Lyrad's Demesne

and I wake up

2009-04-27T06:27:00.003+08:00

Something wasn't right, something was missing. No, not something...someone. Questions of where is he? are met with panicked flinching and non-committal shrugs at best, blank stares at worst. Dread sinks in, fear's claws tighten. It stirs action, yet turns feet to lead. Sharpens the senses, yet dulls perception. Quickens the heart, yet slows its beat.

After too long, she finds me. "I didn't want to tell you this earlier,". Oh no. I don't want to know. But how can I not? That feeling of premonition and trepidation, where your senses whisper to you your darkest fears before your mind can rationalise it, seeps into my heart. "They found him near one of the temples." My sense of balance gives way, my legs moments after. As I fall, time acquires an elastic, spongy quality. I register my face hitting the floor, the left side of my teeth cracking against the unyielding stone. I don't feel it. All I can feel is a hollow emptiness, like staring into a deep chasm. A horror so dark it seems to suck at your soul. A sorrow beyond feeling.

Brutal, unforgiving images flash by, supplied by morbid imagination, of the slaughter that I know to have happened. Somewhere, dimly, something tells me I should be hurting someone, maiming something. But I can't even move, let alone feel angry. I can't see. I can't breathe.

Soon, it all stops, and I wake up.

It takes me long seconds to realise where I am, to even remember why I feel so weird. Then the dream comes back in shattered fragments, like a mirror shattering in reverse. The memory brings with it a wave of panic, and a need to rationalise and reassert my grip on this reality.

Seriously, what a horrible dream. I'm pretty sure I didn't do anything to deserve that.

49 Days

2008-09-23T23:13:00.004+08:00

It's shocking how quickly we fall back into our routines, especially the ones we work so hard to break. With a feeling that could probably be best described by regulars at the rehab centers, we walk down the ones we hate and love the most with reassuring familiarity. You tell yourself that some things, for better or worse, good or bad, don't change and depending on which side of the fence you're on, with a smile or sigh.

Despite loving travel and exploring new worlds, I find that too long in any one place makes me restless. If not restless, then complacent. If not that, then some form of depressive rut takes me. I fall quickly into bad habits and routines, for various different reasons. I don't know if it's because I've been around too long, but here in Melbourne it happens all too quickly, and all too easily. Perhaps I am creating familiarity for myself, or it's just this city. Whatever it is, I find myself measuring time in days 'till I get on the plane to KL. I worry sometimes that five, ten years down the road I'll look back and say "I didn't know what I had in Melbourne", just like what happened to me while I was in KL. I mean, I knew I had it good in KL, but I just didn't know HOW good.

Maybe it's just me, but I find something about Melbourne inherently depressing, and there's something that just doesn't sit well with me and this city. Lobov mentioned it's the difference between a Western and an Eastern-based city. I read once that to really be happy in life, you needed three things; someone to love, something to look forward to, and something to do. I suppose it could be that I've never really had any three of these things together in one place.

It's been 2 trips back to KL since I last posted, and since then I've been breathing easier, laughing louder and smiling more. People used to say I was best seen with a drink in hand, but really I'm at my best at home.

Elizabeth?

2007-12-09T04:55:00.000+08:00

So I had finally passed my test and sat through 12 hours worth of mind-numbingly boring lectures, spent enough hours with a cranky instructor and was sitting the final bit of the driving test. Cramped into a box with 4 wheels and an engine I sat, for ages, waiting in a long line of potential motorists for my turn to perform unrealistically unimaginative maneuvers before unenthusiastic uninterested examiners.

'Jangan bukak radio d'gan aircon!' we were warned. Fair advice, given that the cars were fickle enough as it was. Stalling the engine was an automatic failure, and the cars didn't need much encouragement. But after hours of mind-crushing boredom and body-crushing heat, common sense tends to be forgotten. 'To hell with that'. Up goes the volume, and the air conditioning follows suit. Soon I'm singing along to a favoured song, a 6ft boy rocking out in a car clearly designed for midgets and clowns.

I look into the rear view mirror, there's a girl. She's rocking out too, her mouth forming the same words. We look at each other through the mirrors, laugh, and keep each other company throughout the long wait, separated by glass and metal, conversing through the shared airwaves and our reflections.

We go through our test, grinning and daring the other to do it faster (I scraped the car doing this, nobody knows..except her, maybe). We pass, and we sit at the nearby canteen. We talk for ages, about everything near and dear to us, except about ourselves, oddly. We exchanged numbers, and promises that we'd meet up soon. We go off with our separate driving groups, the day at an end.

I lost my handphone the next day. It's been almost 3 years since, but I still think about it. I'm left with a fading image, and a vague feeling that I've been scammed out of something really amazing and beautiful. I still think about the great 'what if', and toy with the idea that one day I might serendipitously meet her again.

I'm sorry, I really meant to call.

I think her name was Elizabeth. I forget.

Diving

2007-11-06T00:06:00.000+08:00

An exam hall sounds like what you hear when you go diving.

It is soundless, but for the rustle and crack of papers, pens and chairs, muffled yet distinct, swallowed into the cavernous depths of the exam hall.

Glances spared between the watch on your wrist, and the examiners prowling amongst the chairs and tables.

The slight feelings of dread, as they loom over your shoulder, then drift away, disinterested.

Moments of panic, as you realise your time is short.

Then the first deep breath of fresh air as you emerge.

It is a noun.

2007-11-04T09:26:00.000+08:00

What is a relationship?

It is knowing someone thinks about you before they sleep.

It is something to come home to.

It is a place where you're you.

It is picking up broken things, and piecing them together again.

It is someone who thinks of you when they wake up.

It is an equal game of tug and pull, checks and balances.

It is where somebody will make it okay.

It is wanting to be all the above, without condition.

It is uniquely and individually defined.

It is being loved, and in love.

It is something many look for, few truly find, and even less appreciate.

Being in a relationship is like being in a locked cage with a 1,200-pound gorilla that's menstruating with severe stomach cramps and the key has been shoved up it's ass.

A Hidden Tune

2007-06-09T05:58:00.000+08:00

Reality slips in and out of my sleep. Questing tendrils reach into my mind and steal away my dreams. Both my worlds are fragmented, reality and dream indistinguishable. They blend into each other, and I am suspended in the limbo of half-sleep, neither resting nor awake.

My consciousness splits accordingly, two weaves of the same cloth running parallel. One plays the observer, the archivist, the other an oblivious dancer, puppet to a hidden tune. With mild interest, one watches the other, and begins to discern the steps to the dance. Each is unique, born from a moment in time, captured in memory, played in sleep. A spark of conversation, a touch of humor. A hint of hurt, shadowed by pride. Disquieting fear, and a rumor of hope.

Other dancers flow out, their steps merging seamlessly. They are in a grand ballroom, vast beyond imagining, the walls stretching away from view. As they dance, they brush against each other. Some are the barest of whispers of skin upon skin. Others are passionately locked, ignoring all around them. Some dance alone in the shadows, trapped in a monologue of their own. And yet others still, come close, tantalisingly close, but never in contact. There are those that just stand, and gaze longingly, at a dance where they have a place in, but no steps.

Abruptly they stop. Frozen in time, they start to lose their consistency. Fading away, ghosts of memories brought to life, their time is up. Reality breaks through. The realities merge, with a shudder the world settles. It is before dawn.

Wonderful Times

2007-06-08T00:43:00.000+08:00

The early mornings are wonderful times. Fresh, sweet, crisp, the very air itself is delicious with scents, such promises the mornings hold. The near-magical sanctity of the quiet that pervades the dawn lingers on in the silent smiles that people share.

In the afternoon, the day becomes languid, and tempts you into all manner of places; that shady spot on the grass, that dancing patch of gold beneath the boughs of a tree. It almost becomes thick with apathy, such is it's demands that you be dozing, lightly resting your eyes, that the world becomes a droning, and thoughts swim laboriously through the drowsy fog.

When darkness falls, the world becomes even brighter. Senses are heightened as the world is thrown into sharp relief, and the crass and tired sense that is sight gives way to the intense ardor that is the other four. And so beguiled by the seductive mystery that flows into the corners untouched by moonlight I breathe in deeply the bewitching air...And choke, on car exhaust.

Ah, the city.

Tea, with Apples.

2007-06-03T07:18:00.001+08:00

It is the early morning. I no longer miss the quiet sanctity of the mornings, nor do I long for the sunrise.

I am having tea, with apples.

I stayed up the whole night, and did nothing productive. I read 2 new webcomics, finished reading Orwell's Animal Farm (sub-par really, next to 1984) drew up vague outlines of my coming assignment, and spent several minutes cursing in vibrant language at various deities, karmic life plans and general idealogies.

It will be two days until my 80% paper is due. I have barely started work on this. It is likely for the remainder of today I will fall into a fitful, interrupted sleep. I will not say that I am procrastinating. The word implies that eventually, I will do the job, probably in the nick of time. No, I do not profess to be the Lord of Procrastination. Instead, I am lifting up the Ancient and Revered Art of Laziness beyond the levels mere mortals hope to achieve, transcending the mundane, and am on the very cusp of becoming the patron divinity of Laziness. And LO, I shall be a just and mighty God, for I have many worshippers, and will bestow upon them all the blessings of my soon-to-be pantheon.

Visions of madness aside, I am probably well and truly fucked for this assessment, and my divine powers do not manifest until after I fail this term.

And what is it with Karma these days? I already know that I am failing miserably in at least one aspect of my life, I really don't need all these constant reminders cropping up everywhere like really bad sitcom cliches. OK, perhaps I do, seeing as how my ego and self-confidence sometimes borders on outright arrogance and cockiness, but startlingly harsh self-examination aside, do I really deserve all this? It's not like I'm being 'tested' by some deity, as I clearly do not subscribe to any after-life insurance schemes, and so what if I'm being an asshole about some things? Being a gentleman certainly hasn't been the pinnacle of achievement, and Wilde had said that "It is absurd to divide people into good and bad. People are either charming or tedious." Then again, most of these 'failings' are by my own hand, normally in some ironic fashion or another, in an almost macabre manner by my contradicting idealism. Either they are the result of an upbringing firmly rooted in storybooks and fairytales, or from mildly disenchanting reality-induced revelations. Then again, the entire argument is rooted in morality, making the point moot.

"I can resist everything except temptation". Also, ironically, while on the subject I am using quotes from a homosexual man. Clearly this cannot be the most encouraging of things, at this moment. This might be construed as the work of an opposing deity, to hinder my ascension to God-hood. And the time spent on this post might have finished about 1/12 of my impending assignment.

AH, Irony; when wilt thou release me from thine humorous-yet-sadistic embrace? When I ascend, Thou shalt be the first to join my pantheon, and will sit at my side as Queen. The irony implicit in mine Godly logic is infallible, and it will be so.

On an entirely unrelated note, the other day I saw this dog, it was like a small pony, except with fangs and claws, and I think it could smell the souls of small children. It was called Daisy, and I petted it. Behold, it shall be the Keeper of My Underworld, and devour the souls of heathens!

I am having tea, with apples.

An Excellent Choice, Sir

2007-06-01T21:42:00.000+08:00

I spoke a grand total of five(5!) times yesterday. And it wasn't terribly profound things, nor words of great importance.

In Saba: "Do you have this in small?" & "Thanks."

David Jones: "I'd like to buy this", "credit" & "Thanks."

I pointed at my throat and pretended to be mute everywhere else. It's not like I woke up and decided to be mute...It was just an already noisy day, and I saw no need to add to it. The wind howled all night, the streets thronged with irritating schoolgirls,

"likeohmaygawdIknowthatbitchshestolemylookletsgoMaxBee"
(real words, I swear)

and there were far too many impatient (or incompetent) drivers on the roads. The time I spent outside was with my housemate's iPod at full blast, like a veritable audio-spacesuit, shielding me from the harsh noises of humanity (ironically to be replaced by the not-so-harsh voices issuing forth from the earphones).

This is the punishment, I suppose, for waking up consistently after 3pm. That I miss the quiet sanctity of the mornings, and live instead in a constant clutter of meaningless noises. With just an iPod for protection, that I might have some choice in what I hear.

"Good evening sir. Would you like the Crapshit today, or the Shitcrap? Or perhaps I could interest you in the day's special?"

"What's the day's special?"

"Two burly men will roll you around in an enticing mix of Bull with shit and/or crap, and then slice off your ears."

"I'll take the Crapshit, thanks."

"An excellent choice, sir."

To Ignore, and be Ignored, by the World at Large.

Closing Time

2007-05-26T18:12:00.000+08:00

Doom is heralded and approaching, slowly encroacing,
in my mind seditious thoughts do feature and breed.
Yet in valour I am constant and unbending,
for chivalrous I am, both in nature and deed!

Slowly mine heart with blood, with pain be stain'd,
for even the strongest of spirits cannot forever endure.
When so swiftly the kindling flame of hope is dimm'd
long have it's companions been doubt and constant failure.

To look upon so bleak a future, with it's dark aridity,
and yet dare to face it with courage, tenacity, audacity.
To laugh at life's crudity, to brave a harsh reality,
I shall be faithful in love and dauntless in adversity!

"I woke up and just hated everything." I've always wanted to say that! Now I actually have an occasion to. Not that I hated anything today, this was largely done on impulse. But it IS a start of something else, hopefully something new, different and good.

"Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end" - Closing Time, by Semisonic

ps. sorry liss, but since when have I ever listened to you? =)