Sunday, February 12, 2012
Sun, feb twelveth
Something with ketchup bottle; mirror; pandora box; a metaphor in the making. Will write later.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Saturday, January 14, 2012
'I told you so's.
She really thought I had it in the bag.
She thought, she really thought that by sitting in this boat, in a perfect balance, was safe enough. She thought, even though this wooden, rickety boat she's sitting at is half hanging off a cliff with the wild river below, this boat will not move an inch because she's holding the paddle and her sitting position is right.at.the.middle. Not an inch backward or forward. Just right. Perfect balance. Just comfortable enough.
She liked it here cause she's in control. Paddle in hand, she laughed, she finds out more about him, she listened to his stories while he listened to hers, and occasionally swatting away unwanted flies and bugs just because she was (still) so intrigued by him. When he wasn't looking, though, she sneaked a glance down the cliff. Whistling under her breath, she knew it would be one hell of a scary ride. Thousands of feet below the cliff; wild stream of current; unknown level of depth. Let's not go there. She intends to keep her paddle and sit exactly where she was sitting, forever glued. But balanced.
On Friday, 13 January 2012 (I know.) at exactly xx xx p.m., the boat rocked. There was literally no storm, no light rain, no animal attacks, no wind at the slightest. Well, maybe...maybe a small shake of leaves from the trees above her. Maybe a bird chirping that shocked the air out of her. It caught her off guard and the next thing she knew, the boat swayed more violently and tipped backwards, and what do you do when you lean backward from a thousand feet in the air?
You fall. Hard.
The kind of falling that no one can stop, no matter how much you panic trying to grasp the rocks, arms flailing gracelessly. When you open your eyes, you're in the water gasping for breath. You're swallowing lungs of water and let's not forget the way your body slams against the current-- it hurts. Not in a bleeding way, but more in a numbing way that stings. The way your hearts is beating so strangely; what is this, seriously? A mix of fear, excitement, fear, sadness, regret, happiness like a teenager on helium, fear, impatience, irony, excitement, and did I mention fear? You want to smile, laugh and scream at the same time. She guesses in the back of her mind she always knew this was going to happen eventually. She just did not know it would be this fast and that itwouldfeelikethis.
From her view here down in the river, she can only look up on the cliff and make out his silhouette standing there, probably scratching his head wondering what happened. The thing is..., If only she knew how to survive in the jungle,she can definitely make her way back up. If only she had the heart to be ferocious and heartless and evil with no ability to feel bad for people, there wouldn't be any problem. She would've been whistling happily up there and this wouldn't have been written. But you know she can't. So despite his hints, his attention, their laughter, their serious, deep sessions; their dinners; you know she can't. She's not that kind of person even though sometimes she thinks that she should for once. And the thing is..., if he wasn't so...what she would've described as the lead favorite male character in a certain story in Microsoft Word,climbing that rocks back up and into the boat would've been a piece of cake. If only our chats weren't so easy and so comforting it's insane, all of this wouldn't have happened. If only you weren't so
Shit. I'm never gonna get back up there, am I ?
She thought, she really thought that by sitting in this boat, in a perfect balance, was safe enough. She thought, even though this wooden, rickety boat she's sitting at is half hanging off a cliff with the wild river below, this boat will not move an inch because she's holding the paddle and her sitting position is right.at.the.middle. Not an inch backward or forward. Just right. Perfect balance. Just comfortable enough.
She liked it here cause she's in control. Paddle in hand, she laughed, she finds out more about him, she listened to his stories while he listened to hers, and occasionally swatting away unwanted flies and bugs just because she was (still) so intrigued by him. When he wasn't looking, though, she sneaked a glance down the cliff. Whistling under her breath, she knew it would be one hell of a scary ride. Thousands of feet below the cliff; wild stream of current; unknown level of depth. Let's not go there. She intends to keep her paddle and sit exactly where she was sitting, forever glued. But balanced.
On Friday, 13 January 2012 (I know.) at exactly xx xx p.m., the boat rocked. There was literally no storm, no light rain, no animal attacks, no wind at the slightest. Well, maybe...maybe a small shake of leaves from the trees above her. Maybe a bird chirping that shocked the air out of her. It caught her off guard and the next thing she knew, the boat swayed more violently and tipped backwards, and what do you do when you lean backward from a thousand feet in the air?
You fall. Hard.
The kind of falling that no one can stop, no matter how much you panic trying to grasp the rocks, arms flailing gracelessly. When you open your eyes, you're in the water gasping for breath. You're swallowing lungs of water and let's not forget the way your body slams against the current-- it hurts. Not in a bleeding way, but more in a numbing way that stings. The way your hearts is beating so strangely; what is this, seriously? A mix of fear, excitement, fear, sadness, regret, happiness like a teenager on helium, fear, impatience, irony, excitement, and did I mention fear? You want to smile, laugh and scream at the same time. She guesses in the back of her mind she always knew this was going to happen eventually. She just did not know it would be this fast and that itwouldfeelikethis.
From her view here down in the river, she can only look up on the cliff and make out his silhouette standing there, probably scratching his head wondering what happened. The thing is..., If only she knew how to survive in the jungle,she can definitely make her way back up. If only she had the heart to be ferocious and heartless and evil with no ability to feel bad for people, there wouldn't be any problem. She would've been whistling happily up there and this wouldn't have been written. But you know she can't. So despite his hints, his attention, their laughter, their serious, deep sessions; their dinners; you know she can't. She's not that kind of person even though sometimes she thinks that she should for once. And the thing is..., if he wasn't so...what she would've described as the lead favorite male character in a certain story in Microsoft Word,climbing that rocks back up and into the boat would've been a piece of cake. If only our chats weren't so easy and so comforting it's insane, all of this wouldn't have happened. If only you weren't so
Shit. I'm never gonna get back up there, am I ?
Monday, January 2, 2012
twenty twelve!
Happy New Year!
In my view, this is the best NY 2012 greeting, written by the one and only Neil Gaiman.
Read it, mull it and enjoy :)
In my view, this is the best NY 2012 greeting, written by the one and only Neil Gaiman.
Read it, mull it and enjoy :)
Sunday, December 18, 2011
this post brings tears to my eyes
..in a completely good way.
http://stormyhaze.blogspot.com/ (title: A Little Thank-You Note)
This post leaves me speechless. Utterly completely speechless.
I love you, sis :)
http://stormyhaze.blogspot.com/ (title: A Little Thank-You Note)
This post leaves me speechless. Utterly completely speechless.
I love you, sis :)
one winter day
Sure, it's all going great, at least as great as she never thought it would be. Their laughter vibrated off the auditorium and everyone is smiling and hugging and dancing and singing off the top of their lungs. There's this warm burst of happiness in their chests every day and night and these two in particular cannot stop smiling at each other, shaking their heads unable to believe that everything is a great as they never thought it would be.
The tickle in their stomach, the gleeful look in their eyes, the bubble of laughter escaping their throat, the exchange of witty banter and inside jokes that only the two of them know. The unspeakable level of understanding that they have of each other just by exchanging brief glances. Hand gestures. Body language. It's all going oh so great; yes, it's happening and no; it's not only a friction of imagination.
But what happens when the show ends and the reality starts?
When the lights go out and the script is no longer written; when the rest of the cast heads home in sorrow and the laughter stops echoing in the room; when the playbook she's holding in her hand reads 'THE END-NOW WHAT?'; when the words finally die in his throat; when the music abruptly stops and all heads turn to see who's standing in the doorway in horror; when he's a deer caught in the headlight; when the big question arrives and reality sets in; when it's time to flip the coin and make a decision; when the audience gets up and leaves one by one with one last bittersweet look at the lead male and female cast; when the janitor passes by and sweeps everything off the floor, including the remains of the scripts;
I guess there's no other way for her but to have one final bow and exit stage; left.
The tickle in their stomach, the gleeful look in their eyes, the bubble of laughter escaping their throat, the exchange of witty banter and inside jokes that only the two of them know. The unspeakable level of understanding that they have of each other just by exchanging brief glances. Hand gestures. Body language. It's all going oh so great; yes, it's happening and no; it's not only a friction of imagination.
But what happens when the show ends and the reality starts?
When the lights go out and the script is no longer written; when the rest of the cast heads home in sorrow and the laughter stops echoing in the room; when the playbook she's holding in her hand reads 'THE END-NOW WHAT?'; when the words finally die in his throat; when the music abruptly stops and all heads turn to see who's standing in the doorway in horror; when he's a deer caught in the headlight; when the big question arrives and reality sets in; when it's time to flip the coin and make a decision; when the audience gets up and leaves one by one with one last bittersweet look at the lead male and female cast; when the janitor passes by and sweeps everything off the floor, including the remains of the scripts;
I guess there's no other way for her but to have one final bow and exit stage; left.
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