7:30 p.m. - 2003-09-12
really, i dun care if i win this year's Writer of the Year award.
a random exercise:
he was typing way out of line.
is there anyway to be more sublime
than typing with no paper
keys and ribbons striking a rubber roller
inscribing sentences of himself
which later will be pressed onto the backs of other papers
like the way his eyes stare at the back of strollers
hoping for a way to see through to their hearts.
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vandal hearts is a PS game.
they are grafting their names within each other's -
with the wide-eyed fascination of kids
at the jumping sprites in the tv screen.
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"uncle auntie come buy tissue!"
it was zen that saved her
i would like to believe.
total detachment from the world
of passing shoulders and feet that are themselves detached from good hearts.
rationalise why u keep moving
but u can't stop it.
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if u believe me,
sometimes u have to write even when u have nothing to say.
it's only when u start then the thoughts will come.
of cos, thats random.
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somehow i dun like the tone of that one up there. it sounds too much like the kind of advice that is just self-flattery and makes no constructive criticism upon the particulars. cos that's what we wanna change. the particulars. we all have the general. the privates listen to his commands. the comms are down i repeat the comms are down i repeat my last repeat for the last time i am not what hat cat trapped a cat trapped under his hat.
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pls end
this trend
but then
im barbie's ken.
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teach me
eat me
ache me
cheat me.
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i was once a suicidal person
im not sure if i still am
but i hope if i die
i'll die to become a better person.
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i'd like to think that i have some humour in me.
