Belladonna

Of a thousand guises
black irises loom large
o’er the hills grey and hushed.
Rising, rising, you have risen
from the ashes, soaring
diamond eyes, blue, cross-boned,
now swirls of scarlet perfume.

Morning

My day hasn’t ended yet. When my day job concludes, my side projects revv to insistent life. It’s not everybody’s cup of tea, this furious momentum that picks up as quickly as it dwindles, in fits and starts, but the challenge and the thrill of the chase is immensely heady, headier than conquest or posession. Still, there will be times, like tonight, when I question if everything’s worth it. And then I am reminded of this apocryphal gem I once read, which celebrated the existence of self-doubt, only because it gives you resolve, it cements your decision, it spurs you to greater, more rewarding heights.

I’m glad I found time though, to squeeze in a little mano-o-mano chat with my boss over drinks tonight. Even if some of the things I’ve pursued, or am pursuing as we speak, are those that I mustn’t speak of, or breathe a single word to, I’m more certain than ever that I’m on the right track. No matter if in a year or two, I might be elsewhere striving for the glow of academic achievement, or meandering still in the muck of my present profession, mapping unchartered terrorities.

And of course, in light of everything that’s churning and groaning, this relentless driving hunger sets the stage for a healthy deluge of distraction. Right up til the point I stop bending, and b-b-b-br-break.

Flight

During our little tete-a-tete at the ground floor of the office block, the two of us delved into a rather hapless, jaded discussion about patterns of behavior. When I asked why a certain individual would choose a mode of action that completely defies reason or justification, she merely looked at me, the light drawn out of her eyes, and shrugged, “Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.” And for a while, I was speechless, and vexed for the rest of the day.

On the way home, still lost in a wave of ennui, I’d decided to take a long chilly walk down to Tanjong Pagar Train Station for a Ramly. I didn’t get my burger, but I spent a few timeless minutes staring at the ticket counter, looking at the fares advertised for overnight trips down to KL. And for a moment, for a long, agonising moment, I was tempted to march right up to the sleepy-eyed attendent and purchase a one-way ticket out of here, into south of nowhere. Never comin’ back.

This fight-or-flight response. This burning hunger to disappear and diffuse. Haven’t felt this way — the dissolution of the inclination to fight, to press on against the odds — for a long, long while. And I don’t know which is more harrowing: fight or flight.

We only get what we give

Kinda sorta like the soundtrack of my waking hours these days. Don’t let go/ One dance left/ This world is gonna pull through/ You’ve got a reason to live/ Don’t forget/ You only get what you give. After running all those miracle miles, I’m feeling this.. swirling surge of raw, crushing passion that be worked off somehow. Since circumstances have come to a point where the faint undying wish to traverse a path untravelled — together — has finally crumbled into ash, maybe it’s time I get back on the prowl, bleed off this excessive frenetic energy… and finally get what I’ve given?

Neon lights and writhing bodies. Alkies and the miasma of a ravenous soundscape. It sounds better the more I think of it.

I’m not too sure. But hell, I’ve got the dreamers’ disease. Can you deal with that?