play the game (queen music in the background)

what is this game i see you play? it looks so weird but fun,
oh, now one hides, and then one jumps, and why does that one run?
it feels a match where one gives chase and prances, dances, spurns,
but then like a non-sequitur, the other does in turn!

i toss a ball against the wall, it's returned with due force,
then to and for, and back again, with nary a brief pause;
when suddenly, we drop our all, and whereforth the ball goes?
is no concur, you've missed the point, it's of who next now throws!

but wait, there's more, with sleight of hand, what false is now made true,
with magic words and mirrored glass, we've deceived, misconstrued;
so why do what? that chase, that dance, what essence did it pass?
its purpose was, to win, of course, and make it such that thus:
that when one's won, the other's, too, but play the game for fun,
when no longer can you tell start from end, then both are one.

oh, yet again, i've missed the point, i still don't get this game,
who keeps the score? am i ahead? or is the tally same?
oh, my, you say, i've always lost? how's that, we've but begun!
(for anything that gives you points is all under the sun).

so tell me not, the rules of play, derived from calvinball,
for if it were that one could win, without speaking in drawl -
if we hit that bullseye, all the dominoes will fall
like a house of cards - checkmate! (hooray, we've won nothing at all).

the promise of god

nobody really asks me if i believe in god - the assumption, based on background, social standing, cultural influences and religious environment is that i do. i think this extends to myself, as well. so, i never really stopped to ask myself, up till i entered university (which now seems like such a long time ago!) whether i believe in god, or not. i think, a large part of it had to do with that god never really was this being you could opt not to believe in - just that you could choose to believe in through many different means, or religions. and even in those ways, i never thought that there could be different interpretations of god (or godliness). when i first started questioning this about myself, i was very hasty to divert my attention elsewhere. it was, and still is, quite a taboo thing to question the presence of god, and blasphemy was more than just a label, with familial, social and even economic repercussions in the environment i was brought up in. it is bittersweet that in going to university, i had found a place where none of this applied any more, and through continually questioning, and allowing myself to question (myself!) i soon lost this jaded perception that god was too ultimate, too transcendent, too ideal to question. and i found myself wanting by so much.

this is not to say that education has made me a non-believer (though i would have a hard time denying it). this is not to say maturity has made me lose some part of me that before could believe. but, i think somewhere along and between the comparative religion, the interreligious discourses, the self-doubt, the (repeated) failure to appreciate the fatalism that is intrinsic in so many religions, and the illogicalness of so many aspects of (religion and) how religion deems to work out a multitude, if not all cases (but does not); the leeway i used to have for dismissing 'evidence' against god has worn so thin that i am not sure that it exists anymore. if i were to analogously put myself in a court of justifications, even inherently and purposefully biased towards justifying the existence of god, i find that judge, jury and audience (for lack of executioner) all find the defence laughable (though they are all myself. i think of it as a judge dredd-esque proceeding, where there is no other find but guilt). 

in any case, recently (more or so 8 years now, if that can be called recent), i do not feel the urge, responsibility, obligation, or want to hold out for god. i do not wish to suffer his trials, and i do not want for a paradise that is all but promised - not because i am impatient, but because i do not feel that, if i were to be on course, that i should be eligible (and by far unworthy) of such, and if i were not on course, then the purposefulness of such belief is apparent. as much as i would like to analyse the recentmost developments that have encouraged my devotion in such a blasphemous claim, heresy is not what i wish to advocate (as much as i do not wish to sway any liberalist otherwise). indeed, let's not burden ourselves with the semantics and nuances of a single individual's life (of which and whose fallacies and caveats are more likely his or her own, than can be attributable to god), but for simplicity, i would like to touch on the outcome of (any similar) belief:

as any simple statistician (or simple-minded geneticist) will assure you, a 2x2, two-variable square to display results (which, for the geneticist would be a punnett square) is probably the easiest way to do so. and so, let us consider the two variables that:

1) do you believe in god?

2) does god exist?

the dilemma here becomes moral, if god does not exist - would you live an 'ethical' life if you did not believe in god? personal experience, and the way that i would live mine dictates that this is independent of one's beliefs. many non-believers i know live lives more admirable than many pious people i know. just the same way, there are those who don't. and what unsavoury traits or display thereof, i cannot say that i can attribute to any (dis)belief in god. but, for argument's sake, let us say that believing in god makes you a better person, regardless of the existence of god. and what if one does not believe? then not all is lost, for as equal as there will be persons who are good, regardless of motif, there will be good that comes from people in general. i have to say, though, that my inclination is to believe that people will be people: what you believe does not necessarily dictate how this manifests. 

and what, perhaps, if god does exist? that if you do not believe, you are on the wrong team to begin with (and let us not forget, that even in the 'believe' camp, there will be many factions, of which only one is supposedly 'right'). then non-belief does not only condemn you to a life of unpalatable decisions, but also to an afterlife of suffering and languish! and, of course, the converse is that being a believer guarantees you a place in eternal paradise (apparently regardless of worldly action, which i have claimed is not reflective of one's belief in the first place! if only because of this, i think, i will choose to believe. for, any authority has long past left me, and cannot convince me otherwise, any empirical evidence i have had to bear by actually makes  me disbelieve, and any other knowledge i may purportedly harbour is of no significance, because i cannot deduce the existence of god, as much as can i claim to even possess the knowledge to fathom him. indeed, it may be that the true meaning of faith is seeing past such misgivings, regardless and against the light of otherwise. if such is the case, then i am ashamed to say that i do not have enough faith to secure a place by god's side, and if i even tried, i would find myself ever more so lacking. it would be nice, though, to be able to learn from someone with untamed faith; blind and relentless. such as myself in my youth. but then, times were simpler and tribulations were justifiable. what i feel life has manifest now is unbecoming - unsightly and revolting, such that if i were not to believe, the default is only an abyss of wanting. one that does not sate, and does not sleep, and is scarier than the thought of what comes when god ceases to exist.

perhaps, this, actually is such a terrifying thought, that it is hell manifest. and in not believing, i have condemned myself to such fate, even before death! one can only hope, i suppose. 

when tragedy was written, that upon hell's gate is seen 'ye who passes, abandon all hope', it was not said whether such gate would be present for mortal eyes to see, and i can only hope that i am too blind, rather than be blinded in the presence of god.

if he does exist.

The slowest way to kill a man

whose sullen frame now weary lies,
that hopes in vain that 'fore he dies;
a visit 'pon what former light,
that now betrays his very eyes?

troubled beats erratic hear,
with tempo; flitting fluttered flailed,
what made that your all life depart,
a shell so empty, cracked and frail?

in silence since this gentleman,
his eyes as dead as his black pen,
his suit is rugged, elbows torn,
his faded jeans of ten years worn;
of years are thirty, young and bold,
his heart, however, is much more old.

as next door flits his maiden fair,
who dances dervished with young flair;
from man to man she flits anew,
their lusts run through her ebon hair.

allegro music to the beat,
with lyrics; sickly sorrow sweet,
between which exchanged lustful quips,
her body tastes more than her lips.

yet none to blame, not of her souls,
how could one who such beauty holds?
with infinite sapphire wishes,
and right to break all promises.

perfection is the young girl's world,
her eyes shine bronzed like tarnished pearls,
her skin, soft as a languished wave,
her mind like lenses made concave,
of sweet ambrosia, honey, milk,
her words, her heart, softer than silk,
a velveteen rich garment worn,
as is her rose that to his thorn.

so begs the question, to be asked,
that set upon said maiden's task,
what knavish, shadowed, sleight of hand,
is slowest way to kill a man?

a silent blade between his ribs, precisely she'd have stung?
or coffee laced with curare, to whet his parched white tongue?
a silver bullet for his heart? against his temple's vein?
perhaps a tragic accident, a car crash in the rain?
a jolt, a scare, designer drugs to make his heart palpate?
what heart infarct or from a stroke, to seal his undeserved fate?
a hired hand, one of her men, her lover as her will,
to garrotte at his troubled neck, to hurt, to maim, to kill?

maybe something more subtle, to throw off all the cops?
or serve his body to her hounds in little bits and chops?
for evidence is meaningless when you can have your way,
but none of these will take too long, so tell me this, i pray:
what would you think a best way for the maiden's heartless whim
to slowly kill her gentleman, while barely touching him?

the answer - one that she has known,
that gives him life and takes his own,
is not to harm his corporeal;
by not to brandish or to wield,
in arms , with strike - these aren't the means;
so's not the cancer in his genes;
'tis not to kick him in his low -
here's how to kill a man so slow:

give him promise, give your heart, your love to which he'll throb and ache,
then take it back, with all his, too, and of himself his own will break;

within ten years, or better still, between thirty and who-knows-when,
what better way to break a soul, the slowest way to kill a man.

'cause two out of three ain't bad

The waves have played a graceful tune that beg and that beseech,

That harmonise a lonesome tune upon Cottesloe beach;

While singing praise to juxtapose the orange, setting sun,

Their shadows twizzling pirouettes for all and everyone;

How could I not to have hoped to love for something so pristine?

Your weathered winds from star-lit skies that flit with sparkling sheen,

But most of all, what's seen by none beneath your swelling waves - 

A silent corybantic din like eerie haunted caves.

Oh, save this once, at least for now, while pelter does the rain,

I'd dance with you a final tune - dance even in my pain.

As slow as winter morning's come with smell of gum and dew,

A veil of brume coats twenty-eights that praise the day anew;

But 'fore a child has risen from her warm and comfy bed,

Let her 'nother hour's rest that she may fill her head,

With fanciful and vivid dreams of spotted, rainbow snails,

Of chocolate-covered unicorns, iridescent narwhals;

But mind you let her wandered mind not take itself away,

That she may come to sing with birds and love the coming day.

Oh, save this once, and once again, while the morn is yet cold,

I'd ask you dance a final tune - dance before I am old.

Sometimes while in summer's stead, a drizzle takes abode,

Where oft the sun shan't make his claim upon the song of toads;

And nary a neglected day has been before it's done,

There's much to do for everyone even with lack of sun;

To this I must implore to all, "your own is yours to find,

The limits of a person's thrill is but of his own mind,"

For one it may that books are 'nough to reverie and trance,

Mayhap another game of chess or if you will, a dance?

Oh, save this once, and do not fret, or flutter heart with fear,

I'd wait for your one final tune - wait even for a year.

That grandiose, unfettered moon whose bleached ivory stare,

Is without recompense from purloined rays of the sun's flare;

But whencefrom comes the humbling pitch, that darkness from afar?

Which blights the cloudless summer nights and halts bedazzling stars?

Ever if you've made a wish upon celestial beings,

For luck, for love, for carte blanche or, for gold and diamond rings;

Perhaps you've misconstrued somewhat of sidereal truth,

To ask of petty, simple things makes one seem but uncouth.

Oh, save this once, I do implore, that reap should what I've sown,

I'd ask you save me from this dance, whose folly is my own.

But, hark! What sordid ennui have we becked upon ourselves?

A miner bores a languished gash - into the earth he delves…

And for what wanting does he bring, the steel we sorely need?

Or is it that we feed our own - what comes to pass as greed.

I hope, though that, not all is bleak and dreary from such crime;

As surely as red Uluru has stood the test of time,

So does my want to reconcile, repent and live contrite,

Do unto you how you deserve and make my own wrongs right.

Oh, save this once, if only once, for posterity's view,

That all may see I saved this dance, for one and only - you.

But eventide - his lease is short and before him dawns none,

To bow with such subservience and loyalty to one;

I cannot say this heart does not yearn for Death's sweet release,

If only to have partook from the night's unspoken feast;

That serves the milk, ambrosia, and honey void of heat,

With lingered taste to reminisce of sickly, sorrow'd sweet;

Yet who could ask for opal lips and sapphire-tinted eyes,

Not while there's so much left to learn, yet still we're at goodbyes.

Oh, save this once, upon your cheek, that I may beg for bliss,

To dance with you this gloaming tune, and seal it with a kiss.

s

where has the time fled 'fore it's lease? that which should evermore,

soon but forgotten like deceased, by nary rich nor poor;

such lovers' scorn, so undeserved that begs a second chance,

how does one try to comprehend when speaking such parlance?

that which i should have cherished more and chosen to neglect,

apologies and beggings that one day you would come back;

but c'est la vie, that when is lost does this soul yearn the most,

awaiting now drenched in the rain, whilst hunger lies repose.

but abstinence has spread too thin, its value till next year,

a spurned heart's loss placated only by a dull lent ear;

to which we whisper, 'au revoir, 'til next we meet, so long',

and wish we could have made alright the things we had done wrong.

not all is lost, 'tis never late, thus preached by all the saints,

to make amends and cast anew rather than sing complaints;

the old that begs for fresh restore, the new for some reprieve,

as how the soul waits for its fare before the blessed eve.

the harrowed hearts that thought all's lost, now begging to begin,

where are they now? there should be more, what sorrows lie therein?

lest we forget repentance is not for mortals to grant,

not from a king, nor vagabond, nor preacher, nor savant.

yet beg you still, do stay awhile, forgive my sins i plead -

to greet syawal with open hearts, i wish you blessed eid.

breaking the rule

it's been a while since i've written in prose, but that does not mean i have not mused and pondered upon various ideas that merit mention here. it is unfortunate, however, that i have not had the alacrity or opportunity to touch upon them, but today i think i will gander a small entry on relationships, if only because a lot of my peers have been writing on it recently.

it is nothing new, the gaming of relationships, or at least that of courtship. i have many friends who have been on the offence with such theories and postulations, just as much as i have friends who have fallen (unwittingly) victims to them. i will not pretend that i am not tempted to engage in the manipulation of the opposite sex's psyche. who cannot attest to being madly in love with another, that he or she would not do anything to tip the odds in his/her favour? who cannot say that a meandering eye, mind, or heart has not warranted attention enough to urge the body into actions it cannot commit to? the tongues that lie, the hands that cheat, the eyes that wander more than feet? if they are not in all in the name of love, then they are in name of lust, but who can judge more than onesself? i digress.

the point here is that some people will argue that gaming any system is all part of the greater scheme - winning. and what ends will people not take to win such hefty stakes? i have given in to the ideology that i should not, for personally, the ethics of such things are like using cheat codes in videogames, or at the very least using a walkthrough. puritans will cry, and pragmatics will laugh, idealists will find a way to incorporate said gaming into the system, and the few who couldn't care less will inevitably settle for what they can afford.

which brings upon the next idea - that of affording. courtship in nature has evolved to become as complex as the species (and in the case of humans, sometimes even moreso than we are). it is easy, and fun, and exciting to study simple genetic elements at 'courtship' - the concepts are very reliable and reproducible in nature. from jumping genes to viruses to allelic variations of the most housekeeping of genes, only the essential survive to propagate, and there is no room for metabolic burden, and excess of non-coding. i apologise for the throwing around of jargon, but the phrases are less meaningful than the idea that 'in with the good, out with the bad'. good and bad are easily defined depending on the needs of the host at the time, and there are little, if any issues of selecting the better suitor (if such terms can be used for genes and the such, i suppose).

then come the simple organisms, and we slowly move up the 'complexity' hierarchy, and the simplicity of our earlier argument slowly and steadily falls apart. the definition of good and bad, better and worse, becomes blurred, and at best, arbitrary. illustrations become grey areas and anecdotes become case studies, and for fear of the worse, i can only generalise that there is no longer a rule when it comes to men.

returning to gaming the system - the attempt to put rules upon courtship and romance, and manipulating the rules to our favours. many people attest to its success and if only by virtue of empirical result, i have to incline to believe in it. but choice. the responsibility that comes with yielding such power is only comparable to that of spiderman. and to extend the analogy, who would choose to become such a superhuman - apparently all of us. but what we do not realise and do not fulfil the responsibility that comes with it, which unfortunately leads to its abuse. with time, the status quo is changed - mangled beyond recognition and distorted far beyond belief. that verily leaves us with? nothing more than a false sense of attractions, a superficial world of courtships, a design doomed from conception except in the paltry of most fortunate cases.

who is to blame? what is to blame? besides our evolutionary imperative to pair with the 'most eligible bachelor(ette)'? i cannot fathom an explanation even close enough to a truth. and for my experience (or very much lack thereof), i can only comfort myself that though i will never live to become the epitome of such (or any) yardstick regarding romance or attraction or related genres and sub-genres, i will have gamed the system by not even trying to play.

p/s: and if that removes any entitlement to ethical behaviour that may have come with choice, since it is more apathy than the ability to do great things and declining, i reckon that at least i am not a hypocrite - that which i hate the most.

r

that all art the same, no one can deny, but why hath choseth thine of you?
to lead, to love, to affront mine why? these purpos’d means misconstrue;
but thoughtless designs, and arbitrations that giveth thee meaningless worth,
maketh me feel gloom, woebegotten doom, when all I should feel that is mirth.
with painstaking toil, that refrain’d by self, that tears, made sweetened and dry,
that lesser folk scorn, and lesser still mind, makes physical wants run awry;
but be that thine claim? thine nature maltreat? that persecutes those of pure heart?
nay, cannot be true, if only retreat, through milestones and aeons apart.

deny this, mine love, but forsake me still, elusive as sprites to a djinn,
make silence with peace, make peace with mine sin,  that arise cacophonous din -
come dusk and the dark, all hungers and lust break free that i may kiss thine lips,
so sickly and sweet, with tinge of remorse, and place mine hand ‘pon thine hips;
such thee may caress and placeth me ‘pon thine bountiful bosom’d embrace,
let feast ‘pon most sweet, ambrosia of gold and nectar and honey’d solace;
but stop! no more! i beg this of thee, too patient,
too humble,
too kind,
let abstinent thought, and refrained wandered hand, give patience to body, to mind.

they’ve loved thee but once, too soon and again, ‘til comes again fanciful time,
same sometimes i pray, forgive my own wane, un’preciative of thine sublime;
so tender thine touch, like tender’d resign, that I may come to love once ‘gain,
so beautiful match’d, those rose blossom’d lips, and skin white of polished porcelain;
still beareth such pain, and sorrow’d remorse,  that uncouth’d plight of this heart,
unworthy be deemed, to any one soul, why hath we must to depart?

and still,
be still,
silently instill,
imbued with heavenly grace,
so long, ‘till ‘gain yet, a smile be thine face, we greet in each others’ embrace.
mine pardon, you’ll grant, apology begged, I could not love thee with pure mind,
this heart is but bleak, inconsolably mad, driven insane by thine shine.

a sapphired glean, that worldly refracts, make inopportune, thee, temptress,
and sorry I could not love thee much more, but so I could love thee no less.