It's gotta be this one
Don't have to fake it
You know I can take it
What if I told you
Your tears
Haven't been ignored
And everything
That is taken
Can be restored
Feel this
Can you feel this
My heart beating
Out of my chest
Feel this
Can you feel this
Salvation
Under my breath
It's gotta be
Disguised
Soul and script
Caught in the mirror
What if I told you
That in a sense is yours
And beauty you have now
Is brighter than before
Before
Let go, let go, let go
Let go, let go, let go
Let go
May 9, 2009
April 5, 2009
归
一年了。 任凭时间让我随波逐溜。
却又回到了，用中文文字来雕切能说的话。
因为，心中的情绪好深。
也只有在脑海中思量许久后，
才能过滤出能说出来，
却不会流露出太多情感的一字一句。
还没到伤口能愈合的时间， 无法让伤口曝光。
隐讳的伤口，让我混乱得已分不清病因和病症。
却又回到了，用中文文字来雕切能说的话。
因为，心中的情绪好深。
也只有在脑海中思量许久后，
才能过滤出能说出来，
却不会流露出太多情感的一字一句。
还没到伤口能愈合的时间， 无法让伤口曝光。
隐讳的伤口，让我混乱得已分不清病因和病症。
March 25, 2009
Depression Logging.
Tues 17 Mar.
The swirls got crazy. and got me dizzy. I got off holding my stomach with my right hand, in my left: the evidence of impossible failure. You know that they say reality always knocks the hardest at the softest, weakest spot. I'm wounded. So I stop, ranted and pretended -that i've moved on.
Wed, 18 Mar.
Still pretending that all wounds are healing on the outside with medical painkilling aids. Was in class, then left with a queasy sense that the festering pain came from older wounds, and somewhere much deeper in my depth-less being.
I shoved the blankets over my head and hoped that the nightmare won't be remembered. Conveniently forgetting that I have already left the main tracks into the wilderness.
Thurs, 19 Mar
The holidays started without official notice. If my life was a quilt, the threads are baring thin now. More verbal vomiting pouring out into the open. The signs are clear, clearer as I ran physically and saw the mirroring actions. Trying again to miss the repercussions.
Fri, 20 Mar
Woke up to nothingness. Life progressed into slumber and delusions. Beauty of some kind came in the form of cover-ups and masks. Sliding into delirium, as I poured toxic into my soul. Giving the dark and suppressed, a reason to surface and pursue the truth that has been denied into eternity.
And remember the murmurs, as we all held and cried. Helpless to help either of us with the problems that matters.
Sat, 21 Mar.
If March only had 20 days, I might not have to wake up to sore and bumps. But I did not get a concussion, no matter how loud the 'thud' when I knocked my head. If only I did, then I wouldn't wake up to memories and recollections. At least, I had an excuse. I watched her pretend that yesterday was about someone else, and continued with the life we couldn't and wouldn't leave behind us.
Sun, 22 Mar.
Trying to leave. and to claim that it is over.
Mon, 23 Mar.
Gone and away. driving everyone further and further away from the coast.
Tues, 24 Mar.
Over. And wasted. I want leave. to disappear. and the solutions aren't really solutions anymore.
The swirls got crazy. and got me dizzy. I got off holding my stomach with my right hand, in my left: the evidence of impossible failure. You know that they say reality always knocks the hardest at the softest, weakest spot. I'm wounded. So I stop, ranted and pretended -that i've moved on.
Wed, 18 Mar.
Still pretending that all wounds are healing on the outside with medical painkilling aids. Was in class, then left with a queasy sense that the festering pain came from older wounds, and somewhere much deeper in my depth-less being.
I shoved the blankets over my head and hoped that the nightmare won't be remembered. Conveniently forgetting that I have already left the main tracks into the wilderness.
Thurs, 19 Mar
The holidays started without official notice. If my life was a quilt, the threads are baring thin now. More verbal vomiting pouring out into the open. The signs are clear, clearer as I ran physically and saw the mirroring actions. Trying again to miss the repercussions.
Fri, 20 Mar
Woke up to nothingness. Life progressed into slumber and delusions. Beauty of some kind came in the form of cover-ups and masks. Sliding into delirium, as I poured toxic into my soul. Giving the dark and suppressed, a reason to surface and pursue the truth that has been denied into eternity.
And remember the murmurs, as we all held and cried. Helpless to help either of us with the problems that matters.
Sat, 21 Mar.
If March only had 20 days, I might not have to wake up to sore and bumps. But I did not get a concussion, no matter how loud the 'thud' when I knocked my head. If only I did, then I wouldn't wake up to memories and recollections. At least, I had an excuse. I watched her pretend that yesterday was about someone else, and continued with the life we couldn't and wouldn't leave behind us.
Sun, 22 Mar.
Trying to leave. and to claim that it is over.
Mon, 23 Mar.
Gone and away. driving everyone further and further away from the coast.
Tues, 24 Mar.
Over. And wasted. I want leave. to disappear. and the solutions aren't really solutions anymore.
Augustana - Boston
In the light of the sun, is there anyone? Oh it has begun...
Oh dear you look so lost, eyes are red and tears are shed,
This world you must've crossed... you said...
You don't know me, you don't even care, oh yeah,
She said
You don't know me, and you don't wear my chains... oh yeah,
Essential yet appealed, carry all your thoughts across
An open field,
When flowers gaze at you... they're not the only ones who cry
When they see you
She said I think I'll go to Boston...
I think I'll start a new life,
I think I'll start it over, where no one knows my name,
I'll get out of California, I'm tired of the weather,
I think I'll get a lover and fly em out to Spain...
I think I'll go to Boston,
I think that I'm just tired
I think I need a new town, to leave this all behind...
I think I need a sunrise, I'm tired of the sunset,
I hear it's nice in the Summer, some snow would be nice... oh yeah,
Oh dear you look so lost, eyes are red and tears are shed,
This world you must've crossed... you said...
You don't know me, you don't even care, oh yeah,
She said
You don't know me, and you don't wear my chains... oh yeah,
Essential yet appealed, carry all your thoughts across
An open field,
When flowers gaze at you... they're not the only ones who cry
When they see you
She said I think I'll go to Boston...
I think I'll start a new life,
I think I'll start it over, where no one knows my name,
I'll get out of California, I'm tired of the weather,
I think I'll get a lover and fly em out to Spain...
I think I'll go to Boston,
I think that I'm just tired
I think I need a new town, to leave this all behind...
I think I need a sunrise, I'm tired of the sunset,
I hear it's nice in the Summer, some snow would be nice... oh yeah,
March 2, 2009
Because I'm sick and tired of report-ing and coz' I'm eating my cuppa noonoo...
Hello world
Hope you're listening
Forgive me if I’m young
For speaking out of turn
There’s someone I’ve been missing
I think that they could be
The better half of me
They’re in the wrong place trying to make it right
But I’m tired of justifying
So i say you’ll..
Come home
Come home
Cause I’ve been waiting for you
For so long
For so long
And right now there's a war between the vanities
But all i see is you and me
The fight for you is all I’ve ever known
So come home
Oh....
Jasmine I think you get the point... Come home...
Hello world
Hope you're listening
Forgive me if I’m young
For speaking out of turn
There’s someone I’ve been missing
I think that they could be
The better half of me
They’re in the wrong place trying to make it right
But I’m tired of justifying
So i say you’ll..
Come home
Come home
Cause I’ve been waiting for you
For so long
For so long
And right now there's a war between the vanities
But all i see is you and me
The fight for you is all I’ve ever known
So come home
Oh....
Jasmine I think you get the point... Come home...
February 25, 2009
I think it's a goner.
I think I'll have to start from the beginning.
From a fresh blanc papier.
I hope the adrenaline rush comes soon.
I hope the passion gushes out of no where
Then, muses will inspire something.
Before the clock strikes 4 pm tomorrow.
I'm no cinderella.
But the clock is ticking.
And when this ends, for better or for worse.
I have another coming. and coming
You know this is what they say about life.
It's merry-go round.
You pay for the ride.
And go round in circles.
Circling on the same spot.
Until it signals for you to stop.
All this while, questioning why you got on in the first place.
I think I'll have to start from the beginning.
From a fresh blanc papier.
I hope the adrenaline rush comes soon.
I hope the passion gushes out of no where
Then, muses will inspire something.
Before the clock strikes 4 pm tomorrow.
I'm no cinderella.
But the clock is ticking.
And when this ends, for better or for worse.
I have another coming. and coming
You know this is what they say about life.
It's merry-go round.
You pay for the ride.
And go round in circles.
Circling on the same spot.
Until it signals for you to stop.
All this while, questioning why you got on in the first place.
February 20, 2009
Something's got over me.
Last morning, at 6.07am.
An idea of destruction struck and stayed to sow seeds of discord, between my better and worse halfs. Slumber as bait, I saw how difficult it would be to go to class at 10 am the same day. The ringing of past resolutions silent by the humming of temporal relief.
Last afternoon, at 4.47pm.
The car was in motion, my mouth chewing on the weird and very msg-ed chicken slice. My brains barely registering the french fries that went down minutes ago.
Last afternoon, at 4. 51pm
The doors opened and I picked up an arm-load of baggage entered the living room of the house we inhabited as a family. The food bought was lay on the table, as I settled into customary position - eating. One bean curd tart, pausing half-way to shout for "Jasmine", then continuing mindlessly to fill my stomach and time. Past the tart, I reached for the apple pie I presumably bought. Another bite, before Mum reminded me of the load I ate, unknowingly. I felt my stomach and felt no difference between hunger and excess.
Last night, at 8.50pm
The muesli in the kitchen beckoned. After my muesli breakfast, I seemed inclined to continue. With a day expired swiss yogurt and more rolled oats and dried fruits. Pinching more from Joanna's share of Honey yogurt and muesli mix.
Last night, 11.56pm
1 more frozen bean curd tart from the cranky refrigerator. Quite thoughtlessly, I moved through various heating of the same frozen tart. Munching the thawed bits, between heating. Through individual conversations with Jasmine which steered towards the activity of talking above listening on both accounts, I remembered the apple pie I abandoned before. Which accounts for 1 more trip to the toaster. Then Jasmine's supper seduced my awkward senses with promises of prolonging the supper. Another piece of bread, with charred pork floss. Then, only I realised I'm gorging food again.
Last morning, at 6.07am.
An idea of destruction struck and stayed to sow seeds of discord, between my better and worse halfs. Slumber as bait, I saw how difficult it would be to go to class at 10 am the same day. The ringing of past resolutions silent by the humming of temporal relief.
Last afternoon, at 4.47pm.
The car was in motion, my mouth chewing on the weird and very msg-ed chicken slice. My brains barely registering the french fries that went down minutes ago.
Last afternoon, at 4. 51pm
The doors opened and I picked up an arm-load of baggage entered the living room of the house we inhabited as a family. The food bought was lay on the table, as I settled into customary position - eating. One bean curd tart, pausing half-way to shout for "Jasmine", then continuing mindlessly to fill my stomach and time. Past the tart, I reached for the apple pie I presumably bought. Another bite, before Mum reminded me of the load I ate, unknowingly. I felt my stomach and felt no difference between hunger and excess.
Last night, at 8.50pm
The muesli in the kitchen beckoned. After my muesli breakfast, I seemed inclined to continue. With a day expired swiss yogurt and more rolled oats and dried fruits. Pinching more from Joanna's share of Honey yogurt and muesli mix.
Last night, 11.56pm
1 more frozen bean curd tart from the cranky refrigerator. Quite thoughtlessly, I moved through various heating of the same frozen tart. Munching the thawed bits, between heating. Through individual conversations with Jasmine which steered towards the activity of talking above listening on both accounts, I remembered the apple pie I abandoned before. Which accounts for 1 more trip to the toaster. Then Jasmine's supper seduced my awkward senses with promises of prolonging the supper. Another piece of bread, with charred pork floss. Then, only I realised I'm gorging food again.
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