it’s raining, it’s pouring, the old man is snoring

It started out as a mere trickle, which increased in intensity, fluidity and certainty barely a few minutes later.

I strained the saucers of my ears to the ceiling above, trying to detect the sudden sense of urgency that had somehow seeped through its porous surface.

Is it raining?

Leaping to the window, I gently separated the patterned folds of the venetian blinds to a softly illuminated rooftop of darkness and light, caught redhanded in play, in co-existent harmony and motion.

I can’t tell.

The shadow play of darkness and light reminded me of a story of Rara Cat rescuing Kittykot (and TP dog) you once wrote, and I wholeheartedly believed in. I wished it had been true. For their sake. For our sake.

It must be raining. It must, it must, it must…

Firmly, I tugged on the latch of the window, wanting to expose the viscera of my room to its outer exponenents of light and shadow. I held my breath, felt my heart twist itself into a pretzel, strained my aural capabilitites one last time in vain to search for the rain and in one almighty, forceful move, threw the window open-

Splat! Splat! Splat!

Raindrops, raindrops! Rain!

It’s raining, it’s pouring as the man without a shirt in the humidity of the night sleeps on the downstair sofa– as sound as little Johnny who cannot get out to play because of the rain.

I hope he smiled in his sleep because he knew that I had wished so very hard for the rain to fall so that he might sleep a little easier.

He must have.

~D.

parched

I saw her in the pictures, and I thought ‘If only I could have gone, I would have been her’.

Her smile brimmed with so much joy, I thought it would overflow all the way down to her muddy shoes, and onto the multicoloured grass made of discfuls of happiness.

I saw him, sleeping on the couch. Shirtless and old.

And I thought ‘If only I didn’t do what I did, he wouldn’t have been there’.

Heart filled with lead, mouth dried, as fingers stiffened and cried.

Howled.
~D.

002-192563

When something becomes a number.

A.

how to save a life

Am I running out of vocabulary?
 
Perhaps I am, and perhaps I’m not. At times I don’t know what to say, and at times it feels like a barrage of questions are creeping like termites crawling up a piece of rotting wood, and I am so very tempted to vomit it out.
 
But I didn’t. Along with the frothing mouthfuls of very milky coffee and undissolved sugar, and the happy sphere of a girl with a candy bar for a shirt, I swallow the niggling questions. The sugar grains in the liquid feel out of place, like they are trespassing in an arcane place where they had no right at all to be.
 
Waiting for the producer of her self-directed movie to collect her thoughts, as she sits there, with an wandering, unsteady look in her eyes.
 
What could she have been thinking about? Those eyes have seen much more than I and most people have, perhaps. They blink inconspicuously, rest on the chocolate precipitate on the plastic cover of her drink, and I wondered:
 
Perhaps she was thinking about the undissolved bits of chocolate as well, and how they lie there, ostracized, neither solid, nor liquid. Not in the cup, nor out of it. Merely existing, occupying a state of mind and life frame but serving no one as they lie there, unmoving, unwilling..

trapped.
 
Perhaps she was thinking of how much we ourselves, including her, resemble those bits of unmelted sugar and chocolate that lie there, awaiting everything and nothing at all for an indefinite period of time. 
 
How do we save others when we can’t save ourselves?
 
Natai.
 
 

shots

I don’t feel like blogging on my proper blog.

Someone once said I could be a Chinese tea connoisseur. It made me laugh. I drink a lot of tea, yeah; but almost always in the wrong way.

For instance, now I’m blindly downing teacups and teacups of concentrated, cold Chinese tea.

You could give me the cheapest tea on sale and I couldn’t tell the difference in my current state of mind.

Something like downing shots and shots of vodka, only I just remembered that might never be possible anymore.

I’ve lost count of the times I’ve asked, Are you ok?

A.

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need to want

People often ask me a very natural question. It’s so natural this question probably flits through hair, brushes shoulders, tickles eardrums

What do you want?

It’s a simple question with complicated answers. But almost always. I look back, in their eye, I say

I want what you cannot give me.

Right now I want to delve into my blankets and wait for the world to end.

Drown in a multitude of sighs. But time stops for no man, the world ends for no one.

7th – 22nd April.

Hmmmmm!

A.

Along the river

We are now in practically the same boat; you, with more exciting adventures ahead, and I,

facing the end of fantasies.

A.

I’m sorry I don’t feel like talking.

I wish I didn’t have to post this.

A.