating like I really need it
I need to stop listening to bloody Obsessed by Mariah

I need to stop imagining myself as half-black or something-french
I need to stop flirting with men I can but should not have
I need to stop tempting myself with the idea of spilling vulgarities at my students

I need to stop making noise and not doing anything
I need to stop watching porn and making empty vows
I need to stop thinking that people will stop doing whatever I mentioned
just because I SAID SO. 

hahhahaha. okay stop it. 


epiphanies on the MRT.

dated 5th June 2009

On the train at 6:10pm, Friday -- auntie, please be careful how you hold the paperbag, it's going up and down my groin and giving me sensations better left unsaid. 

dated 3rd July 2009

I believe a book is imminent. Epiphanies on the train -- seeing a teenage girl laying her woeful face upon the shoulder of another newly-pubescent boy made me feel slightly tickled, disgusted and rolly-eyed in general. Not to mention the gastric ache that so timely arrives. Oh, what do these 'benglians' know about pain, about scars, about truly comforting others, or maybe even the eventual impossibility to do so? come off it, kids, and start growing up -- make an effort in the cranial department and stop cuddling publicly like you represent love in all its innocence. 

okay, do i really need to explain my seemingly unfounded angst? 

dated 4th July 2009, morning

Third. I'm feeling content on the train, partly because i found myself a seat, and am guiltless and thankful there isn't anyone around who needs it more than i do. Enter Indian family, stumpy-looking parents carrying a jovial, inquisitive princess, aptly dressed in a kiddy sundress. what really caught all our eyes had to be her heart-shaped sunnies, its frame a bright fire-engine red, adorned with white hearts, set perfectly upon her promising nose. with her i-hope-are-natural curls shorn just below the chin, she looked like a 70s' icon, or at least, someone you'd really want to build sandcastles with. 

dated 4th July 2009, evening

Pardon the effulgence of epiphanies upon this startlingly inspiring transport vehicle. as the evening crowd forces its way into my cabin full of reluctantly gracious passengers, feet get on top of one another, while shoulders transform into the most discreet weapon of assault -- score! -- asshole behind me, part of the reason i managed to be shoved into the train, loses his balance and falls perfectly into my sweat-wet back! 

In a way no more subtle, faces come into play. Dirty, dirty faces, spilling animated words unheard at their counterparts now guilty of a lack of graciousness. Yet these words, however fluent, remain bottled inside The Singaporean, and once in a while an angmoh comes along to provide catharsis the way an Artaud play does. Maybe it's residual colonial etiquette, "speak you not, and let the white man do the talking." 

Or cowardice. 

a song to the past:

O how heavy this body is,
my soul wishes to soar! 
To those days, again, 
we lay beside each other,
telling stories with the
shapes of the passing clouds. 
where are we now? 

let's play a game.

so take your guns out,
and let's play, let's
play a game of russian roulette
jam up that lucky little fella'
and spin him into chance and Death

backs turned let's take three steps
one, two, three: away from you and me
from the life we had
from the life we lead
from the life we now give up.

pop went the weasel
now click goes my gun
and yours? bang. i'm down
i hit the ground. 

now it's you and me, baby
one standing the other lying
how ironic, how familiar
you were lying, I was standing

until this day, this good ol' game
we play, like yesterday, every day
no, now, we're three steps away
two of us, one dead, one stays.