i'm meltinggggg

i asked them, all the pallid pales,
the polar bears and great blue whales;
of how they managed to beat waves,
of heat, of sun, of kings and knaves.

they said, you have pragmatic be,
with air-conds on till shaketh knee;
or hop a public transport when,
it costs all but a dollar ten.

alternatively, said the whale, you could,
swim in the sea just like any whale should;
but, proper, the rhinoceros said,
think with your nose, not with your head!

and sit (or sleep) in library,
it's cold and nice and so very;
sophisticated, you won't grow old,
just maybe tired and slightly cold.

i think the moral of all this, is take the day off, take a treat;
and blast that a/c to the max in an attempt to beat the heat!





i don't normally give a commentary or summary on my own poems (there being a conflict of interest that i would rather people interpret it themselves; not that anyone does), but i feel it pressing to at least mention that this one is because this summer is so frscking hot. 45C hot. and dry. the animal symbolisms are of friends. and now, i sleep -_-

spinjury

what is a sports injury.

you can't expect to play a contact sport and never have an injury. it's like wanting to sunbathe but not think of skin cancer as a potential consequence. it's like eating meat all day every day and not expecting to get colon cancer somewhere down the line. it's like telling your best friend she's amazing every morning and not expecting her to fall for you. it's like pirating intellectual property over the internet and not being worried of governments clamping down on online privacy. excessively.

and so, it happened last week, though not at an inopportune time (i believe in double negatives). the field was not very flat, and my skills (or lack thereof) are not very admirable, so when my friend clipped me ever-so-slightly as i was running with the football, i fell awkwardly and sprained my ankle. aside from the initial groaning in agony and not being able to walk for a good half hour, i cannot say this is anything anyone hasn't experienced. it was not life-shatteringly painful and i was up and about in an hour or so. the pain and swelling was worse come nightfall, and even moreso the next morning, but this was all to be expected. full recovery in a week? i would imagine so.

i would like to point out my friend's reaction at having injured me, though. amidst the jeering and calls for 'fake injury' (damn you, van persie), my friend who clipped me was thoroughly apologetic and extremely (if not excessively) worried about it. i think, i wouldn't mind everyone having the odd spinjury that good sportsmanship and fairplay come to the foreground. that being said, maybe i just haven't seen how bad things can get, and all the persons maimed and scarred for life would beg to differ. so, speaking for myself here, i'd like to (over-the-internet-anonimously) thank my friend for being such a good chap about it all. even though you did out of desperation knowing full well that i owned you like a boss. and that i will surely find the perfect opportunity. when you are dribbling like a legend. goalbound and already victorious. to slide you with a tackle from the worst angle.

and.

break.

your.

bones.

play me chopin.

http://www.smbc-comics.com/index.php?db=comics&id=2454#comic

this is how i feel about persons of the opposite sex on most days.

walking death

today i woke up with the most beautiful images of my life flashing through my head. it was forced, raw, primal and awkward; but it made me happy for that fleeting moment before my brain comprehended that all was but a dream. or what similarity dreams have with thoughts, in that they were purposeful, not random.

then i sat in bed, and thought of this (and this is right now, at this moment). i realise something so beautiful (this collection of memories, much like a slideshow) was actually cold and uncouth and ultimately ugly, because they were mostly not of my life - but my recent life, spent dwelling and contemplating of a future so uncertain, that i had forgotten the beauty of prior years. truly, if all is lost, then i have these years to blame.

much like every morning, i check my mail and between the mundane and bothersome ones, there is one of (but not from) the dream of my life. this must be a (if not the) root of evil, which makes me realise that i am not happy because of all these beautiful images, but i am just apathetic - the images were only because i have finally witnessed the final moments of my lived life. i am dead.





i wish i literally was. every day.

unintentional hipster

i thought writing love letters would be my thing. in an age where writing letters is obsolete and decadent, when wordplay is only for dusty old books and forgotten scripture. i thought i had found my little niche in love and romance, where whomever received my little attempts at love letter or notes would be transported to an era before television and fast cars; somewhere victorian and quaint, if not in time then in space. i thought this made me unique, or at least memorable, what with the lack of standing out that i already possess.

however, this is not to be, as i find that writing love letter is very much alive and well, and the extent to which i do it is nowhere nearly as powerful or compelling as what i hope it would be. rose-tinted glasses are often the most dangerous, but i had no idea they were also the most embarrassing.

and to find out that any one person, especially one whom those love letters were intended for, had received so many letters before mine... this dilutes, grays and even abolishes any notion of romanticism attached to them. fool! but it is okay, as this is hopefully not the rule of thumb (or pen), and as soon as another fermina passes, i will be one statistical datum less uninteresting, which makes love letters (hopefully) a rarity, again. or, for the first time. maybe this is a new coming of phase, and i am already spearheading it? i am such a hipster, oh dear god, what have i done?

happy new year

from the future!

even though this post is late.

somehow, everything just feels the same.

i wonder what lies in wait?