The scene was an open reception, an all-you-can-eat gathering of somewhat peculiar dishes; clumsy, colourful terrines made from Mangos/Asparagus/MoldyPeaches/SageSausages/PickedSardines/PinkBitsOfGinger/YellowPaprikas/ShreddedPumpkin...., and green salsa soup and vegetable rice croquettes and helpful condiments layed out, like an entire kitchen turned upside down--hinting the flavours of a certain purplish-bubbly pot au feu. It looked like it had lumps of coal in them: YUMMY
A frivolous, flamboyant feast it was.
I took back what looked like an unknown vegetable wrapped steadfast in EggishRicePaper(so....is it an egg? Or rice paper?--the uncharted mysteries of food, oh.., so many..). Curiously, I hadn't intended to bring that with me. I had no intentions of consuming it whatsoever--and yet, it lay flat stuck on my plate like a stubborn snailish-sponge, unnverving in every available sense.
How provocative a dish could be!
I got on my bus("my" bus..a bus I've never ridden, never seen; but somehow, knew. Just as one could easily imagine, how delightfully squirmish MashedBananas would feel like between their toes--make that Cold February Morning Just Got Out Of Bed toes!--- and yet, have likely not to ever been in such a state.)..and actually, my bus had left off, zooming past with my dish of EggishRicePaper wobbling on one of its many anonymous seats, just as I had left for the restroom.
How violent a bus could leave!
I fixed my heart and snapped into the restroom, only to find myself half-naked as I came out. My working hours at the bistro have printed this illusion no doubt, as just last night, I was fixing my apron to hide my jeans..and I quickly back-hugged a favourite friend;
"I've lost my undies!" although I still had my underwear on.
"You have your undies on," she snapped, "Look here. See?"
:) She is one of my favourite friends, you see..
I told her about the latest rave of MysteryNovels: she smiled excitedly, promising me she'd read it first chance she got.
Tuesday
"She was beautiful," he implied, "BeautifulVibrantBeauuutiful."
Then he paused, for a few collective moments. "His daughter--Chrissy--she was another beauty. The clashingly beautiful type, you can never seem to get away from."
* * * *
Each individual was immersed in their own, seperate, capricious, highly-careless thoughts.
Then he paused, for a few collective moments. "His daughter--Chrissy--she was another beauty. The clashingly beautiful type, you can never seem to get away from."
* * * *
Each individual was immersed in their own, seperate, capricious, highly-careless thoughts.
Saturday
The bird was swimming in a murkish pool of FATIGUE,
and somehow I was inclined to save her, for the sake of....myself.
Or else the bird would die, that was for sure.
Her legs waded wanefully with every move I made, setting her lower body in the cupped water and gently trickling it. Eyes shut, she made several attempts to raise her beak.
As if she wanted to tell the world a whole new DESIRE.
However, I soon realise that she wanted nothing more but a few farewells. Rested in peace, she waned.
Ophelia.
and somehow I was inclined to save her, for the sake of....myself.
Or else the bird would die, that was for sure.
Her legs waded wanefully with every move I made, setting her lower body in the cupped water and gently trickling it. Eyes shut, she made several attempts to raise her beak.
As if she wanted to tell the world a whole new DESIRE.
However, I soon realise that she wanted nothing more but a few farewells. Rested in peace, she waned.
Ophelia.
Friday
There was an attractive Underground-Party taking place, and I was supposedly invited--or, had been anticipated, so to speak.
"It's been so long, so very long!...Ah, how are you these days anyway?" they say.
"Yes," I stutter. "Yes, well quite....quite well, quite well indeed. And you?"
There were no such perceptions as limits around here.
As always!
* * * *
My brother was curled up like a nuzzly cat-a-tat in the platinum safe. He wore fluffly whitish pajamas, that no doubt belonged to somebody else.
"Why," I said, "Why the miserable face?"
"Because you FOUND me!" he suggestfully exclaimed. :)
* * * *
And someone (godknowswho) had a few tricks up their sleeves.....
"It's been so long, so very long!...Ah, how are you these days anyway?" they say.
"Yes," I stutter. "Yes, well quite....quite well, quite well indeed. And you?"
There were no such perceptions as limits around here.
As always!
* * * *
My brother was curled up like a nuzzly cat-a-tat in the platinum safe. He wore fluffly whitish pajamas, that no doubt belonged to somebody else.
"Why," I said, "Why the miserable face?"
"Because you FOUND me!" he suggestfully exclaimed. :)
* * * *
And someone (godknowswho) had a few tricks up their sleeves.....
Thursday
She embodied GRACE with such strength, subtle words escape me....
Her website was http://www.woman.lx.jp/
or something like that.
Her website was http://www.woman.lx.jp/
or something like that.
They were brought into the hospital beds together, now lying side by side. Looked fine, talked fine---just didn't seem fine. I was their long-time friend, advisor, personal doctor; they'd called me up after being waken conscious.
"So, what brings you two here?" I asked, flipping my pen out from my whitish jacket and scribbling down something confusing.
The newly weds watched my hand's movements anxiously, as if my hand were to suddenly snap and strike at them like an angry lion. "We're in troublesome times," the man finally spoke.
"....Yes, I see that," I continued to scribble, "so you two had an accident..."
"An ACCIDENT." declared the young woman.
I looked up at her. Her hair was successfully neat, and messy. "Yes, an accident. I thought I said so."
"......It was an accident....," she murmered. The voice was grave and stone-hard, like a windswept tombstone. "An accident...." My right brow began to slowly arch.
The man faced her. "Now stop!" he hissed, "and don't you start that all over again here....!" His eyes searched her face for the slightest hint of amusement, understanding, tenderness---yet, he failed to detect a single one.
I looked at each of the two, and then the both of them as a set. "Am I being left out on something?"
"She just had a miscarriage," the man spat out. "Another one. We saw Wu you know, two times...... and that bastard let this happen twice." The woman suddenly straightened up, her face further forlorn but strongly determined; as if the momentum of this reality had ignited her into action. "Yes," she said, "Doctor Wu. It was Wu, Wu all along."
Now both my brows were equally and highly arched. "But couldn't you have called me, being around here so often then?---And Wu, oh Wu....." I couldn't continue.
"So, what brings you two here?" I asked, flipping my pen out from my whitish jacket and scribbling down something confusing.
The newly weds watched my hand's movements anxiously, as if my hand were to suddenly snap and strike at them like an angry lion. "We're in troublesome times," the man finally spoke.
"....Yes, I see that," I continued to scribble, "so you two had an accident..."
"An ACCIDENT." declared the young woman.
I looked up at her. Her hair was successfully neat, and messy. "Yes, an accident. I thought I said so."
"......It was an accident....," she murmered. The voice was grave and stone-hard, like a windswept tombstone. "An accident...." My right brow began to slowly arch.
The man faced her. "Now stop!" he hissed, "and don't you start that all over again here....!" His eyes searched her face for the slightest hint of amusement, understanding, tenderness---yet, he failed to detect a single one.
I looked at each of the two, and then the both of them as a set. "Am I being left out on something?"
"She just had a miscarriage," the man spat out. "Another one. We saw Wu you know, two times...... and that bastard let this happen twice." The woman suddenly straightened up, her face further forlorn but strongly determined; as if the momentum of this reality had ignited her into action. "Yes," she said, "Doctor Wu. It was Wu, Wu all along."
Now both my brows were equally and highly arched. "But couldn't you have called me, being around here so often then?---And Wu, oh Wu....." I couldn't continue.
Monday
A bath, it was, that I'd promised to give him in "about 10 minutes---wait for me, won't you? I promise I'll be there so fast, you wouldn't even realise that I was gone anyway."
But I never found the time to do it.
When I'd returned, about 40 minutes later, he was waiting for me in the doorway, throwing a party of a tantrum.
I named him: Little Hurricane.
But I never found the time to do it.
When I'd returned, about 40 minutes later, he was waiting for me in the doorway, throwing a party of a tantrum.
I named him: Little Hurricane.
Sunday
The plains had gradually transformed into meadows, then forests....
The bird flown into the khaki-green, leaving only a trail of something behind.
"Oi, where is she?" shouted someone, "I can't see anything round here, you know.."
"We'll find her," I replied. (Then, quietly, "...eventually.")
"She keeps on flyin' and flyin' and flyin' and"
"FLYIN'," my mentor snapped. "Because, she's, a BIRD."
I found her perched between some cozy, gorgeous branches. Gorgeous, with intimate lonelieness... "She's there."
A pile of stranded chairs were waiting for me, all huddled in someone's backyard. A handsome Victorian blue struck the air vividly. I turned, facing a terribly spacious wall of bluest yonder. Someone yelped in delight---or was that me?
The bird flew away, it seemed. Somehow we never got hold of her, though I was quite sure we would. She was mum's favourite; I began practising breaking the news to her.
* * * *
She used to be my maths teacher. Today we were talking about some stacks of freshly prepared sandwiches. The whole class was horribly immersed in this minute topic, grinding their minds for further suggestions. The girl in subject....the verdict....was hungry as a howling lion, and kept swishing her outrageous ponytail as someone spoke, like an animal wagging its tail.
"This one has organically-bred chicken and fresh fruit tomatoes," a student exclaimed. (swish, goes the ponytail!)
"...How wondrous! But just to say, the bread looks foggy."
"Though, my dear, the chicken is exciting," a girl beamed. (swish) "I would once again like to point out its virtues---bred, raised only on pomegranate seeds and mushroom powder. How enchanting is that?"
"But I don't even LIKE chicken," the ponytail swished. "I just..want.. some LETTUCE...."
"Lettuce? Did someone say...lettuce?" spoke a young fellow. On second thought, spoke my geography teacher. "This one has roquefort and lettuce, and nothing else. De-licious."
SWISH. "Ouu...but such a robust combination, no? Roquefort and bread?"
My maths teacher clicked and clacked her toes and came our way. We turned round, looking into her glowing face. "Oh," she said, "I think I found something quite fine..."
She pulled out the chicken sandwich, roquefort-and-lettuce sandwich, and various others that were already discussed, and there emerged two pieces of rye bread.
"Wow, (swish), MUKS!" she smiled.
The bird flown into the khaki-green, leaving only a trail of something behind.
"Oi, where is she?" shouted someone, "I can't see anything round here, you know.."
"We'll find her," I replied. (Then, quietly, "...eventually.")
"She keeps on flyin' and flyin' and flyin' and"
"FLYIN'," my mentor snapped. "Because, she's, a BIRD."
I found her perched between some cozy, gorgeous branches. Gorgeous, with intimate lonelieness... "She's there."
A pile of stranded chairs were waiting for me, all huddled in someone's backyard. A handsome Victorian blue struck the air vividly. I turned, facing a terribly spacious wall of bluest yonder. Someone yelped in delight---or was that me?
The bird flew away, it seemed. Somehow we never got hold of her, though I was quite sure we would. She was mum's favourite; I began practising breaking the news to her.
* * * *
She used to be my maths teacher. Today we were talking about some stacks of freshly prepared sandwiches. The whole class was horribly immersed in this minute topic, grinding their minds for further suggestions. The girl in subject....the verdict....was hungry as a howling lion, and kept swishing her outrageous ponytail as someone spoke, like an animal wagging its tail.
"This one has organically-bred chicken and fresh fruit tomatoes," a student exclaimed. (swish, goes the ponytail!)
"...How wondrous! But just to say, the bread looks foggy."
"Though, my dear, the chicken is exciting," a girl beamed. (swish) "I would once again like to point out its virtues---bred, raised only on pomegranate seeds and mushroom powder. How enchanting is that?"
"But I don't even LIKE chicken," the ponytail swished. "I just..want.. some LETTUCE...."
"Lettuce? Did someone say...lettuce?" spoke a young fellow. On second thought, spoke my geography teacher. "This one has roquefort and lettuce, and nothing else. De-licious."
SWISH. "Ouu...but such a robust combination, no? Roquefort and bread?"
My maths teacher clicked and clacked her toes and came our way. We turned round, looking into her glowing face. "Oh," she said, "I think I found something quite fine..."
She pulled out the chicken sandwich, roquefort-and-lettuce sandwich, and various others that were already discussed, and there emerged two pieces of rye bread.
"Wow, (swish), MUKS!" she smiled.
Saturday
First I thought the night was young. It turned out, it wasn`t....
* * * *
Roaming about the streets, the car was smashed into smithereens. It was just a dream---or so I carelessly reckoned. It might have been real; it might have not. Anyway, he took me by the arms and dragged me down the staircase to straighten this whole ordeal out.
"How were you driving, honestly, to acheive such masterful catastrophe?" he said.
"I LIKE that...," I mumbled. "I do like that theme. Masterful Catastrophe, Masterful Colourful Car Crash Disasters....oh, no, I do not. I just like those suggestive notions, not the contents itself. Surely you...?"
He waved his hand back and forth (absolutely resenting me). "Yeah Yeah Yeah."
I smiled like a tiny fox. Like a glittering little twinkle in this crystal-lonely-universal-ambivalence....
"What's THAT?" he exclaimed, standing up and knocking his brandy glass all over the table. "MUKS." he sighed.
* * * *
A research paper was due the moment we'd all wake up. In a sea of four flattened out matresses; a young man, a monk, a lady, and I---sleeping side by side.
Should an earthquake mess this paper up, "We'll have to evacuate." someone started.
"W-wh-where?" a panicky stutter.
"Nowhere. Great grievances!" a cranky monk fired. "Just rest, my dears, and you shall see...." His arms fluctuated as if he were about to meditate. We all scrambled for our beds. PLOMP! as our backs hit the sheets.
"Shall we?" I said. Our eyes meddled, our minds fiddled with high-low-high fidelity....
I jolted upwards as someone was crawling around my stomach. My dear young man! He must've been sailing the high-low-high, between the ferocious waves, beneath the clawing rocks, besides the lonely sea. Squirming for his life, he managed to escape my whimsical attemps to catch him,
"and eat him?" the lady suggested. Then came a gallery of heartful laughter (ohoho phewy HEHEHE reakakakaka tretetrete Tiiiiish HuHuHuHu!), subsided by a glimpse of the sunlight-shatter...
* * * *
Then there was bliss. Careful touching light, glowing, heartful voices.
--Good Morning.
* * * *
Roaming about the streets, the car was smashed into smithereens. It was just a dream---or so I carelessly reckoned. It might have been real; it might have not. Anyway, he took me by the arms and dragged me down the staircase to straighten this whole ordeal out.
"How were you driving, honestly, to acheive such masterful catastrophe?" he said.
"I LIKE that...," I mumbled. "I do like that theme. Masterful Catastrophe, Masterful Colourful Car Crash Disasters....oh, no, I do not. I just like those suggestive notions, not the contents itself. Surely you...?"
He waved his hand back and forth (absolutely resenting me). "Yeah Yeah Yeah."
I smiled like a tiny fox. Like a glittering little twinkle in this crystal-lonely-universal-ambivalence....
"What's THAT?" he exclaimed, standing up and knocking his brandy glass all over the table. "MUKS." he sighed.
* * * *
A research paper was due the moment we'd all wake up. In a sea of four flattened out matresses; a young man, a monk, a lady, and I---sleeping side by side.
Should an earthquake mess this paper up, "We'll have to evacuate." someone started.
"W-wh-where?" a panicky stutter.
"Nowhere. Great grievances!" a cranky monk fired. "Just rest, my dears, and you shall see...." His arms fluctuated as if he were about to meditate. We all scrambled for our beds. PLOMP! as our backs hit the sheets.
"Shall we?" I said. Our eyes meddled, our minds fiddled with high-low-high fidelity....
I jolted upwards as someone was crawling around my stomach. My dear young man! He must've been sailing the high-low-high, between the ferocious waves, beneath the clawing rocks, besides the lonely sea. Squirming for his life, he managed to escape my whimsical attemps to catch him,
"and eat him?" the lady suggested. Then came a gallery of heartful laughter (ohoho phewy HEHEHE reakakakaka tretetrete Tiiiiish HuHuHuHu!), subsided by a glimpse of the sunlight-shatter...
* * * *
Then there was bliss. Careful touching light, glowing, heartful voices.
--Good Morning.
Paul, Paul, Paul....
Paul McCartney and I slung our bodies halfway over the banisters, leaning over the murky Thames. The river was endlessly gray....gray gray gray gray gray gray gray
But no harm ado; Paul is here....
We were cruising, apparently, in this terrible cold afternoon.
And it was Christmas.
"So this is Christmas...." I started, out of the blue.
"And what have you.... done....." Paul followed. "Another year over...."
"....And a new one just begun...." A huge smile was spread all over my face.
"That's a really nice song, I like it." he said.
"Yeah," I nodded.
And thought:
"The way you say 'year over'....in that special, Paul-ish way....it's brilliant. Simply, outrageous, BRILLIANT...!"
Paul said nothing much as he looked over the horizons with a muzzly-look on his face. A muzzly-look; as if he were going to sneeze and burst out laughing at the exact same time. There were few people around, as we shared a sense of strangely comforting peace.
"...What's your favourite Beatles' song?" Paul asked me, some while after.
"....my all time.....all time... favourite would be, 'I'm Only Sleeping'...and 'Michelle'...!...and 'For No One'. "
Paul shrugged and nodded somewhat proudly.
"And yes," I continued, "I loved that little session you held once."
"Which one?"
"That....awfully little one. Sorry, it didn't leave much of a mark. It was a bit like Roger....Robert Wyatt."
Paul gave me a terribly puzzled look. "Robert Wyatt?"
"Robert Wyatt. He was popular in the sev----"
Then I realised that this may not even be the 70's. Maybe I was enjoying the multi-dollar pleasure of talking to a 60's-Paul McCartney. (WOWS....)
I shrugged.
"He's a cool guy with cool music. You'd like him, he's like a living artform of one of those pictures snipped out of 'Sgt.Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band'."
"Psychedelic, I see."
"Like a pantalone....in striped pants, sky-blue and canary yellow. With a stalk on his head."
"Stalk....a carrot." Paul beamed.
We were a funny bunch.
"Merry Christmas Paul," I mumbled. I adored his young and snug face for an eternity of a second. "Paul....."
"Yeah?"
"...Just live? Please, just live."
Paul gave me a huge-sunshine-blazing smile, and sneezed like a hurricane.
Paul McCartney and I slung our bodies halfway over the banisters, leaning over the murky Thames. The river was endlessly gray....gray gray gray gray gray gray gray
But no harm ado; Paul is here....
We were cruising, apparently, in this terrible cold afternoon.
And it was Christmas.
"So this is Christmas...." I started, out of the blue.
"And what have you.... done....." Paul followed. "Another year over...."
"....And a new one just begun...." A huge smile was spread all over my face.
"That's a really nice song, I like it." he said.
"Yeah," I nodded.
And thought:
"The way you say 'year over'....in that special, Paul-ish way....it's brilliant. Simply, outrageous, BRILLIANT...!"
Paul said nothing much as he looked over the horizons with a muzzly-look on his face. A muzzly-look; as if he were going to sneeze and burst out laughing at the exact same time. There were few people around, as we shared a sense of strangely comforting peace.
"...What's your favourite Beatles' song?" Paul asked me, some while after.
"....my all time.....all time... favourite would be, 'I'm Only Sleeping'...and 'Michelle'...!...and 'For No One'. "
Paul shrugged and nodded somewhat proudly.
"And yes," I continued, "I loved that little session you held once."
"Which one?"
"That....awfully little one. Sorry, it didn't leave much of a mark. It was a bit like Roger....Robert Wyatt."
Paul gave me a terribly puzzled look. "Robert Wyatt?"
"Robert Wyatt. He was popular in the sev----"
Then I realised that this may not even be the 70's. Maybe I was enjoying the multi-dollar pleasure of talking to a 60's-Paul McCartney. (WOWS....)
I shrugged.
"He's a cool guy with cool music. You'd like him, he's like a living artform of one of those pictures snipped out of 'Sgt.Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band'."
"Psychedelic, I see."
"Like a pantalone....in striped pants, sky-blue and canary yellow. With a stalk on his head."
"Stalk....a carrot." Paul beamed.
We were a funny bunch.
"Merry Christmas Paul," I mumbled. I adored his young and snug face for an eternity of a second. "Paul....."
"Yeah?"
"...Just live? Please, just live."
Paul gave me a huge-sunshine-blazing smile, and sneezed like a hurricane.
Thursday
Multiple encounters were met between the two sets of corridors, parallel conversations making their way through the walls, beneath the Earth's surface....
In one corridor;
"I rated those too harshly. I was, you know.... out of my mind then."
"Oh yeah, I couldn't bear to release mine either!"
In another;
"Your report. Is it coming?"
"Well, uh.....sort of, I'd say...."
"Don't look at me so sheepishly, just tell me..."
* * * *
I was driving down the left of a three-lane road. The middle lane was a bypass.
It was surely a thrilling nightmare.
I cranked up my seat lever about 6 times before my face could peer out of the dashboard. I didn't remember anything I'd learned in driving school. Cars were zooming by, one actually confronting me from head first----seconds later, I barely managed to swerve two lanes to the right. I'm not doing anything right....
Some moments later, all is good. I'm on top of everything; my hand is steady, my gaze is held. The car chaos never learns to cease, but it's okay.
Nothing much had changed.
It was just me.
* * * *
My teacher, back two years.
Whatever I said, he averted it.
In one corridor;
"I rated those too harshly. I was, you know.... out of my mind then."
"Oh yeah, I couldn't bear to release mine either!"
In another;
"Your report. Is it coming?"
"Well, uh.....sort of, I'd say...."
"Don't look at me so sheepishly, just tell me..."
* * * *
I was driving down the left of a three-lane road. The middle lane was a bypass.
It was surely a thrilling nightmare.
I cranked up my seat lever about 6 times before my face could peer out of the dashboard. I didn't remember anything I'd learned in driving school. Cars were zooming by, one actually confronting me from head first----seconds later, I barely managed to swerve two lanes to the right. I'm not doing anything right....
Some moments later, all is good. I'm on top of everything; my hand is steady, my gaze is held. The car chaos never learns to cease, but it's okay.
Nothing much had changed.
It was just me.
* * * *
My teacher, back two years.
Whatever I said, he averted it.
Tuesday
Was he pedaling the bike, or not? I was always behind him, stuck together like two pieces of old cardboard craft..but somehow, I don't remember just clearly how we'd gotten there.
A fence. A medium high fence, chunky, made from fine brass. An artwork, it must've been--then it got lost among these countless thoughts, these uninturruptable countless thoughts....
"Up!" he said, and saddled over this metal object.
"I heard she got the announcement," I said, the words coming from the back of my throat. It didn't belong to me; it just came. "Aren't you going to go back soon?"
Something in the far horizons caught his eye. Slowly, he went over to the other side.
He gave me the most curious stare. And; "C'mon."
I soon joined him.
We rode out into the distance without much talk.
Then there began a series of alleys--a labyrinth in this tiny corner of the world.
An underground labyrinth it was, though somehow we never dug deep enough to go under.
Some friends of ours were already waiting. There was light shining like a true silver medal, its rays hovering over their hair. Bits of conversation were exchanged, fickle and miniscule as cookie crumbs.
The tunnel-like passage was long like a pencil, never turning and absolutely never ending. 2 of them sat, far away from eachother. The alley smelt like ancient smoke and velvet, with a hint of something burning.
"Wood chips melting?" someone asked.
"Oh," I suddenly said, "Wood chips."
"What?"
"I remembered this a long time ago."
"What did you remember?"
"This...."
The earth started to rumble and treble. We were inside a zoo, a crash, a saxophone tune! The ceilings were crumbling, falling apart.
Just like that scene from 'Spirited Away'....except there was no hussle of any sort, we were all in a mixed kind of outrageous vanity,
we knew it.
A fence. A medium high fence, chunky, made from fine brass. An artwork, it must've been--then it got lost among these countless thoughts, these uninturruptable countless thoughts....
"Up!" he said, and saddled over this metal object.
"I heard she got the announcement," I said, the words coming from the back of my throat. It didn't belong to me; it just came. "Aren't you going to go back soon?"
Something in the far horizons caught his eye. Slowly, he went over to the other side.
He gave me the most curious stare. And; "C'mon."
I soon joined him.
We rode out into the distance without much talk.
Then there began a series of alleys--a labyrinth in this tiny corner of the world.
An underground labyrinth it was, though somehow we never dug deep enough to go under.
Some friends of ours were already waiting. There was light shining like a true silver medal, its rays hovering over their hair. Bits of conversation were exchanged, fickle and miniscule as cookie crumbs.
The tunnel-like passage was long like a pencil, never turning and absolutely never ending. 2 of them sat, far away from eachother. The alley smelt like ancient smoke and velvet, with a hint of something burning.
"Wood chips melting?" someone asked.
"Oh," I suddenly said, "Wood chips."
"What?"
"I remembered this a long time ago."
"What did you remember?"
"This...."
The earth started to rumble and treble. We were inside a zoo, a crash, a saxophone tune! The ceilings were crumbling, falling apart.
Just like that scene from 'Spirited Away'....except there was no hussle of any sort, we were all in a mixed kind of outrageous vanity,
we knew it.
Monday
Sunday
School. She beamed as she smacked her Chemistry paper against someone's desk.
"I got a ONE HUNDRED!" she shouted.
Some people gawked. Others applauded.
I wasn't there--I was thinking about something stuck in my back, a big red panel with blueish glue glopping down. It felt like a gigantic sticky starfish.
"Fish..." I exclaimed.
"I got a ONE HUNDRED!" she shouted.
The theme was supermarket. We were all aligned, waiting for the bathroom to clear up. The buses had gone on an unexpected strike, and our bodies felt like lumps of coal as we dragged our feet to our stools. I somehow fainted along the way--but nobody took much notice. I jolted upwards and resumed walking; was I only pretending to faint?
Many people kept on congratulating me. I smiled.
I went outside, saw that I'd come out on the most familiar street in the city. Humming, I started to walk home. Then I reckoned I'd forgotten my camera in one of the stools, so I made a quick turn and went back.
The entire city was then wiped out by a massive, beautiful song.
"I got a ONE HUNDRED!" she shouted.
Some people gawked. Others applauded.
I wasn't there--I was thinking about something stuck in my back, a big red panel with blueish glue glopping down. It felt like a gigantic sticky starfish.
"Fish..." I exclaimed.
"I got a ONE HUNDRED!" she shouted.
The theme was supermarket. We were all aligned, waiting for the bathroom to clear up. The buses had gone on an unexpected strike, and our bodies felt like lumps of coal as we dragged our feet to our stools. I somehow fainted along the way--but nobody took much notice. I jolted upwards and resumed walking; was I only pretending to faint?
Many people kept on congratulating me. I smiled.
I went outside, saw that I'd come out on the most familiar street in the city. Humming, I started to walk home. Then I reckoned I'd forgotten my camera in one of the stools, so I made a quick turn and went back.
The entire city was then wiped out by a massive, beautiful song.
Saturday
I couldn't make it in time--my suitcase was far from being completely packed, its contents sprawled all over the bedspread. Such funky little garments; tens and hundreds of vintage buttons, headsets, stereo plugs, pom poms, green furry balls wrapped in cellophane, ginger snaps, bits of magnificent metal screws. I have no idea what made me spread them all over again, but one thing for sure, I just had to pack and had to leave.
ASAP.
Yet I couldn't get packing, no matter what.
Something was creeping from up behind me, I just knew. Creeps Creeps Creeps...
Then everything was brutally revealed--the same icy feeling spiralling down my spine.
Those shouts; those admirations!
* * * *
I was too eager not to talk to him, but there wasn't much of an amiable conversation between us anyway. I reckoned that a long time ago...
"What happens if I don't make it in time?" I asked.
"You fall," he mumbled. "You fall fall fall until there's nothing left no more."
"Now, I'm here. Packing. All along this too familiar dialogue we must have shared some minutes ago------no, wait a minute-----last night!"
So this was a comeback of that scenario. The way I said 'waaaait a minute....' struck me as oddly familiar as well. As if someone, a friend, a long-lost buddy, was speaking through me like a see-through boombox..
"Dance with me?"
I nodded. "No."
ASAP.
Yet I couldn't get packing, no matter what.
Something was creeping from up behind me, I just knew. Creeps Creeps Creeps...
Then everything was brutally revealed--the same icy feeling spiralling down my spine.
Those shouts; those admirations!
* * * *
I was too eager not to talk to him, but there wasn't much of an amiable conversation between us anyway. I reckoned that a long time ago...
"What happens if I don't make it in time?" I asked.
"You fall," he mumbled. "You fall fall fall until there's nothing left no more."
"Now, I'm here. Packing. All along this too familiar dialogue we must have shared some minutes ago------no, wait a minute-----last night!"
So this was a comeback of that scenario. The way I said 'waaaait a minute....' struck me as oddly familiar as well. As if someone, a friend, a long-lost buddy, was speaking through me like a see-through boombox..
"Dance with me?"
I nodded. "No."
Friday
Wednesday
Monday
I was in a foreign land, a very foreign land indeed.
* * * *
Killing time meant spending countless hours around closed coffee shops, merchandise, gift shops. Daytime was a nightmare--the sun was falling, shattering, glistening in wild colours.
We were once all evacuated into a large ballroom. A series of tsunami were evolving right before my eyes, as my mum endlessly chattered on about kitchenware. Nobody noticed how endangered we had become until the first of the series striked the full glass windows, water gushing through from the rubber seams.
Someone screamed.
* * * *
Our way of travelling was usually by car. My dad drove me through a familiar arcade, only to find myself getting questioned by one of his friends (who'd chosen this moment to question me like an authority...), then I went over to my red car and met my maths teacher.
"You drive?" he asked, doubtfully.
"Yes." I answered without much thought. "Do you want me to drop you off somewhere?"
Only it wasn't my car. It was a red taxi---I'd gotten in before I knew it was a mistake.
"Sorry," I said, "Ah--oh well, can we carpool? He needs a ride." I nodded towards my maths teacher.
"Afraid not," the driver replied, "And you, you've got time?"
He then blasted off into infinity, my mind left swept away in some odd new dimension.
* * * *
And then there was Lily, who looked just like Yoko Ono.
I think it was Yoko anyway.
She drove the tiniest cool gadget, something like in between a Jaguar and a Mustang, its beatle-like surface glittering black. Whenever someone abruptly meantioned words like "rich", "lavish", "ridiculously pompous", she'd come roaring down, her car swerving all over the place.
One of the doors was always open when that happened; Lily always saved me.
After the taxi driver had plopped me off on a stranded highway, I somehow managed to find my way back to the arcade. Then I heard a great deal of swishing and revving and screeching, and found Lily waiting for me.
"Get in!" she shouted, "What on earth are you standing there for?"
Everything happened all so quick whenever I was with her--the next moment, we were blitzing through the street life, the night hanging way behind us.
"Lily? Can I ask you a favour?"
"Anything, just about anything," was her usual remark.
"I need some sunshine."
She looked at me with a comical, puzzled smile. "Sunshine?"
* * * *
Killing time meant spending countless hours around closed coffee shops, merchandise, gift shops. Daytime was a nightmare--the sun was falling, shattering, glistening in wild colours.
We were once all evacuated into a large ballroom. A series of tsunami were evolving right before my eyes, as my mum endlessly chattered on about kitchenware. Nobody noticed how endangered we had become until the first of the series striked the full glass windows, water gushing through from the rubber seams.
Someone screamed.
* * * *
Our way of travelling was usually by car. My dad drove me through a familiar arcade, only to find myself getting questioned by one of his friends (who'd chosen this moment to question me like an authority...), then I went over to my red car and met my maths teacher.
"You drive?" he asked, doubtfully.
"Yes." I answered without much thought. "Do you want me to drop you off somewhere?"
Only it wasn't my car. It was a red taxi---I'd gotten in before I knew it was a mistake.
"Sorry," I said, "Ah--oh well, can we carpool? He needs a ride." I nodded towards my maths teacher.
"Afraid not," the driver replied, "And you, you've got time?"
He then blasted off into infinity, my mind left swept away in some odd new dimension.
* * * *
And then there was Lily, who looked just like Yoko Ono.
I think it was Yoko anyway.
She drove the tiniest cool gadget, something like in between a Jaguar and a Mustang, its beatle-like surface glittering black. Whenever someone abruptly meantioned words like "rich", "lavish", "ridiculously pompous", she'd come roaring down, her car swerving all over the place.
One of the doors was always open when that happened; Lily always saved me.
After the taxi driver had plopped me off on a stranded highway, I somehow managed to find my way back to the arcade. Then I heard a great deal of swishing and revving and screeching, and found Lily waiting for me.
"Get in!" she shouted, "What on earth are you standing there for?"
Everything happened all so quick whenever I was with her--the next moment, we were blitzing through the street life, the night hanging way behind us.
"Lily? Can I ask you a favour?"
"Anything, just about anything," was her usual remark.
"I need some sunshine."
She looked at me with a comical, puzzled smile. "Sunshine?"
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