Birthday

November rains are back.  Everyday it is raining, raining, raining.  The skies are crying, weeping tears of bittersweet joy.  Massive clouds of whitish-grey matter cover the sky, creating a reflecting gloom that shrouds the earth.  Some twists must be taken, must they not?

Even the air is set with a dewy mist.  Winds blow, though not too hard.  The ground is moist; in some places it is damp and soggy from all the wetness.

The wisps of mists fill the air as it evaporates, awakening the senses – perhaps with a start – and the soul, with a renewed vigor, skips along the sidewalks in merriment.  For through pain, through jagged maps, through persistence it came through it all, and is still coming, on its way.  One day soon it shall be no less obvious, because its dear heart would thump with powerful beats along to the tune of the music whispering in its ears.

An afternoon in downtown KL. (Photo credits to Alicia Ai Leng)

An dizzling afternoon in downtown KL. (Photo credits to Alicia Ai Leng)

November is a beautiful month, the time of the year when Mars and Pluto cross paths and stars collide.  It is the time of the year of every other year when little baby scorpions emerge from their eggs and take their very first crawl.

Oh!  The clock is ticking, and I am running out of time.  I must put on my birthday suit.  For in a few minutes I am turning 24.  How old can I be?

I am in oh-so-deeeeep love with the month of November.

Red Scarlet

PS:  This post was written a few days prior to the author’s 24th birthday.

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Dirty Little Secret

Shush. Don’t tell your mother.  Kiss one another.  Die for each other.

In the midst of the gooey mass of grey matter in the prefrontal lobe stands a huge army of Spartan soldiers with their spears sticking upwards in the air.  They are prepared to fight, prepared to conquer malaise, to combat for Truth.  For the mind is a wondrously dangerous place, and white lies are in constant battle with black lies and dirty little secrets.  With a tweak of a passage of signals, the entire perception alters somewhat drastically.  It gives birth to a thought, an idea, and though in its embryonic form, it still has the capability of enveloping the entire physique, covering the subtle pores of the skin with its vulnerable coat like myelineated sheaths of axons.  It hydrates the thirsty soul; it instigates a certain craving for – a little cocaine, maybe?  Fervently spreading throughout the entire breathing creature, it begins to speak aloud in the creature’s own voice.  But how weak the mind is!  Yet it is capable of intelligent choice.

Secret Garden. (Photo courtesy of Twitter)

Secret Garden. (Photo courtesy of Twitter)

A long time has past since I last published my work on WordPress.

It is a superficially busy time for me because, after this semester, I have only two more to go.  Then I shall finally graduate.  It is critically important that I do well during these last few months because I plan to sit for masters. Not only that I am working towards developing my own organizational objectives with a music business unit.  It is not easy to do this single-handedly, but I am fortunate to be able to work with other entrepreneurs as well.

It truly is one last stage for me to get by.  I admit it is tough because I am now handling everything by myself, from tuition fees to organization structure to this little powerful drug – writing – that I do every now and then.  I am consummated by exams and university projects and meeting new people.  Every now and then I am hurled into Dreamland, where I am trapped in an extremely tall tower waiting for my knight in his white horse to come around and save me of course.  At the very same moment, Time is graciously ticking away.

It definitely is fun to form mutual friendships with people and organizations, especially those who would be able to help out in the event that it is necessary.  As part of entrepreneurship all that stress that comes along with it – hopefully it ends successfully.  I want it to be a success of course!  It meaning everything.  Which encompasses education, my job, my friends, my family, my life – everything, god damn it.  All these are the work of a lifetime.  These are all my Paradise.

Don’t tell anyone.  It’s my dirty little secret.  Can you keep it?  Because I am fine with it.

Red Scarlet

P.S.:  I am quite happy being a woman.

Halfway There

Charon, Pluto’s beloved son – he rowed the fragile boat through the dark blue waters of the Styx.  It was all pitch black except for the little oil-lamp which had been lit before they began their journey.

Lovely Athene sat below him, silent as a child, unbeknownst of their final destination.  The vagueness of the mist which had so far enshrouded the air (if it were air they were breathin’)  was nothing to her beautiful grey eyes; in all her purity, her vision pierced through every bit of haze, thick and thin.  Her ivory white skin reflected on the murky waters as if they were but glass.  And her ears – she listened to hear, but she heard nothing.  Nothing could be heard.  Nothing spoke of life itself; except for the swishing of Charon’s oars through the mystical river.  She was all alone in this journey.  Or was she?

For out of the whitish-grey fog, something big and dangerous (at least, it appeared so) scooted away from the back of a huge boulder to another.  Just what was that?  Athene asked herself. More importantly, should she proceed?  Or should she turn back?

Going back where I come from is decidedly an incredibly long way.   Much time has been consumed – it must have been years, in fact; no, decades, that I have lost count.  Now I am so deeply entangled within the web of myelineated axons and dendrites, like Athene who is so deeply lost in the surreal gloom, and yet steadily emerges out of the Valleys from Charon’s boat.

Athene knows she is very close to the surface of the Darkness, where Artemis the Goddess of Light shall triumph in all her glory.

I presume I am more than halfway there, too, that the answers are going to sprout up sooner or later.  Which is so because I have noticed.  It is as if I am wiping clean an old window pane that has not been dusted for centuries, and it gets clearer with every swipe.

This is of course quite exciting, in all events.  The eyes capture a glimpse of hope shimmering from the East; Dawn breaks and dew from the midnight rain cools the air with a magical mist.  I must leave, and go ahead on my journey.

The Write Project

My mind has been loitering on a wandering trail for the past few months.  Not that my lips cried, but my brains could not keep their silence.  It was as if life edged by a rocking boat in turbulent waters, and all the soul could possibly do was sit and watch.  And think, too.  Perhaps.  If it were possible.

In the joyous reunion of the family, I felt my essence sui generis slipping away, bit by bit, into the stark madness of reality. More and more I was drowning away in a plenitude of data, most nothing but cold hard facts, and facts, and facts.  And then came the time where I was asked to ask myself: What am I doing?  Where am I heading?  Is this what I want to do? For the last question, of course, the answer is undoubtedly clear – yes, of course!  But how?  What?  Why? Where would I lose myself to?

It is agonizing, considering the workload I am facing, and yet it is simply a part of the process. Which path was I walking?  Whose path?  What did I want, inherently, in the end?  I was always in the have-to, but no-time situation.  But I shall not deny that worklife has absorbed a great deal of me, so now I am hard at play retrieving it.  It was as if I been prancing about in a drunken stupor, but nevertheless the questions kept on pressing endlessly.

Stop, stop, stop.  Please!  This echoed through my head.  It had to, correct?  It is probably my identity crisis as a psychopathic writer, where I let go of all responsibilities and allow myself to explore.  And explore I have – I am still at it, to be frank.  Anyway, it is safe to say that I have been hanging around the wrong loop, and therefore it necessitates me to make a reverse turn to continue the walk.  Or the run, rather.  I have been using much time.  This year, however, my writing has brought me to another level, and I am required to prepare write-ups for website content.  It is not exactly what I want – for I really, really do want to grab hold of a drama director by the wrist, and demand that he allow me to screen-write.  JS (which stand for just saying).  But my emotions speak for themselves.  I have been waiting much too long.

Slowly, though. All the exploring and traveling has made me immensely sleepy.  It is necessary that I listen closely to my heartbeat – no distractions!  Ihrer haben ein solch guten tag.  Und ich liebe dich.

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Best of Both Worlds

Should have, could have, might have – but did not.  I must smack myself in the face.  The daydreaming I have plunged myself into with all the diving through the deepest depths… it is still going to continue.

This is the 21st century we are now experiencing at the forefront of conciousness.  Yet I choose to submerge a bit further through the id and out the superego as I search through the shelves of my memory for those materials I need to put to good use, specifically.

At times it takes me to a particular point in my life when I do know absolutely what I want to write about, but the hand churns up something else.  Which is quite astounding, because till now, I had expected the hand to obey the mind.

But now I shall shut my hand with orders of persecution and open my mind instead.  My love for drama shall be a little more pronounced in all my studies and research.  It is a personal attempt to bridge a conjuction between the subject of the Sciences and the Arts.  That combined with the philosophies if the ancient Grecian fathers and the rich culture of the past… ooh la la; I could have almost orgasm.

     But of course I do not.

Have you tried mixing vodka with a little berry juice?  Or, perhaps, whisky?  It is approximately similar, only that you put your drunken thoughts to print for all to read and ponder and laugh about.

The Masai warriors are stomping their sharply-carved spears onto the ground, their loincloths waving slightly in the hot, airy climate.  Let the leprachauns dance along the rhythm with pretty little green shemrocks under their cute little feet.

Gah!  Add a bit of rum; switch on the music.  Come dance with me.

Red Scarlet

Laughter

Maybe I am a little insane.  This I confess.

I just got back to my burrow after a good jog at the nearby track.  It was slightly longer than usual; and here I am referring to the distance covered.

I increased the number of sit-ups and push-ups too.  As I headed out to the nearest 24-hour store, I started feeling a recurring pain in the cardiac muscle.  Oh no, I thought.  Not again.

The first incident came about more than a year ago.  It lasted for just a few minutes – but it hurt enough to claim storage in my mind’s capacity.  Enough to teach me plenty of values.  Of life.  Of the self.  Of the people around me – especially those I care for.

I drink at times, but I have never placed a lit cigarette in my mouth.  I am quite proud of the fact that, each time I hit the community pool, I complete ten full laps back and forth.  Non-stop.

What I have absorbed in my mind has taught me so much about life’s worth.  I have, as of date, already discovered the cause, and in the process revealed the conclusions altogether.  It is not that I wish to vye for fame.  I have simply accepted the dry facts.  Now I just intend to… prolong my lifespan a little bit, perhaps?

My quickest, and also easiest solution, of course, is laughing.  Laughter, after all, is the simplest and most unconventional method of healing.  Among all other forms available, laughing is such a natural remedy, especially for the pain in the heart.  I laugh at anything and everything, so much so friends and colleagues gave me a cute pet-name (that I shall not reveal!).

Yet I see this as a positive activity.  An array of happiness oxytoxins jetspray themselves into the bloodstream from the glands, every time that occurs.  They squirt out and rush off to the cheeks, giving them a soft, rosy glow.  It catalyzes the heartbeat by just a wink, and here even a wink helps.

There is, I presume, of no use, because the Chambers of Life beat so diligently… but no one hears.  And so, I churn out my music on the paper.

Laugh for all of heaven's sake. (Photo Credits to Alicia Ai Leng)

Laugh for all of heaven’s sake. (Photo Credits to                            Alicia Ai Leng)

Spill it out.  It is now very close to 3AM, and I have a class at 8.30AM later.  Let’s just laugh.

Red Scarlet

Love Drunk

You might, if you meet with me, find me strange, for I have just listened to my ringtone list and discovered a bit of inspiration from there for my university project.

So far I have conjured up three women in love, and vying for the the attention, of two men.  One of the women has a panic issue and appears to fall into hysteria anytime (“My heart is but weak!”).  Another woma is very adamant about her choice and goes out her way to “claim”  her man (“I do not care! Leave him to me!”).  The other girl is a pessimist, or otherwise an optimist (“There are other fishes in the sea, my father used to tell me”).

Thus Woman A a.k.a. the Hysteric has fallen for a tiny little man whose voice does not yet seem to have surpassed puberty.  In fact, he acts a bit too gay for a man.  That is just how Jeremy is.

Then there is also Sean, for whom Miss Catwoman has a thing, and with whome Miss Catwoman is very much in love.

When it comes to movies, films, plays, dramas, and the like, what really matters is the script.  And then the cast of characters, the actors and actresses.  What prop and set-up required because these are crucial for the enactment of the drama about to set forth.

LoveDrunk

Love is a muddled mess in reality.  But when it comes to the movies… I lick my lips.

The cast resembles my puppets; but here I move my actors and actresses without twitching a single muscle.

Well, let us just wait and see; the classes are not to begin until next week.

Red Scarlet

What Drives You…

Caltex?

The engine of your life (Photo credits to Alicia Ai Leng)

The engine of your life (Photo credits to Alicia Ai Leng)

No, not quite.  It is a source of energy that fuels our motives; but it certainly is not black and it is not slippery, and it is not pumped out from the rich earth below.

Do you realize how everyday I wake up to this realization, deciding that this is it, the very thing that keeps me going – because my life is not going to last, but my deeds will.

So will the rest of the people I know: Friends and family and whoever else I find dear to my heart.  They are worthy of the smile you give them everyday, of the hearty laughter you share with them, and of the care you shower them with.

To accept the fact, however dreary it seems, with an ever tolerant spirit, brings the joy in me.  Yes, life is not perfect; it is not a complete bed of roses.  But knowing that it does not last settles me with the reason to treasure every moment of it.

Some past research which really got extremely serious in the end, into the matter itself, yielded in some pretty horrific results.  It provided a lot of insight into Death and all that is associated with it.  And that, gathered with all the hard facts and statistics revolving around that data, as well as the play of life events that take place before my very eyes, is more than enough to make me who I am presently.

The knowledge, or rather the awareness, that you and I will one day vanish into the ethereal, is what keeps us going.  Just that sometimes we are too busy to notice.

Of course I think differently.

Red Scarlet

The Blietzkrieg

Past midnight; really early, and it is a little more than a half-moon tonight.  A glass of chocolate caramel sits melting away patiently beside my books.

Thoughts scurry along the intricate wires of the charging station, awaiting their turn to be discharged to outside air.  Boxes of conciousness containing unspoken words swoosh along the neural tracks.

As I wade through the blurry pool of dreams, thoughts, fantasies, and feelings, and aims and goals, some left hanging unfinished, a few pleasant, and others with various degrees of disgust, my Chamber of Life pumps blood throughout my body. Upon my exit from the very first box, an array of bullets are directed towards me.

Photo Credits to Alicia Ai Leng.

Photo Credits to Alicia Ai Leng.

My shield.

I am fortunate to have it on for some form of protection, though it is still in steady, albeit gradual, growth.  At present, it is creeping upwards over my skin – one day it shall, with absolute certainty, envelope the whole of my physique and engulf me in the Flames of the Moment.

In the sepulchral silence where I now stand, the Chambers of Life thumping ever so diligently bringing full-Blood zest to the exercise of all my wont.  My heart is still with overflowing zeal, for the eagerness of exploration to as high up and as deep down shall experience some form of continuation in my journey through the earth.

That the body seeks success and the spirit satisfaction of wisdom I cannot deny.  It is through weather-beaten paths the march shall prevail till it reaches the summit of what-not, personal achievements.

The jet sitting in the center of the hall, with all the artillery arranged in rows beside it – that I shall board and take off to greater heights.

I have already switched on the engines.

Red Scarlet

As Time Flies

Welcome 2015.

As the minute hand turns, seconds become minutes, minutes into hours, and hours change to days, days into weeks, months, years, and eventually decades – O, how much longer before the story ends?

Emotions lay covered, as if shaken by water; yet in the quick moment of silence, I retract back whatever plans I have constructed in the past, however recent they are.  A thorough view out the window, and I decided that certain tactical plans must be trashed to the bin, for the lack of time.  It is my final year after all.

Truth is, there is only so much time in one’s life to care about every single thing.  It is to my conscience that I admit that much time has been unfortunately been put to waste due to lack of deep comprehension of particular matters.

It is nearing, although not absolutely so, the end of one adventurous chapter.  It is so close to, “And here comes the tricky part.”  What I speculate… adventurous hikes, deep plunges, and high dives into the unknown.  Aye, there is a plethora of excitement I sense in the air.  So much of it as I plan on a goal-directed year.  I do not and cannot permit anything else to perturb my aura, my plans laying themselves toward a particular road.

On with 2015, moving towards drama and music and therapy of the psyche… what am I waiting for?  It is going to be a year of growth, a time of beautiful memories, and yes, merriment. It is also going to be a year of love, forgiveness, patience, assertiveness, perseverance,and ultimately, success.

I choose to be… determined.  Bald du sehen!

Red Scarlet