restlessness seeping through the pores of darkness.
solitude, i asked for solitude. and now that it's here, it fills me with grief.
perhaps what we get are not quite what we want
or need.
the fridge starts humming.
i stand up and plug the lights in
they glow yellow and orange, warm and comforting.
i'd left my shirt and bra hanging off the couch.
this place needs more care, more presence
when you leave, i will return
when you leave, life will resume its rhythm.
a beat or two behind, but i'll make do
when you leave...
when you leave...
"when you leave..."
everything happens after that clause
or perhaps everything will tumble apart.
regrets
live without regrets
what sort of life is a life without regrets? a life that zooms forward like a brand new automobile on an 8-lane super highway. a life where you move forward without hesitation and never look back?
there are different degrees of regret, different forms. regrets sprouting from attachment. regrets stemming from what anchored us at a point in time. these type of regrets i can never and would never want to eliminate altogether.
i want to walk on a tightrope, to know that i'm suspended between the past and the future. i want to walk forward and look back knowing that i'd left something in order to move on. i want to acknowledge that loss. i want a life full of holes needing to be filled, full of patches, a life worn at the edges like the blanket i'd kept since a child. i want to grow old recklessly. i want to hope with the full knowledge that there's no big break at the end of road, that dreams often turn to air and light. but there's no reason to stop them from streaming into one's head, and for that moment blur the boundaries of reality.
regrets. sadness. the things that tug at our hearts are often things that fill us with sadness. why avoid them. how to avoid them and be able to taste a bit of the magnitude of our existence.
what sort of life is a life without regrets? a life that zooms forward like a brand new automobile on an 8-lane super highway. a life where you move forward without hesitation and never look back?
there are different degrees of regret, different forms. regrets sprouting from attachment. regrets stemming from what anchored us at a point in time. these type of regrets i can never and would never want to eliminate altogether.
i want to walk on a tightrope, to know that i'm suspended between the past and the future. i want to walk forward and look back knowing that i'd left something in order to move on. i want to acknowledge that loss. i want a life full of holes needing to be filled, full of patches, a life worn at the edges like the blanket i'd kept since a child. i want to grow old recklessly. i want to hope with the full knowledge that there's no big break at the end of road, that dreams often turn to air and light. but there's no reason to stop them from streaming into one's head, and for that moment blur the boundaries of reality.
regrets. sadness. the things that tug at our hearts are often things that fill us with sadness. why avoid them. how to avoid them and be able to taste a bit of the magnitude of our existence.
have been painting quite regularly, getting some sense of how oil paint works. it's very addictive.
my poor brother was forced to hold a 36"x48" canvas as well as two other smaller ones stuck to it on the back of my motorbike as i rode home. the wind almost knocked him off and i realized it was rather stupid to put him in risk for some canvas. have to figure out a different means of transportation next time... in any case, we made it back safe. headed out again for smaller sized canvases i can carry back by myself, and more paint. but by the time i got home i was far too exhausted to do anything. this dry season heat, it's destructive.
diverting from black and white these days. funny how the more depressed the feelings, the brighter the colors.
my poor brother was forced to hold a 36"x48" canvas as well as two other smaller ones stuck to it on the back of my motorbike as i rode home. the wind almost knocked him off and i realized it was rather stupid to put him in risk for some canvas. have to figure out a different means of transportation next time... in any case, we made it back safe. headed out again for smaller sized canvases i can carry back by myself, and more paint. but by the time i got home i was far too exhausted to do anything. this dry season heat, it's destructive.
diverting from black and white these days. funny how the more depressed the feelings, the brighter the colors.
i like to clean the house when i'm stressed out, a friend said over dinner the other day. for me it's washing dishes. washing dishes is strangely calming. a mindless process with quick outcome. to see all the grits come off, to put the plates one by one onto the rack and observe the sink becoming clean and empty. it'll be nice if we can go through our problems the same methodical way. it'll be nice to clean them off and put them away one by one and unburden ourselves until we're clean and rid of all pains. it'll be nice.
the flowers in the small patch in front of my house are blooming crazy. they sprawl onto the cement yard like wild flowers by the roadside in the countries. i like their messiness.
there's a man on sitting on one of the sidewalks on my way to work. he's always peeling some fruit, always concentrating, always sitting with his back hunched over, oblivion to the world. there's another man who walks around in wrinkled up shorts. sometimes he walks naked and shock the passer-bys. he looks straight ahead and walks slowly, oblivion to the traffic.
Day after day,
Alone on a hill,
The man with the foolish grin is keeping perfectly still
But nobody wants to know him,
They can see that he's just a fool,
And he never gives an answer,
But the fool on the hill,
Sees the sun going down,
And the eyes in his head,
See the world spinning 'round...
i've taken to eating at a certain Pho place with Rob after work. i ask the same questions and he gives similar answers. this reminds me of a scene in a Murakami Haruki book he said. i smiled. i don't know why he reads Murakami, but as i pondered the question for myself i realized his books make me feel less lonely. stoic characters with methodical manners, breezing through all the chaos in their lives. sensitive enough to point out all the out of place things and situations, and yet cool and detached enough to give you space to appreciate the pain and loss.
the flowers in the small patch in front of my house are blooming crazy. they sprawl onto the cement yard like wild flowers by the roadside in the countries. i like their messiness.
there's a man on sitting on one of the sidewalks on my way to work. he's always peeling some fruit, always concentrating, always sitting with his back hunched over, oblivion to the world. there's another man who walks around in wrinkled up shorts. sometimes he walks naked and shock the passer-bys. he looks straight ahead and walks slowly, oblivion to the traffic.
Day after day,
Alone on a hill,
The man with the foolish grin is keeping perfectly still
But nobody wants to know him,
They can see that he's just a fool,
And he never gives an answer,
But the fool on the hill,
Sees the sun going down,
And the eyes in his head,
See the world spinning 'round...
i've taken to eating at a certain Pho place with Rob after work. i ask the same questions and he gives similar answers. this reminds me of a scene in a Murakami Haruki book he said. i smiled. i don't know why he reads Murakami, but as i pondered the question for myself i realized his books make me feel less lonely. stoic characters with methodical manners, breezing through all the chaos in their lives. sensitive enough to point out all the out of place things and situations, and yet cool and detached enough to give you space to appreciate the pain and loss.
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