Midnight

(Poems are fast; Prose is slow. But I would definitely prefer prose over poem anytime on this blog)

Midnight is never too late, make it an hour more
To my love you lit a match
A tiny match
That shone dimly
Threatening to topple in time
Tread slowly, tread lightly
For the flame is scorching
At a mile,
The radiation emits forth
Guiding me to the pleasure
That I know will die
Oh! Late and later, Bright yet brighter!

Love is never too intense, make it a month longer
O how much you linger
Forever
Tiny
Relentless and undefeated
Feel deeply, feel fast
Feel this everlasting scorch
The torch does burn
Near an inch,
The heart retreats back
Trying to erase this memory
To no avail
Oh! Pain and more pain, burn yet burn forever!

Eternal mist (Or, anachronism)

1945

It was desolate. The destruction, the decay, the destitute. Where was the great leader when you need him anyway? A revolver I have, a pill of cyanide I also do have. What I don't have, is humanity. You see, what place can humanity rest in this disturbed world torn apart by pure ambition. The pillars of morality, the arches of civilization, the trusses of consciousness... all collapses in one followed by tens of millions of Soviet explosives. All men reverted to beasts, committing crimes that no man would ever imagine they could do. This gun I have... 6 bullets: no more, no less. Enough to kill 6 people, yet not enough to kill 6 beasts. The city runneth over with red paint. Is it blood? Blood that is frozen with the deserted coldness of the machete. I witnessed the turning of man to beast, but to witness the transfiguration of a beast to man: To see him realize what crimes he had done against humanity, the fabric which he tore apart violently, decimating 6 million threads (and counting)... I suppose that if anyone would go to hell, this person would be the first of all. Nonetheless, tyrants are tyrants, and there will be no end to any sort of person, not excluding such a malevolent kind. I suppose that the one thing I cannot construct is the story which I am telling you now. I am an architect, but to build a story so tragic, yet so lofty, is of the most difficult thing I could imagine.

Must compassion only be shown in the white mist of metal and sulphur?

Fly me to the moon, and let me play among the stars...

1964

Drunk, I suppose. What could sorrow do to a man? Forsooth! I was born without a purpose, and I drink also, without a purpose. Oh. I suppose these crude syntax and broken sentences are not suitable for an intellectually challenging environment such as... wait... are we in the mess hall now? Anyway, thank you for tuning in for my monologue, a soliloquy I suppose. Who in the history of drama has had a soliloquy as finely written as that of the most evil ever? The finest, yet the most malevolent. Enmesh them all... ha! Fly me to the moon, baby. Indeed, people are black clothes, drifting on the surface of the always permeating white mist? I cannot tell you what this white mist is though... possibly a mixture of sugar, alcohol, fruit, and decadence. A yellow car runneth over. Ah yes, also the revolver. 4 bullets I have. What happened to the rest of the two? Who knows! Probably used to shoot some Nazi bastard halfway across the planet. Why do I have a gun? I'd say, a sudden connection I had with this gun, that I knew I had to pick it up. No particular reason. Just for fun I guess.

Let me see what spring is like, on Jupiter and Mars...

2003

No one showed his face today. All were covered by a fine white misty visage (I suppose, not very fine). What a horrible name for a biological entity, a ch... but I think that it should be rightfully given a horrible epithet, for its horrible acts it commits against humanity. I propose that there is a cure for this disease that spreads itself so rapidly, and in such a deadly manner. I cannot yet find it though, just give me time for that, till rationality finally would take into me. Eventually, the voice of rationality should dominate us. Else, why would we be so good at capitalism? Capitalism is reason, and is the very basis of the free market we see today. The voice of reason, very true indeed, just like the revolver in my hand, with 2 bullets. Such a perfect number, the number of duet, of marriage! The program of reason, If-then-else-end. It is so logical, so numeric, and so ineffably consistent and perfect. Immaculate! You can almost smell the sentiment of joy I had with reason in my mind. My propositions runneth over. Unreasonably planned! Insanely sane!

In other words, hold my hand...

2105

Two hundred years. Of solitude.
(A video log on Vlogger.com. Date: 19 March 2105)

This is my two-hundredth birthday. What should I say really... There are so many robots in my stomach and intestines now that I don't even feel that my body is mine anymore. I am made of metal and sulphur, if I recall correctly. Chekov's gun is still here. It is, though with no bullets left. We don't need guns here in this peaceful age, man! The fine white mist is still here, but it is water vapour, as I learnt from the new-fangled science books on sale near my bunker. Oh, yes I live in a bunker now. It is quite small if you look from outside, but really spacious inside indeed, thanks to something called virtual reality (?). The physics of the present, haha, such great inventions.

Here is my piano. I almost forgot what a piano is - Man, it has almost been 60 years since I saw this old timer! For some reason, a person signed T sent that to me. I suppose that is a birthday present of some sort... I don't know how to play, I swear. But when I sat down, I found myself naturally hitting the keys, as if there is some internal motor within me, driven by... history? Oh, sorry for my blabbering, the future me, or the future you, or whoever/whatever will be viewing this Vlog. My memory runneth over. Signing off now.... bye future guy!

Fill my heart with song, and let me sing forever more.

2220

All dead.

Piles of cadmium, lithium, iron, chromium, silicon... Lifeless elements. Fragments of uranium too. An eerie green mist engulfs me. I suppose these are my last few words before I, too, get suffocated in this lov........ Another atomic bomb... It is alright, we are all used to it. 2000 years of civilization... what have we come to. Another beginning, right? No... I see no light at the end of the tunnel. This is THE end, I suppose. No more architects, no more drunkards, no more mathematicians, no more of that ordinary folk that is suddenly electrically shocked by history. All dead. We have come a long way, and this is the end. Embrace it.

Chekov's gun is here. It has no bullets, but let me lay down the hammer, pull the trigger... and die a nuclear death.

In other words, I love you...

Blue

Look not at the walls
Of black, grey and white
Until the seeming eternity passes
And the clouds do disperse
Into oblivion.

Glut yourself in the azure sky
For blue is the colour of forgetting
The walls soon forget their eternal colours
Of black, grey and white.
Look up! for it is the time to forget.

Atrophy

When I think about the
time I lost through atrophy
I cannot but laugh

Time is a cruel course
Of blood and tears and regret
filled with atrophy

I wonder through time
Who has never been worn out
then I laugh once more

Forever and more
Does time scrape out our colours
till eternity

To L

Perhaps one day we will never cross our eyes ever again. The grey and white walls of the cubicle would fall; the image of me in your memory would vapourize, like a slight breeze that never returns. One day when I am stranded in the sea, clinging to a floating log, I would only hope that one cell of your brain would still contain the vestige of my image, no matter how small that cell is.

'Tis a sweet dream of
Naked fire and Endless water
't's a curse of time with
Angst that I strangle my dream...

The Wind Fish wakes; the island vanishes. All that remains is but a dream. And as difficult as it is to recall a dream, you will never leave my eyes.

Multiple thoughts

There is a visage called the mouth. It is a gas mask, which renders all speech to muffles, unintelligible ramblings about anything that must be deemed insignificant. Oratory and dirges, all reduced to blasphemous nonsense. Each of these thoughts that follows may offend you, but that is because of its originality, its unbroken virtue that doth not penetrate the material plastic that separates fire from fantasy. If you find yourself unable to continue reading, then please, by all means, stop, and continue with your life: that so insipid, so bastardized life.

1. On the most dis[g]ussed number: What is it with numbers that so... enchant, or rather, deceives the common man? For one fine example, take the essential unity from the difference of the leading immaculate duet, give three less than sextuple itself where Galois could guarantee, allow a superstition to adulterate one less than which our terrestrial cosmos do orbit... I suppose, and I do suppose, that numbers is the only means which men could characterize themselves... quantitatively. Quantitative descriptions allow for easy comparisons. And who is able to look fame in the eye and not be seduced? This man only resides in novels and poems, I suppose. A number is painted gold, but let humanity be a solution of aqua regia. I will see what your number can do.

2. On humiliation. What does it mean to be humiliated? I suppose that we would agree that a loss in a battle is a humiliation (or even a loss of a number...). I would say to you that battles themselves are humiliations: Humiliations to the very virtue of human. Is it enough to win? No. No victories are accomplished without defeat, and even if there are, it would not satiate the bottomless pit. Yes, that is a kind of humiliation. But what IS humiliation? Humiliation is the moment when the immoral "moralizes", the uneducated "educates", the barbaric "rules", the dissonant "unites", the greedy "humbles", the entropic "organizes", the downright egregious plays the protagonist in the contrived theatre you call life. This is why we are doomed to fall as a civilization: These uncivil underminers of what our ancestors have established.

3. On rules: I am an opposer of authoritarian regimes. I would much prefer a life without rules than one with rules. I am sure that most would agree. But from where do rules arise? We are a civilization that is uncivil. We harm each other to our benefits, or even to our own harm, for the sake of harming. This sadism permeates through all of us, an inescapable fate that plays the final notes of our dirge, breaking the string of the violin of life, I suppose. When I observe how downright evil and selfish humans (and I mean you, all of you) can be, I would just sigh in the face of rules, and allow her to deliver her punishment to mankind, as I have proven that human is a kind of animal that thrives not on civilization, but on torture.

4. On the Obvious: I did a presentation on the theory of knowledge for the IB, and discussed the topic of common sense (yes I am a student too). Yet, I suppose I should reject all that I said. Humans are illogical creatures. Even the most obvious of all things would seem to them as dubious. Humans have eyes, but they are so rarely used that I doubt if we have them functioning at all. An inherently false statement by definition, or even by the most basic of all logic, would be deemed true, and be used as a law, a theory in the "Sciences". How absolutely ridiculous, how an entity can be formed with 1000 individual entities that wish only to annihilate their own species, to gain an advantage (or to perform sadistic acts, as I have mentioned). The result is a structure that collapses on itself. Yet, we put them in a package so elaborately decorated, so colourful, so pretentious, that we would win our battle just by cardboard alone. 

I suppose that I should stop thinking. Thinking is not valued in this society anymore. Better to say the prayers that harm, the incantations that kill, the curse that, ironically, heals, while the music of life runs, albeit always a beat slow.

The Interviewed and the Dead

Yesterday, English killed the Summer

Today, English killed the innocent mind

In the midst I heard a Chinese voice

"Your bag is open"

I sighed as I was spared of my life



What an irony, that I write in a language that kills

But do guns kill?