:: waiting for a punchline

chapter eleven : the tale of five

2006-08-16T23:18:00.000+08:00

it all begin with a dream,
one, just one dream,
democracy or just crazy?
whatever you called it,
i found myself soon elated to its prospects.

who would have thought?
and with sheer incidental,
democracy found its way back to class,
demos and kratos,
the very fight for the first week was won.

and by the second week,
myth and tales begin to unfold,
and it spread its wings
and uncover stories,
long told before time immemorial.

what was installed for the third,
could no less be than what would be
on everyones lips till life's end.
i have a dream, he said
and that very question remains,
do you have a dream, do you have a dream today?

only leading it to the fourth.
four was always the special,
and the fourth bound much,
from hands, to feet,
and from eyes, to lips,
only to show that we need each to work,
for no man was an island.

five, significant five.
for five when back to one.
one fundamental understanding of love,
and what ' i love you' really meant.
that they may see the love of a father or mother,
through their works.

one, it only takes one choice to love,
one decison to make it, or break it,
one made the difference.
it had to go back to one.
thus, from five, it lead back to one.
because one makes the difference.

i educate, that you may see,
and that you may understand,
and finally that you may stand for your rights.
i do not teach, but show an alternate
to a way to live.

for like the end of each shows,
all great show must eventually conform itself
to the falling of the curtain.
this show is ending,
and every ending needs to go out with a bang.

the decision remains with you,
the ending of the show is your's to determine,
so, would you end it on a high,
or simply a low note?
for at the end of it,
one decision made,
makes the difference.

for my friends in alpha, beta, delta, gamma, omega, pi, and sigma

chapter ten : this beautiful madness

2006-06-28T15:54:00.000+08:00

listening over and over to their disharmonies,
the rush of the breeze felt to my chest,
i grasp to breath, and the world spun,
awkward as it maybe,
the candle rekindles its flame,
a light sprung forth, and it dims again.

i felt missing.

i reached over, as i limped,
in my attempt to shelter the light,
the need for colour and warmth.

struggling, just a fight to overcome,
i held its foot, bend tightly my sore arms,
refusing to release, and not until,
a glimpse of it.

what art thy name, it asked.

then, it raised my arms,
and left,
not before it strucked me blissfully.

and i lay there motionless,
in its serenity,
i utter,
what a beautiful madness.

selah

2006-04-16T19:59:00.000+08:00

stop, stop, stop. Just stop.

pause, and see that it is beautiful.
it remains beautiful, don't you see?

no, you do not see.

look, just look.
stare if you have to.

but of all things,
be mesmerize again,
of its forgotten beauty.

yes, beautiful indeed,
is this life we live in.

our everyday walk.

so pause, just pause.
and take time to remember.

Selah ( Hebrew: סלה) meaning "pause, reflection",
within the context of a prayer or psalms, is similar in purpose to Amen
in that it stresses the importance of the preceding passage.

chapter nine : i feared

2006-03-13T02:23:00.000+08:00

i picked up a gun and shot,

what i feared most has now fallen
but the fear remained

the irony of it all remains
that he feared me not
and not until i pulled the trigger

he was not the monster
but i
the monster of my own creation

and now i stand shaken
as i slowly fall to the ground
and my body hits the floor

the trigger pulled
and the blood flowed
as i took my last breath

it was me that i shot
for that fear consumed me

i feared colour
i feared another
i feared the other colour.

" I refuse to accept the view that mankind is so tragically bound to
the starless midnight of racism and war that the
bright daybreak of peace and brotherhood can never become a reality.
I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love
will have the final word. " Martin Luther King

" Racism is man's gravest threat to man -
the maximum of hatred for a minimum of reason. " Abraham Joshua Heschel

chapter eight : reawakening love

2006-02-14T00:17:00.000+08:00

books after books
stories through stories
"and they lived happily ever after" they said
while it seems a common end remains determined

when once, that vow was sacred
i do, he said
and she did likewise

but words made vows
and as it always do
words fail to stand
though the test of time

now, time fades
and what had seemed eternal
has now conformed itself
to each tick of the clock.
where art thou love,
when its needed?

Can 'you' be found?
Is there ever 'you'?
Or is it just the fragments of my mind?
Whispering hope, do you hear?
From the solitude of hopelessness.

A melanchony of sounds overwhelms,
And 'you' seem so distant,
Or is there ever 'you'?
For glimpse of 'you' is eroding.

'You' shall be god's plan,
The very perfection inplace,
A search for 'you' is futile,
For no man's competance could bear such fruit.
Can 'you' really be found?

Be it not a dream O Lord,
For the depths of search be far me,
The search is your's,
For 'you' be found,
Be my heavenly bliss.

- reawakening love.

chapter seven : colours, i see

2006-02-01T01:12:00.000+08:00

:: for 9 / eleven.

chapter six :: a four letter story for katie

2006-01-18T01:04:00.000+08:00

past the point of no return
standing post on a tower watch
a soldier from nowhere looking at a distant
and a glimpse of life seems to pass away.

a fight for morality has broken its way
with something up the road
leading to a finer day
a walk of shame through these days
will be a thought of yesterday
as we fight our wars for today.

and he said
i have a dream
that one day my children
will not be judged by the colours of their skin
but the content of their character.

he had a dream,
i have a dream.
a four letter story for katie.

chapter five : our temporary residence

2006-01-09T00:14:00.000+08:00

" but now i know that our world is no more than a wave rising on the ocean.
Whatever our struggles and triumphs, however we may suffer them,
all too soon they bleed into a wash, just like watery ink "

-the memoirs of a geisha : arthur golden

chapter four :: une vie pour aujourd'hui

2006-01-07T22:14:00.000+08:00

si vous pourriez le comprendre,
cela signifierait que le français a d'une langue commune à youself.

en s'inquiétant au sujet de demain, les regrets d'hier. nous vivons à ce titre.
trompé par notre vision, nous avons perdu le sens d'aujourd'hui.
semblez loin au-delà, si vous pourriez comprendre,
nous mènerions alors la vie différemment,
à ce titre pour apprécier les petites choses, les petites choses autour de nous.
compréhension. oui, c'est nécessaire,
juste une vision fugitive de compréhension et nous serions
effectivement reconnaissants de notre identité. pourquoi l'inquiétude de demain,
pour s'inquiéterait demain de lui. en ce qui concerne aujourd'hui ?

pourquoi pas vis de jour en jour et la vie menante à son fullest.
Non, son pas le cliché.
Nous avons effectivement perdu la beauté de notre création.

si seulement, si seulement,
nous pourrions voir au-delà que nos yeux ont été destinés.

menez la vie d'aujourd'hui.

chapter three : the insignificant other

2006-01-02T02:29:00.000+08:00

chapter two :: a step unto the unknown.

2005-12-31T10:19:00.000+08:00

as the hours dim, little red riding hood begun her path.
ignorant and naive, she encountered the beginning to an unknown,
walking down the path once so familiar, we have all taken for granted.
as darkness illuminates, we fall foul of the trap set out by hungry wolves.

a small step unto the unknown, seems to be of greater magnitude.
when once, everything was everything,
and nothing was nothing.
our step are tainted by the past we left behind.
the steps from both the wise and otherwise.

we now leave behind our days,
heed, forget it not, for the traps has been set.
as like the picture has been ruin,
a pit awaits,
but for the hopefuls,
a step unto the unknown with a distant light
calls for a punchline brighter than the sunshine.

"Grandmother, what big arms you have!
All the better to hug you with, my dear.
Grandmother, what big legs you have!
All the better to run with, my child.
Grandmother, what big ears you have!
All the better to hear with, my child.
Grandmother, what big eyes you have!
All the better to see with, my child.
Grandmother, what big teeth you have got!
All the better to eat you up with."

And, saying these words,
this wicked wolf fell upon little red riding hood,
and ate her all up

little red riding hood.

chapter one : explosions in the sky.

2005-12-31T00:03:00.000+08:00

listen now,
the far away sounds
an escaping from our imagery
this dreadful reverie.

help make me fly
towards an explosion in the sky
over-clouding all this lies
for there would be new eyes
for those who would just fly.

let me fly.

prologue :: where the punching begins.

2005-12-30T22:13:00.000+08:00

awating a punchline brighter than the sunshine.

give me a punch.

**please feel free to comment by clicking the number beside the title of each post. punch me now.

**

2005-12-28T00:00:00.000+08:00

chapter eight : reawakening love

books after books
stories through stories
"and they lived happily ever after" they said
while it seems a common end remains determined

when once, that vow was sacred
i do, he said
and she did likewise

but words made vows
and as it always do
words fail to stand
though the test of time

now, time fades
and what had seemed eternal
has now conformed itself
to each tick of the clock.
where art thou love,
when its needed?

Can 'you' be found?
Is there ever 'you'?
Or is it just the fragments of my mind?
Whispering hope, do you hear?
From the solitude of hopelessness.

A melanchony of sounds overwhelms,
And 'you' seem so distant,
Or is there ever 'you'?
For glimpse of 'you' is eroding.

'You' shall be god's plan,
The very perfection inplace,
A search for 'you' is futile,
For no man's competance could bear such fruit.
Can 'you' really be found?

Be it not a dream O Lord,
For the depths of search be far me,
The search is your's,
For 'you' be found,
Be my heavenly bliss.

- reawakening love.

chapter seven : colours, i see

:: for 9 / eleven.

chapter six : a four letter story for katie

past the point of no return
standing post on a tower watch
a soldier from nowhere looking at a distant
and a glimpse of life seems to pass away.

a fight for morality has broken its way
with something up the road
leading to a finer day
a walk of shame through these days
will be a thought of yesterday
as we fight our wars for today.

and he said
i have a dream
that one day my children
will not be judged by the colours of their skin
but the content of their character.

he had a dream,
i have a dream.
a four letter story for katie.

chapter five : our temporary residence

" but now i know that our world is no more than a wave rising on the ocean.
Whatever our struggles and triumphs, however we may suffer them,
all too soon they bleed into a wash, just like watery ink "

-the memoirs of a geisha : arthur golden

chapter four : une vie pour aujourd'hui

si vous pourriez le comprendre,
cela signifierait que le français a d'une langue commune à youself.

en s'inquiétant au sujet de demain, les regrets d'hier. nous vivons à ce titre.
trompé par notre vision, nous avons perdu le sens d'aujourd'hui.
semblez loin au-delà, si vous pourriez comprendre,
nous mènerions alors la vie différemment,
à ce titre pour apprécier les petites choses, les petites choses autour de nous.
compréhension. oui, c'est nécessaire,
juste une vision fugitive de compréhension et nous serions
effectivement reconnaissants de notre identité. pourquoi l'inquiétude de demain,
pour s'inquiéterait demain de lui. en ce qui concerne aujourd'hui ?

pourquoi pas vis de jour en jour et la vie menante à son fullest.
Non, son pas le cliché.
Nous avons effectivement perdu la beauté de notre création.

si seulement, si seulement,
nous pourrions voir au-delà que nos yeux ont été destinés.

menez la vie d'aujourd'hui.

chapter three : the insignificant other

chapter two : a step unto the unknown

as the hours dim, little red riding hood begun her path.
ignorant and naive, she encountered the beginning to an unknown,
walking down the path once so familiar, we have all taken for granted.
as darkness illuminates, we fall foul of the trap set out by hungry wolves.

a small step unto the unknown, seems to be of greater magnitude.
when once, everything was everything,
and nothing was nothing.
our step are tainted by the past we left behind.
the steps from both the wise and otherwise.

we now leave behind our days,
heed, forget it not, for the traps has been set.
as like the picture has been ruin,
a pit awaits,
but for the hopefuls,
a step unto the unknown with a distant light
calls for a punchline brighter than the sunshine.

"Grandmother, what big arms you have!
All the better to hug you with, my dear.
Grandmother, what big legs you have!
All the better to run with, my child.
Grandmother, what big ears you have!
All the better to hear with, my child.
Grandmother, what big eyes you have!
All the better to see with, my child.
Grandmother, what big teeth you have got!
All the better to eat you up with."

And, saying these words,
this wicked wolf fell upon little red riding hood,
and ate her all up

little red riding hood.

chapter one : explosions in the sky

listen now,
the far away sounds
an escaping from our imagery
this dreadful reverie.

help make me fly
towards an explosion in the sky
over-clouding all this lies
for there would be new eyes
for those who would just fly.

let me fly.