flippant. schflippant.
concupiscience.blogspot.com
i've made a new cicrumvallation.
the new url is at http://voice-of.blogspot.com
oh and for those of you who asked me to get msn, i have it now. go ahead and add.
myasma is dead. long live myasma.
I created 'myasma' as a concept to base this blog upon. but now i've realised that this concept has been stolen and mangled beyond recognition by cruel coincidence. as such, my blabberings no longer have any value (i started out hoping that they have some intrinsic value) and therefore, 'myasma' is now kitsch.
am looking for a new home soon. will let you all know when it comes.
dusk is saccharine.
crimson is tangy.
russet is piquant.
niveous is vanilla.
verdigris is sapid.
beryl is mellow.
and your voice is ambrosia.
i played doctor for a day.
pushed my eyes in and splayed open my heart today.
but all i found
was three pounds of dust
and a dead bug.
there wasn't much room for thoughts anyway
because i made an indecision
about everything
and nothing.
there is a virus. somewhere.
microcosm of something diabolic. (i think.)
time never saves. it festers.
till your mind collapses in gangrene.
so i stitched everything up.
and turned my face away.
the glitter on the Cimmerian void outside was just cheerless.
up, up, in the sky so high. stars shining there so bright.
why is it that elation and happiness, is always so fleeting? maybe you knew what you had wanted, but yet, time and circumstance never congealed anything into fruition. the slippery sands shifts and disappears between the cracks of your fingers and down into the earth.
a candle sits in the middle of an outstretched palm. and its a lonely one, with the wax burned and melted down into a gooey mess. the blackened wick is gnarled with wasted hope. radiance, of the shimmering golden hope, sitting in the center of power; now covered in anonymity.
and you knew the face that was so fleeting. pass on by, and pass you by. you are just the passerby. like watching a scene from a bench in a public park, you're existing in a vacuum. you wanted to grasp it. but it was either your strength, or circumstance, or both, that failed you. but you couldn't decide which one it was.
no matter. you know the outcome of it anyway.
and they say that the midnight hour is the perfect time of day.
where all shadows melt away, giving rise to shades of shame and insanity that are flesh wound mementos burned into troglodytic eyes.
you walk, but you need no visuals anymore.
seeing is deceiving.
why is it that some people are not always that sharp in their daily lives, but are superhumanly phantasmally omnipotently fast when running to the food queue, or away from artillery shells, leaving your poor comrades behind and your section I/C blown to bits when trying to evacuate an injured comrade?
xiang xing wo ba sin jia bo! (believe me, singapore!)
ha.