Fables and Revelations

The shores shine a brilliant gold as the grey clouds part after the hailing rain to reveal the heavens in all its glory. The sun a tireless fire rage on blazing the gold white sand. I gaze at the warm sun and into orange grey clouds. Spinning in the silence, a soul falls to pieces and lives in lies till their dying day. Salvation is nowhere when reliving the death of true love is just much too much to bear. Is that a fate worse then death, in tragic silence of the broken world? Even in pain, memories and faces and love seem to echo at the back of their minds, dissolving into dust from the stars we come from, from the earth we had rose. The stressful silence of life’s greatest tragedy repeats like a broken record to torment the soul and people wonder why some people long for the soft gentle kiss of the grim reaper, as even in the time of death there can be beauty and relentless release.

Life me up in the torrid rain, amidst the sick and the dying, the lost and the wounded. I have been sitting among the people whose stories are the beginning of the end, where the story ends and the rainbow fades into the crystal clear blue sky. They sit some weary of me, some beaming with much light, some just lost in the agony of pain with their sun long gone out. I look at their little souvenirs of their journey of miles, of life in four seasons, a beautiful surprise, tickle against the white washed walls, on their desk and chairs. There is so much left to say in their hands and their eyes. I’ve been running across dark blue-carpeted corridors in these shoes that are two sizes too big, and feel like they have been stuffed with bits of concrete. Awful things they are but they are all I could afford right now. It’s strange how things serve to remind me time and time again the value of life and living. The bomb scare at Heathrow last August, transatlantic aircraft plot gave me the jitte...

Found this in my drafts folder from 2007 Life me up in the torrid rain, amidst the sick and the dying, the lost and the wounded. I have been sitting among the people whose stories are the beginning of the end, where the story ends and the rainbow fades into the crystal clear blue sky. They sit some weary of me, some beaming with much light, some just lost in the agony of pain with their sun long gone out. I look at their little souvenirs of their journey of miles, of life in four seasons, a beautiful surprise, tickle against the white washed walls, on their desk and chairs. There is so much left to say in their hands and their eyes. I’ve been running across dark blue-carpeted corridors in these shoes that are two sizes too big, and feel like they have been stuffed with bits of concrete. Awful things they are but they are all I could afford right now. It’s strange how things serve to remind me time and time again the value of life and living. The bomb scare at Heathrow last...

The air is as warm as the touch of heat from a wintry fireplace. No matter how I wish I was home again, it’s okay because it would take eternity to think that what I did was an unearthly decision, even at very steps of judgement day. I have no regrets, as much as I miss my fabulous family and friends at home, I know that this bond is strong and certain as the morrow winds. I have made some wonderful friends these past months that have really helped and gave me the support that I needed in times of trials and tribulations. Like General Joy, I wipe the tears from my eyes and kiss the whispering air. I am happy. Despite still having some trials ahead, I am at peace with my life and not a communist marching band. I can hold the fort, not struggling with sweat and feeling crushed.

We are all made of sand and stars, the dust that looms through the universe, the breath of planets and seeds of the sun. I watch the setting sun and listen to the silent whispering of the beings as they wraith through the walls downstairs. Voices like birds. A giggle like a tiny girl. Exasperation and frustration. More giggles? I miss the orbiting stars and the racing sand as it dissipates from my hands, down the folds of my skin, down to the soft powder of silicon below. Screams amidst the giggles. Sounds like fun. I wonder just wonder what it would be to be home again.

In the fields of tulips I fly and the dark night sings into pure dawn as I entwine in the magic of the moment … all these words, pages and pages of words that we softly whisper under the covers of the stars. In the beauty of this factual illusion, I wrap myself in your arms and drift into a murmuring slumber, something new is going to happen in the world today.

The rain beat down like the drumming of little fingers on the table tops, the night rolls on, a blanket of darkness save but specks of pea shaped orange lights glimmering in the distance. Merely visible through the shroud of rain, the room cools to a cruel chill. The rain like the tears I have cried doesn’t comprehend the notion of curtail, not in the faintest as it persevere with it’s gentle drumming. I think back and dream of the soft sheets in the morning and the sight of the descending clouds that float like the truth in the clear blue crystal sky, as blue as soft towels found on a newborn baby boy as you peer through the sheer glass wall that separates warmth and flesh. Wondering, testing the seeds of time as I touch the warm moist soil sun soaked and teeming with life. Lately I, seem to have lapsed into quiet state of despondency. Perhaps, fuelled by a sense of longing and repeated disappointments has suppressed my ability to sense fulfilment and jubilation. A period of perfect r...

I was greeted with a big surprise on Wednesday evening, Simon came home with tickets for a trip home to Singapore. I cannot thank him enough for all he is done for me and now he has done more. This boy is a godsent really, I honestly couldn't ask for more in man who takes care of all my needs, who gives with his heart and continues to give some more. He has been taking care of me since I have came down to tasmania, making sure that all the little things in life are going right for me and reassuring me and supporting me when the chips are down. A breed of man close to extinction I had gathered. It was a rather surreal moment, somewhat magical and somewhat caught in between the web of reality. I was still rather stressed by finances and work and such. There was all this talk abuot going home in February but truely I almost thought that I might not make it home next year with the many asppects that I had to worry about in life. The complexity of the matter. It's truely been a week...

I decided since it was hard to keep a pet being away from home I'm going to do what my great grandmother do all day long and start growing some plants but not just any plants. I'm going to work on some beans and if I can keep it up I'll start growing some herbs like rosemary, thyme and even basil if I could. Strange enough I was walking home when I decided to check out the new Emmarah that had reopened a couple of shops down from their old location and it was beautifully done up. They had dates and figs and mixed dried fruits, oats, wheat and even Beans! So beans to you, I decided to buy some beans with the couple of coins I had in my wallet. That was practically all I had really, so I packed some tiny petite little mung beans into my brown paper bag and listen to them fall into the bag with skidadles and pops. Then I picked up some beautiful chubby little happy Adzuki beans that look so perfectly bean like and flawless in shape. A cold smooth maron red shell with a fairly ...

The town seemed a hushed silence as people stared out at the rubble blackened by the Saturday’s blaze, which engulfed the aged old historian who has watched for two centuries the cities past. The a doleful sense of forlorn whispered in the wind as onlookers stretched their necks like seagulls at the wharf to acquire a better look at the rubble that remains of what was once a city ancient. It doesn’t seem to have gone, as I seem to see myself still in it when I close my eyes, the breath of air, a calm that surrounds when I close my eyes. The soft excitement when I touch the round hard case carrier bag in delight. Now I can only search for it as it is no more and only ashes remain. Watching the bellowing smoke rise like a dragon into the sky, I gazed in awe and it continued to churn and rise and grow in size. I took a couple of snap shots of the rubble this afternoon and what was left of this timeworn soul that lay crumbling under the force of the bulldozers. Breathing in the desolation ...

I look into the sky and wonder what really makes sense, life so imperfect like a little black spot in the sun. Dreaming of places that I have left and joys that cannot be. Gasping for answers for dreams unfulfilled, the wind is exactly the same as yesterday. Spring spins another intricate web of beauty, another tale, another time, of life’s ceaseless heaven bound beauty and godlike wonder. Is life meant to be conceptual simplicity and structural complexity, or is it destiny to remain undefined?

Dancing in the sea of the storm, looking beyond and before, staring at the ships that set a sail into the deep dark ocean afar, I stare at my feet and wonder the bitter sweet wonders of leaving and being left behind. A yellow plastic box of jewellery, a shelf stacked brim full of books and a room of green murals, like warm like blood, leaving was such a bittersweet affair. The kisses and the warmth, the cherished and the strong, the leapers and the saints, touch my lips like a taste of holy wine. I yearn for it, but only to have a taste, only to embrace it when the angel touches it’s feet on the sins of this earth and make it once again complete. Watching the ships and pondering the wonders of their journey, I wonder a brief wonder, like a slow cool breeze that skims right through me, touching every uncovered epithelial layer, sending me into a tiny shudder like little earthquakes, it engulfs me. I wonder of the many journeys of the people who in the years have drifted into the vast se...

Thousands of lights twinkle endlessly across the river, winking like a secret smile. Twinkling like a child with a secret bound in their heart and a whisper on their lips. Like a millions tales kept silence bound by the chains of Pandora’s box. She giggles her giggles and never will cease, the urge to pry, to seek to curb that need. The lunar eclipse looms within the day, the moon pearly white shall be drenched in the sands of blood for a swift night and it’s ring of fire will blaze the sky setting it in all it’s wondrous might. Petals of crystallised flowers fill the curtain that is the night sky as I sit back in wonder of the miracle that is of this universe. Awaiting the blood moon, a chariot in the sky, that has turn the tides and tested time. The ironies of the blood moon that once saved Christopher Columbus and allowed him to continue his perilous journey. Convincing natives that he had calmed their gods is now a country that has shed much blood like the red of the furious moon.

I finally caught the movie curse of the golden flower. It was a pretty good movie despite the ridicules three dimensional antics and the fact no one actually says long live the king in the forbidden city and like every other person is wearing gold or yellow. Had the best pizza ever with the guys at home from a pizza place just right behind our place close to the news agency called Paesano, Simon and me had a sweet chilli chicken and it was like the super duper best pizza ever. I wish I could mail it to everyone but it’ll just get all fungi and gooey in the mail. We had it for 2 Saturdays in a role, Simon says ..no pun intended that Saturday is Pizza night and I'm all for the idea. It's not the heathiest choice of take away but a break from cooking once a week is always good news for me. I went for the gallery crawl for living artist week on Friday evening from 6pm to about 8ish that evening,me and Jo checked out a heap of galleries walking from Salamanca down to Hunter’s stree...

I can see the wind sweeping pass the windows as the orange light of the evening flutter silently like the scurry of shadow puppets. Quiet is the evening of the disheartened. Silent is the soul that speaks so softly with heads bowed and palms to the heavens. In silence it weeps and with woe, it finds the sweet savoury comfort the pleasant creeping sense of melancholy like a twisting branch of ivy slowing but surely like a parasite leeching ever so tightly around my neck. This dusk till dawn has been a series of rather tragically unfortunate events. It started with the cliché awaking late and squashing the snooze button after the nuclear siren blared pass my tiny little ears in protest of my blissful slumber. The warmth and comfort of the morning sun and pleasant feeling of my daily morning cuddles quickly drifted me off to the land where sandman drifts through the silvery days. School was a dreadful blur with sprouts of eventful information, which was quickly absorbed into the sponge th...

I’m waiting so far away, over the oceans, waiting for change in the mountains of snow and the layers of frost. Waiting to be one in a warm embrace. I remember the days when it’s so easy to just give up in a breath, a spark of light, to just simply fade away. Nevertheless, it’s time to wake up, to grow up, to stand up and reach up for the things that mean the world in this invisible universe. I’m out of excuses, out of breath, tired of running and going on back. There are visions to acquire and dreams to race for, and falling stars that collapse into dust in the warmth of my cold cold hands. Bury my soul in your sanity and let me kiss a drop of stardust and fade into the sweetness that is night once more. Love me in the darkness, even when the fire has faded and the cold remains.

The cries of the birds seem so close to me as they wisp by the window echoing their hollow cries. Looking out from above the roof tops, little toy trucks splutter below my feet and chug along to carry out their dailies. I just completed a an assignment and just sitting here chilling. The drifting clouds roll miles away across the river and amidst the mountains. The sky a bright gradient of sky blue rolling into a tinge of cyan where they kiss the clouds. I think about the magnificent bay that I once laid my eyes on and ponder about it in the strangeness that is of winter. I ponder about the nights where I stood overlooking the damp, humid city, watching the multitudes of orange lights beyond in the night, sipping on my Bellini and listening to the sweet whispers of those who are my friends. The lights, travelling for miles, made the city as vibrant as day. I wonder about the rickety seats of the cinema in town, the elderly ticket ushers that could snap my ticket at a flick of a wrist a...

This was a post that was wriiten a week ago but due to the rain pouring onto my study room and the wintery cold, I haven't been online at home very much. Man I can’t get over how chubby and adorable the sparrows are in Tasmania, utterly delectably squishy and cuddly looking. Mornings have been beautiful of late, it use to be rather monotonous as I set out for school alone in the cold and perpetually bored to tears as I listen to repeats on my ipod, trying to ensure that I would not fall asleep somewhere on the way to the bus mall. The bus rides though, is far from boring. For one, I haven’t seen anyone sleep on the bus and perhaps due to social pressure I usually try not to fall asleep on my ride to school. The view is great though, almost like a dreamy documentary, sitting on the bus, watching the world pass me by. Flocks of birds flying helter scalter over the river, feet dipping slightly into the cool water making streaks of light blue against the deep dark blue of the yawning r...

I remember the days when I sung you lullabies and spoke of dreams like snow that we may never have seen. When we walked hand in hand, your petite little fingers are just but a dolls’, your face a mere child, all has changed and gone from here. Chasing the stars and racing against the moon, you rise. I stand in the crowd, in a distance so far, in the mountains of snow, so far from you and so cold. When are you going to love yourself as much as I do, you have been growing too fast. I understand that things change my love, but you have got to grow strong and steadfast and not give in to the burnings of dreams on the shelves. If you ever come by then you can see, the trouble you cause so far away, yet felt torrid so close to my small enclosed clockwork heart. Perhaps one day, when the seas sing clear of the sweet voices of distant lands, the smoke gives way to a view of this world would you finally take a breath and understand. This luxury you have, your life in your hands.

The idea of packing lunch has never occurred to me, especially packing lunches for school. I can’t even remember a time at home when I had to pack a lunch box for any event. Usually we just head down to the cafeteria to grab a drink or a bit. I recall the cold mornings during Lecture when I was in the polytechnic, shivering and scurrying to canteen 1 in Ngee Ann to grab that hot cuppa to keep me warm. Never in a million years did I at that point of time would find myself walking 20 minutes in two degrees to the bus mall to grab a bus to school. Everyone in class packs their own lunches and well, I have to admit it’s much more healthier in every aspect. It’s really different but it’s pretty cool anyhow. I saw snow for the first time and it’s amazing, just staring at my very own little piece of snow that Simon picked out for me, I cradled it in my hand for ages, hoping I would be able to bring it home. But that’s another story. Simon decided that he was going to bring to see what snow is...

Crazy as things go, I had a dreadfully gloom of a day throwing myself around and trying to figure out things that rained down on me, like a torrid thunderstorm. Trying to figure what was wrong. Sitting on the bus I looked at the mirror mask of a river ever vast and ever flowing, a dreadful grey like the sky hanging above like a piece of work from Hieronymus Bosch, or Jheronimus van Aken, whichever prolific name he is recognised by. Not to mention Mt. Wellington hidden by a cloudy blanket of murky foam like fog. Things were suppose to be good, I started school yesterday and I buzzing like a bee on booze and getting to know people and laughter was a constant in my mornings as soon as I was in the company of many. The classroom was overflowing to the brim with activities as people greeted each other with a golden morning cheer despite the cold chilly shivering weather that gnaw at your bones and slice through your thin organ of flesh. I glace around at everyone and people smiled right ba...

Tiredness precedes me, a type if endless fatigue that gently nips at your being. So little time, trying to understand the world, wanting to create the impossible, and live the unbelievable dream. I spend some nights, eyes closed, but my mind swimming in the rolling torrid seas of thoughts. The cold and dust, like a ceaseless creeping creatures of the night places its heavy hands on my breath in the darkness. Unable to draw breath I stay awake listening into the dept of night-time. Just watching my thoughts, like staring at the tube, the troubles, the ideas, the dreams, the memories of my life, a washed on the shores of my being. Everything feels like I’m walking in the mist of a movie. I awoke in throbbing discomfort of aches from the restless nights. Hope this night sleep would ease my mind. Tell me how does it feel to be laid at rest in the cold and dark hoping not for death but for life when life takes its up most toll, with one basic need to survive. I thank my father for giving m...

Looking out the deep dark skies it seems rather alien to turn around only to find that it is only 5ish in the afternoon. Cold has been the weather, chilly to the bone. Those cold cold bones. All sniffy and woozy some days, some frosty mornings. It’s all so strange, so new to me. The autumn air is as crisps as the red brown maple like leaves that float softly to the ground. The world spins so silently, it makes me drift away, dancing to a new morn like the leaves kissed by the morning breeze. The cold wind rushes and carries me, like the little cold thoughts that gnaw at your flesh when you press your fingers against the wet cold hard ice. Sharp is the wind that pushes into your flesh. Like walking in a wintery room. Odd this child you may think but for a sunshine kid, the cold is all foreign as I am foreign to this new soil. Here are but some photos from Tasmania that I took with the Nokia http://www.flickr.com/photos/7793697@N04/ It’s been busy these months, doing the things that I ha...

Letting go of love is never easy, watching the soft sweetness of what we call love pass our grasp like sand through our fingers and waters through the cracks between our toes. Watching with our hands bound behind our backs, and chains between our feet as we move sluggishly as we watch and wait. A fistful of marbles cradled in our hand, looking at each shiny translucent marble with its rich swirls of lucid memories of the past, bringing warmth to our hearts as it paints a silent smile on our stone cold faces. Our heart glows like a red hot coal over the fire as we close out fist around the marbles of beautiful dreams like memories of old. Cold against our skin, but warm in our hearts as we caress the flesh and leave the warm heart sleeping in its peaceful slumber. Rejoice in the beauty of smiles, of touching tales and for having being loved by one that is so loved in this realm For being able to share love and feel loved as we bow our heads to pave a way for time to trickle by, and give...

Riding alive along side the moonless sky, I lost myself in the darkness of that which is night. I took my time to look around, on this pretty sweet night, feeling the chill of the breeze that slice across the invisible particles of the clear dry icy air cutting against the soft skin that is on my face. I look out into the darkness of the oval mirror mask of a moonlit lake. I could hear voices in behind me in the warmth of the house by the lake, a house with an address that I have not known, blankets that I have slept in but do not own. A house that I would never set foot in again, as I leave my invisible footprints on the front porch.

I see blues skies and clouds floating soullessly across the heavens above me, still the same world but new friends. Would you understand? No more flat plains and hot rain dripping down my blue uniform, no more staring at the words on my ceiling on those humid tropical nights. Walking further through the streets of cold breeze shades of cold and the blazing sun, another Babylon. Seeking to recognise this normality, to keep me from feeling sane. Seeking to comprehend, to understand, to recognise, this insatiable realm. Seeking to recognise the people that are untouched and untainted by the troubles of this world, the wars, the suffering and the pain. Trapped at the bottom of Maslow Hierarchy of needs, where they lack humanistic motivation, feeding on the system like a parasite. Abusing the transmission. Lying back I toss my latest read, Titus Groan, a fabulous read by the way. Strangly gothic, whimsical and highly intriguing, on the bed and stare right back at my Macintosh in front of m...

I want to stand, my feet on the soft white talcum like sand, so gentle between my toes. To have the gentle sea breeze on my face and the warm golden sun blazing down on my fair skin. But it’s been raining on my parade, just raining and now it starts to pour. Water flowing down the gutters and overflowing the cannels, it roars loudly into my ears. My clothes wet with the harsh rain beating on me, as my wet heavy cloths cling tightly damp with rain. Drops flowing down my matted black hair. I stand shivering and alone in the cold, so cold, I reach out into the emptiness and embrace the freezing rain against my skin. I don’t want to go back to the darkness that I had been, you can say anything. Anything at all and it would take away the rain. Dry my tears and bring me home to where the dark clouds part and the sun flickers down on the beauty that is the bay. I wish the rain would stop and the scars would disappear from where they came.

Life is amazing, when I’m actually finally happy, things just keep squirming itself into it’s ugly little wormlike holes and chew at the little gems of happiness I have and cover it all with sludge. Just came back from the doctors and brilliant news, I may have precancerous cells. You need to go for test urgently. Wow. Pass me black stockings, a scythe and call me mistress death. Gee, things keep getting better. He’s finally coming next week and I was just bursting with happiness last night, before I got the first crap news of the century, which confirmed my doubts about my health and this morning an extra spice to my already wonderful story of my life. Sitting alone typing typing, back to jo with no one to hold. People get away with murder man and diamond rings and emotional blackmail to attain their ridiculous piece of heaven. Man, I’m going to just sit here and chill and listen to some music and work at the moment like I always do. Instant noodle life baby, just add hot water and la...

Feeling a bit run down today I guess, thought I’d write a bit before bed. My heart has been on a down hill sledge ride since Tuesday and my blood is wearing thin. Dennis asked me if I lost weight today, I told him perhaps it could just be work. I love my new job I really do it is insightful, intriguing and emotionally rewarding. However, like all jobs it does have its’ disadvantages. I have been sick for perhaps almost 2 weeks and I still have not fully recovered I guess. Trying to suppress a cough, to stop myself from wheezing into the microphone and to the little ones. It certainly is awful, and right after I recover I am plagued with another bug. Just tragically, down on my luck I gather. Work has been piling up and holding two jobs sure isn’t all easy peasy lemon squeezy. Been pretty pressed for time of late, plus the pending arrival of an imminent friend makes things a bit tighter around my heart. With arrival comes departure, and my departure would come soon like it or not. A bit...

You are The Star Hope, expectation, Bright promises. The Star is one of the great cards of faith, dreams realised The Star is a card that looks to the future. It does not predict any immediate or powerful change, but it does predict hope and healing. This card suggests clarity of vision, spiritual insight. And, most importantly, that unexpected help will be coming, with water to quench your thirst, with a guiding light to the future. They might say you're a dreamer, but you're not the only one. What Tarot Card are You? Take the Test to Find Out.

A new year, another year of love, saddness and infinite sorrow that perhaps would hopefully cease it’s endless scrapping on my chamber door. In a strange conincidence, this year I would again sit on another bridge and watch another world fade away. Sometimes I look back and wonder if there was something I could say or something I had done to change the way things had become. Facing the new day, and pondering the memories of the past, I guess there was nothing I could have done and there was again perhaps nothing I wanted to do to make a change. Even as the moment pass me by, I did not burge, my feer never touching the floor, lettingthe moment toss in the waves and float away. I cannot cry for the things that have not hurt me. Scars in on my rosy heart, souvenairs of worlds lost and memories pass. I whispered your name but your name has lost all meanings, all hope, all sorrow, all the hurt, the joy, the pain. It has lost its exsistence in me. I woke up alone in the cold of the room, loo...