Monday, November 17, 2008

Memories are tricky. You know how, in that moment of bliss, you tell yourself that you have to, want to, remember every single little detail? The colour of the sky (dreamy, creamy, almost like you could bite into it), the exact shape of the distended cloud you were gazing at as it drifted away, and that smile, that smile on _____'s face, the smile that threw the worshipped sun into fits of rage with all its effortless brilliance.

It’s that exact smile you want to forget later, that same absent-minded smile you hate yourself for remembering so well, too well, the way it curved almost mischievously, as though hiding a private joke, the glossy salmon-ish shade, the unconscious twinkling charm.

4.41 am. That razor-sharp burst of soothing music. You are yanked by your hair into the thrust of giddy swirling notes and noises. You can hear the cars outside, zooming past. Where are they going? Doesn't matter, they say, anywhere but here. The only thing that matters is to get away. Can you come too?

The piano keys sound like furious rain drops. That alluring beat draws you in. You sink so willingly into it. Such soft and sweet decadence. You indulge, you decay. You have to wake up soon. You have work to do, but there's something more... more pressing, that keeps you up and awake. Does that make sense? But at this hour, why should anything make sense? We are hedonistic self-destructive Gods on earth. We have wings but we don't fly. Rationality is a mere trifling word. You erase it.

We shall keep quiet. We don't pretend to know anything. The more we know, the more we know we don't know. No, we shall keep quiet. No lies, (no truths), no reasons, no logic, no thinking, tonight. Shush. Slush. Hush. We shall pretend that there is nothing wrong. We shall listen. Why spoil the music? "All broken up and dancing," she sings. Oh oh oh.

Its just the darkness of the unfilled night and you and the comforting music, like dear old friends, and a thousand faces that lurk around in the deepest corners of your throbbing distracted mind. A thousand familiar faces, and a thousand different ones.


Miao said...

What an amazing volume of output.

I really, really like the one you wrote on 1 November.

Faith said...

haha! you talk as if its takes any work. its just blogging, my dear.

and thank you. i'm glad. truly. :)

Anonymous said...

listen to libera and study

u'll never be alone



i'm talking rubbish