Wednesday, December 31, 2008
out with the old, in with the new
on the grander scale of things, renewal and replacement are seamless. don't u think? the old makes way for the new, and we never really bid farewell or welcome, we're just swept along in the ebbs. i wrote this haiku a couple weeks back, took a while crafting it... and it seems apt to put it up now, an ode to today's juncture of renewal in the passage of time.
watching the dawn sun:
a scene of cosmic balance,
as i sat shitting.
happy new year, all!
watching the dawn sun:
a scene of cosmic balance,
as i sat shitting.
happy new year, all!
Friday, December 19, 2008
hello, my little world
i needed to fill up on petrol, and being that shell was on the left after the toll, i took a coin lane instead of the tag lane on the extreme right. buzzed my window down, 50 cents ready. the briefest glance, the lightest brush. my first human contact of the day.
in place of the toll collector's hand was a misshapen paw, fingerless but for a stub of flesh for an index. fire? mutilation? born with it? the shilling fit perfectly into the little indent of her palm, and i was already on my way. poor girl. and i never even saw her face, nor acknowledged the human behind the mechanical tedium of her job. so many things rushed through my mind, so rapidly, that i reached shell still wondering which thought to pursue. soon enough, though, i'd decided...
that the successive drops in petrol price were an elaborate political strategy. with the anwar threat safely postponed, wonder why/how, it's now a matter of coaxing the nation's hostility back to apathy. bn's still in power, but with cheaper petrol in place, do people really mind as much now, compared to march? i don't read the news, someone fill me in.
and on the way after, i'd concocted TWO one-liner stories, to be submitted on onesentence, a site i chanced upon yesterday. i'd felt so gung-ho about it through the mid-friday-morning-freakin-schoolholiday-so-what-wtf-jam into midvalley, but strangely i can't be arsed to recall it right now.
my writing is rusty. my coffee is cold.
in place of the toll collector's hand was a misshapen paw, fingerless but for a stub of flesh for an index. fire? mutilation? born with it? the shilling fit perfectly into the little indent of her palm, and i was already on my way. poor girl. and i never even saw her face, nor acknowledged the human behind the mechanical tedium of her job. so many things rushed through my mind, so rapidly, that i reached shell still wondering which thought to pursue. soon enough, though, i'd decided...
that the successive drops in petrol price were an elaborate political strategy. with the anwar threat safely postponed, wonder why/how, it's now a matter of coaxing the nation's hostility back to apathy. bn's still in power, but with cheaper petrol in place, do people really mind as much now, compared to march? i don't read the news, someone fill me in.
and on the way after, i'd concocted TWO one-liner stories, to be submitted on onesentence, a site i chanced upon yesterday. i'd felt so gung-ho about it through the mid-friday-morning-freakin-schoolholiday-so-what-wtf-jam into midvalley, but strangely i can't be arsed to recall it right now.
my writing is rusty. my coffee is cold.
