Han's coffee.

Imagine.

The wind blown in
cooled by the rain
soothing thunder
and unaffected by
pulsating lightning

and not being able to sleep
because of a cup of coffee.

Well, at least it gave me enough ideas
for a couple of blog posts.
(the two before this)
And. maybe if i need ideas
i should drink a cup of
Han's coffee. :)

Dreams.

Dreams. Are they

Desires within the heart, or
Reminiscence of memories bittersweet, or
Entertainment of the mental nature, or
Apocalyptic prophesies, or
Mindless television, or
Sensory perceptions.

You decide.

Raindrops splatter on our screen as torrents of rain cascade down in front of us. Looking down from a bird's eye view, we glimpse busy intersections and the occasional train in the midst of its route, struggling to meet its stringent timing. 7 minutes off peak, 3 minutes during peak hours. But we digress.

We swoop down gently for the comfort of viewers, and land on a pink van that promises to vanish and forget stains. So we poop. It's quite hard to forget the stain though, since it doesn't vanish just yet.

Bobbing to the edge, we leave the relieved fowl, and dive into the world of escalators, save the earth plastic bags, and shops of every race, language and religion, broadcasting the same hit song. The one we've heard a million times before.

We glance to our left and focus our attention on a male in his late teens. Using his left hand to rapidly fire off several text messages, we shift to his right hand sporting a paper cup with condensation forming on its exterior.

We zoom in on the condensation and follow a droplet's slow descent to the bottom of the cup. With a slight victory jig, it free-falls a couple of metres before landing on a spider on a green metallic railing, dealing it a fatal blow. 'Death by Water' the headlines scream in the following day's Spider Times.

We look up, feeling a little oozy from the fall. In our sight, a black strip of rubber glides at a gentle ascent. We pivot to our right and observe a couple stepping onto the escalator, the female first, the male behind, both within the yellow box and hands firmly on the handrail.

Leaping forward, we land on the black conveyor belt between their hands, still watching them. In his early twenties, the guy smoothly leans forwards and murmurs into the girl's right ear. "Has anyone told you how gorgeous you are?" his tone soothing and with an air of self-confidence.

She turns away, looking into the distance, perhaps at a loss for words, or simply waiting to hear what he would say or do next. He doesn't say anything. His hand moves forward and gently entwines his fingers with hers. Her hand jerks slightly, only visible to the observant eye, but she does not speak nor glance at him.

Freeze screen! Now we ask ourselves how this should end.

Perhaps the female is mute, thus unable to speak and this is a story of a love that transcends senses.

Or this is a tale of seduction by a guy who aids his friends with love advices, but is unable to find the love he seeks.

Or a girl who dreams of escaping her troubled upbringing, wishing for someone to believe in her, that she can turn her lofty dreams and high aspirations to reality.

You decide.

quiet time daily.

I think I should change my blogskin.
Perhaps when I can get my hands on my sister's stylus.

Damn, I just love my kids.

And darn. guard duty on sunday.
means I won't attend church for like three sundays.
Gah, I'm backsliding!!

Then again, I'm still reading a chapter a day.
Which I hope 'You can surrender dough'
is keeping her promise of doing quiet time daily.

MY kids.

Many a nights during the past ten days,
as I ponder whether I've lost a muse I hold dear,
and the lack of power we have over control of our lives,
I count my blessings.
Or try to, because there're so many.

And, I thank God for my kids.
Not actual kids cause I may not be able
to be a good father
But, then what constitutes being a good parent?

I used to have three kids. Now I have two.
And you know the thing about kids,
is that they aren't crude or harsh,
but just truthful.

(Of course, being called fattie isn't truthful, you know who you are)

There were times I felt really really down
and my kids actually cheered my up unknowingly
It's not about the huge things they do but
the little stuff.
Like reminding to say grace before meals.
Simple things you know.

To be honest, I'm surprised I can still hang out with them.
Differing lifestyles, age gaps, and I only see them maybe once or twice a month.
If I wake up early on Sundays.
One would have expected to drift and simply be like
strangers.
Hi and Bye, and that's it.

But it's not.
True, we're not as close as I would like us to be.
And there're times I'm hesitant on starting a convo
for fear too much time has passed
and the awkwardness settles in
of simple chit chatting.

But a game of crocodile at the playground breaks all ice.

And every time I count my blessings,
I never fail to include my kids.
And if there're five people I meet in heaven
They would part of the five.
And if they ever need me.
I'm here. :)

now whats that word.

perhaps people help others isn't cause of their
- what's that word. it'll come to me. i once took two weeks remembering the word fickle.
it just got lost in the mind. -
or generosity but more so that they can avoid
harping on themselves.
and ignoring their own problems.
denial of sorts.
like a denial of service. that affected facebook.
deny them self-service.
maybe.


[edit. i was reminded of the word. altruistic.]

randoms.

hmmm are you or are you not.
i would have said you led me up
but then your words have always been
ambiguous
what i always liked about you
and now a date
but i shldnt jump to conclusions
come on isnt it obvious
is it really
are you dumb or are you dumb
are you on her side or mine
maybe you should go jump... on the second storey
oh yea, like that would make you happy
well at least you have kids
and so i do. and i cant say and so what
cause they mean a lot
hell yea they do. they mean more than you.
well you never cared much about me anyway
yea who gives a shit about you
but thats all you are anyway
the shitty part of me
that will never fade
and that will occasionally
rear its head or so
sink sink sink sink in the dark
to blow out all the bulbs
nobody said we needed love to live
but nobody realized we needed a life
to know how to love.

me and me and me.
you and you and you.
never be.

tsunamis of feelings
crash and burn
against the sand
trees get bent

bawl.
roar.
darkness hides flaws
till light reveals it
will light reveal a partner .
i wonder.

Mcdonald's I'm Yours

unceasing.

And so I stand at the crossroads.
And I lack the will to live.
How come pushing myself off the ledge
feels like a second definite
but falling twelve storeys feels
ten times that duration indefinite.

Could it be I've lost my will to live?
But to live is to will.
By faith that will in me grants me
strength to live.
Yet it is but a day's worth.

The will starts the day but
by the end of the day,
the will liveths no more.

Could this be the end, where
the will to die is hampered
by the faith of living?
Could life be simply closing my eyes
to will with death and to open
with a will to live?

A circle of life unceasing?

Two sides to a coin.

If you're walking along the only path on the desert,
can it be considered that you're walking aimlessly?

AFter all, you're just following the path
wherever it leads you.
You don't really have an aim in a directional sense.
But you have a purpose which is to follow the path.
And that's an aim, and perhaps yours.

So, there are always two sides to a coin.
And we always forget this.
We think our way is right;
our opinion is law;
our words are conclusions.

We overlook,
the creative guy who is soft spoken;
the eloquent speaker who is incompetent;
the conscientious worker who is a rumormonger.

Don't be so quick to leap to conclusion
lest you misjudge the distance and land
instead on an illusion.