Ranting

The pleasure of silence without any care, I think I need long holiday badly. The tender touch of the wind in my hair. Have anybody felt this way;wanting to see everything as beautiful. The blade of long grass dancing in the breeze making murmurs that something will come and disturb this fleeting peace. The smile of a passing stranger making no judgments. Flocks of birds flying in formation seeking sustenance to fuel the high intake of their calorie consuming existence. The kind of silence that will make the thoughts in your head go in different branches covering a multitude of topics and ideas and memes then sudden all have and underlying theme, a theme that is not you, or something that you thought was never you, the thought of doing horrible things for the sake of doing them, murder, rape, mutilation and seeing acts of kindness suddenly shift to the perverse. My black and white is merging and becoming gray, why am I so intrigued by this decadence of my own morals and of the morals of others when I’m sure that it wouldn’t make a difference to my outlook and the outlook of others of me. This yearning for anarchy I have in my wants turning to me being the archetype of the system, a dictator who orders the live of other even when I and people who know me know that I could not.

One night a moth flying around saw something that interests it very much, it saw a flame. It wants to be one with it, to embrace it. When it got near the flame, the moth felt pain in it’s wing and so it got as far away from the flame it could. Then it found the concept of opposites because it flew straight into an open freezer, where it froze to death and caused many curses to come out of the woman that owned the freezer that has now a moth trapped in deep frost as the woman only opened the freezer again two months later when she got home from abroad.

I am the moth and the flame is words, texts and meaning and syntax. While the freezer is the complete chaos of misunderstanding and no-meaning. The women is you, dear reader.

Makings Of A Perverted Mind.

It is was on a saturday evening when I was getting back from KL, i was on a bus going from kajang towards Semenyih.

As usual i sat upon the last bench on the bus as it would have the room to house these bamboo poles I call legs. I was actually sitting in-between a chinese kid who was busy sending SMSs to another person apparently not on the bus and three malay girls who were as usual too busy to care what other think of them,because they were like as any group of likeminded people did when they were together, they were busy entertaining each other. Amidst all this giggling and whisperings about pretend glances from men imagined and real towards them, and frantic keypad clicking. I noticed a solitary person in the in the bus, not busy with anything, and unlike me was hardly even awake at all.

From my bench behind her I saw that she had used her long straight hair as a kind of curtain. Whether it was to hide her face from the sun or to hide it from other people I wouldn’t know. but in doing so she had unintentionally revealed her neck. the kid beside me had finished sending his SMSs and busy reading replies and now was in throes of heavy T9 assisted thumb typing and the three malay girls are going off the bus and was looking for other places to giggle in. In time the SMS kid also arrived at his wanted destination, maybe he going to meet his friends. There was now not much to look at so I did as any guy in my situation would do, concentrate on the girl.

The sun was succeeding in doing what it was doing in the dreamy light of near sunset, which was to make skin of girls look silky and details be emphasized with shadows going eastwards. her neck was creamy pale white. with fine fuzz from beyond the sight barrier that was her collar, those small hair were coming up her neck in an inverse ‘V’ pattern until it came to the pit behind the neck where it would start to grow longer in fine filaments of darker than black and abruptly up from that her hairline starts.

It is known in wet and warm countries like this to shave the fine hair behind the neck to allow for better contact of skin and air, but the girl apparently have never heard done that. what does this imply? the girl doesn’t care about sweat? her hair was long on the back so it was useless to do so? I am thinking too much?

Then as usual, she did what people on busses do, she stood up and rang the bell. well so much for that. she got off that bus and walked home. I stayed on sweating amidst the indons and banglas and nepalese and vietnamese and malaysians and others that are smelling of the undried sweat the malaysian climate was excelling at producing. who am i amongst these people on this unair-conditioned bus , but the sweatiest of all, of stench and of lust. I am the paragon of this ‘thing’ here. when it came to my stop, the other passengers allowed me, their dominar, to get down first as proper respect demands.

Then I felt the urge of making lactic acid sting these legs of mine. so I walked home, while my mind and eyes were busy gawking and interpreting the abstract patter on the sunset sky. Seeing orgasmic symbols everywhere. HAHAHA!

Lonely Saturday.

In the rays of the morning sun.
Her face shone like a glass jar of honey.
Knowledge of sweetness without tasting.
To taste is to sully the purity with dirtied hands.

Hanging to her chandelier earrings was me.
Grasping to the edge of sanity.

Warm me, Sun!
Banish this cold feeling.

Fail me not, Memory!
For I want to remember this face.
And for me to fathom why?

She had a big ass too. w00t!
Now wait a minute…
I never talked to her.
Never knew her name.
Never knew where she lived.
Aye…

Depressing and lonely, again.