Wednesday, March 19, 2008


As the order of the day was to speak less and express more, I will come to expect an increase in the desire to learn as much as I could throughout this forthcoming season. Meanwhile, as I forgo the thoughts of preoccupying the mind with wishful thinkings, here comes the fictional protagonists of some unaccounted diaries of yesteryears - an esoteric cubist, a mental calculator and a cryptic colourist; interpreting three retro songs of the early 80s, each defined in styles only understood by the selected fews. You shall figure in no time.

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

Of Which We Favour

Inside, between the inner surface of the OPEN SPACE and the irreversible layer of the semi-contours, is a POTENTIAL SPACE, that gives way, almost in a vomiting gesture, to things that smelled red, somethings which burn yellow, to poems and note pads which were very much indivisible, WORTHLESS GENERAL AUDITS, synonym finders, tools of the trades, online newspapers that takes form long before THE DEATH OF PRINTS, and something else for the insomniacs, beautiful noises blended with caffeine, could be an art of factual nonsense, (nobody knows for sure), and flowing with the voice of hopes, a Utopian city of dreams, ordered chaos, LONELY SOULS, chanced phenomenons, pragmatic syntaxes, cognitive reasoning (cold like ice), neurosciences, platonic knowledge which functions as windows for poor modurality, and just around the corner, moving oh so slowly, metrosexualists, heterosexualists, absolute pure rubbish, such gibberish, thrown off the human-chain cyclist, and sweet discourse, purple rains, dark coloured eyes pretending to take down notes, pictorials, unreadable scribbles, scanty cutouts of genderless figures, maps of multiple dimensions, A4 papers swarmed with grayscale thumbnails, unfinished tidbits, probably rotten, notable jottings which resemble art, installation of freedoms, concepts with boundaries, dolls with IDENTITY CRISIS, the flaws of system, countdown list of activities people do when they fall in love, classic theories and hypothesis of modern philosophies, flowing side by side now with things unseen to the naked eyes, FEARS OF SPACE, agoraphobia, claustrophobia, astrophobia, kenophobia, EUCLIDIAN SPACES, both supergalatic and subatomic, PHYSICAL SPACE, forty centimetres all around, emotional fervours, variables, coupled with calculated risks, and on textbooks covered with transparent sheets made of regenerated cellulose, several names to be forgotten, phone lists of notable guests, periodic tables with meaningless calculations, numbered pages with doodles of mockeries, hints of boredom, signs of wisdom, trying without trying, free-verse and dissections of a school’s motto, pie-charts and eraser matches, and on certain areas, otherwise notable, old wives tales turning true, arias from an old music box, biography of an alienated friend, letters accompanied with forecasted weathers, unsigned mid-year exam test papers, poems that doesn’t rhyme, yet it chimed, in syllables, in series, with archives of friendly games, radiowaves, daze of air of trance of laze of ways more than one ways, glaring dancing shoes, pretty dirty boots, black and white attires, excited movements, anxious rhythmic heartbeats, tolerating time, waiting and waiting and waiting, on the other side, less picturesque, warm and friendly swimming freely, photos of egosurfing pyschos, faces of John Does, untitled melodies, lyrics formed from ingredients of an Italian cuisine, OLD FOOTAGES FROM A WEDDING, thick book on kimonos, Ikea-furnished apartment, broken records, relays in slow-motion, captured transiently, on calendars with figmental episodes, moonlight January, rouge February, strangest March, blue April, merry May, fruitful June, oriental July, sweet August, admirable September, black October, warm November, white December, a little glacial spectral, a gentle timeless ripple, a memorial symbol, a frayed essay, two colourless tempests, a dying flower, a crying mother, a strong believer, teddy-bears, swollen eyes, beating around the bush, angry toy soldiers losing war, consumerism dilemmas, self-proclaimed winnings, COLOURED PAPERS waiting to be folded, into shapes of birds, hearts, stars, and constructed personalities, drifting together with moments of truth, pack of lies, cartons, boxes, tubes, 2 sheets posters, framed-up smiles, pop-up birthday cards, brushes of various sizes, hairbrushes, jazz brushes, toothbrushes, unfinished comic strips, poorly sketched human anatomy, voice recordings (non-translated), sailing together with the fluids of times, (it does seems ages ago), tones that signified youths, FLAVOURS AND FAVOURS, cute mementos, expired medications, and people, many people indeed to be remembered, with bitter harmony of a marooned lips, one man gazing beyond reason to excavate the oasis of poor ruptured souls, one lady with patchy tanned lines, phasing marked hallucinations, telling stories, repeating in double time, unrehearsed, with grace notes, acciaccaturas, free play, ad-lib, sound-painting the ceiling with SEMI-HEMI-DEMI-SEMI-QUAVERS, integer notations, punctuating in falsettos, slightly animated if I may, within a CONFINED SPACE, equip with nothing, but a deep … long … pause.

Wednesday, March 5, 2008

Power Extreme

Disorders of the body and mind returns, this time without warning. Though I felt exceedingly fitter an hour ago, I am practically still down. As soon as everything returns to its normal mode, I will voice out the sweet, voiceless thoughts, which are now hanging arbitrarily between The Garden of Hiatus and Avenue Zzz. From this point onwards, I am inclined to think that the world surrounding me is harmoniously round, but I can be very wrong. I can still work if the world is flat or sharp - it doesn’t really matter. What matters most is the content. I need assurance, and reassurances. I need peace, co-existing with creation. I need plenty of room for improvements. I need a system where I can free myself from inadequate ideas and preconceived notions. Above all, I need _________.

Now, how I wish I could be Ace McCloud, orbiting in space, defending the Earth against criminal masterminds. In a crucial time like this, we all need safety beyond and within our comely, comfort zone.

Original Concept Illustration: Ace McCloud, The Centurions© by Madally Wurlpiz ©07/08.