In Scratch Papers

I wonder if my screws up here are still tight and working. Lately, I just couldn't think of anything to write, though I have this desperately stimulated mood to write. In the end, nothing comes out of me but stupid rants and confessions. Have I lost all my senses? too confined? too indulgent in my imperfections? I feel like I'm at my limit. I'm breaking down, but it doesn't seem to show. But I think I am. I don't understand. I notice myself becoming less at peace in my sleep. I get sudden bursts of stimulation. Sometimes, I find myself at the edge of talking. I seem to moan. Or groan. Perhaps my secrets are haunting me. Perhaps they are.

Master of the Sword

Prologue

Breathe in,
Gather all your strength,
Muster all your courage for the session.
Breathe out,
Give it all your best,
There is more to learn in your submission.

The Conspiracy

This is getting obvious,
The subject of attention,
Determined to keep it,
Undeniably disturbed.

I'm careful in the process,
The blade, it moves in silence,
It kills, it cuts, it's sordid,
A walking broken life.

This is getting obvious,
The sword, it moves in silence,
The story is tragic, I'm damaged,
A walking broken life.

And I am on the go,
A culprit on the dim-lit streets,
I'm good at almost anything,
The master of the blade.

The Conclusion

Goodnight...

Random Lines

Misbehavior

I'm putting all the pieces in their places now,
The picture, undesirable,
I build it right before your very eyes,
Every perfect guess betrays your face,
You are cornered, there's no way you could escape,
Is your guardian angel dead?

Stop it there, I see your nimble fingers move,
Your motivations are in mood,
I can feel your silent urge to do it good,
It's anticipated, I'm protected, crime is caught,
You are cornered, you can't run the way you should,
You can't run, no way you could.

Sensitivities

Widely opened eyes that barely see the sight,
Words I bury in dislike,
Twisted mindset, twisting mindsets to the dark,
Guard our distance right, it's awful now,
I can't take it, I won't say I feel alright,
I take safe steps to a fight.

This Song

Every hundred years you find a falling star,
Magical it makes you smile,
Wonderful unlike the other ones you'll find,
You can claim it yours and say a prayer,
You can keep it and be happy all your life,
In a short but glorious scene,
Keep it so close,
Make it all yours.

Every hundred years you find a rainy day,
So outstanding you can stay
Wet and drowned in all the moment's ecstasy,
Gather all the raindrops, keep them all,
Wash away the doubts and all your fears of fall,
You can stay this way for sure,
Give your heart now,
Take my heart now.

I can dance the way you want the dance to be,
We can do it silently,
I will write you letters till my pen runs dry,
You can break my chest or take me whole,
You can watch me as I help a star to fall,
Say the word, you're in control,
Make the night glow,
Make the joy flow.

You can break my chest or take me whole,
Wash away the doubts and fears of fall,
We will stay this way for sure,
Keep my heart close,
Watch our night glow.

Alone, I Walk to Foreign Lands

Alone, I walk to foreign lands,
Where man and heaven meet,
I leave my heart to where I was,
I dare not take it there.

I leave my heart in safety,
I'm half an angel, half a man,
I leave my heart in safety,
I'm a lover, I'm a gentleman.

Alone, I walk to foreign lands,
Handcuffed and blindfolded,
I tread the path of long dead men,
I pray I find my way.

Another Song for Mary Jane

Again for Mary Jane I write this song,
Inspired by thousand splendid smiles,
I write to break my secret,
I write to say I dream of you,
And I don't love you at all.

There's a virus in my blood,
There's a parasite in my heart,
I keep skeletons in my mind,
This is torment, cure this agony,
Again, Mary Jane is at my side.

Amygdalas, Aggression and Sexual Behavior

The lymbic system, especially the amygdala has a considerable control over a person's aggressive behavior and sexual life. Damage in the amygdala causes spells of aggressive behavior and disturbed sexual life. In an experiment with rhesus monkeys, it was discovered that removing the temporal lobes (and thus the amygdalas and parts of the lymbic sysem) caused the monkeys to be gentle and placid. What's more? They became oversexed. The males would attempt to mount anything, including inanimate objects (like Adam Sandler's stupid dog in Click). The females would attempt to have sex even with such strange 'partners' as water faucets.

It helps to check your amygdalas from time to time if it's still intact.

So take care of your amygdalas. Or indulge in removing them. :P

Murder in the Backyard

What is fear?

This is the situation: You are Mrs. Prancy. Newly wed to a handsome man working 50 miles from home. Beautiful. Witty. And really beautiful. You are on your way to bed. You are tired of a whole day's work washing the clothes, the carpets, and the blankets - oh! You just can't sleep yet. Your blanket is still in the backyard. You've got to get it first. As you open the door, you hear a mysterious sound. It alarms you and you pause for a moment to think. You could open the door as wide and as quick as possible like crazy and explode into a petrifying noise to scare off that filthy intruder, or you can slowly open the door and check if the sound was only made by a stupid cat astray. You decide to check it the safe way. You slowly turn the knob, careful not to make even the slightest noise, distancing yourself a little from the door just in case a bloodthirsty axe catches you off-guard and hacks your face into halves. Slowly you peep through the door. No axe. Your eyes scanned the area as fast as the human eyeballs are capable of. Nothing. You gave a sigh of relief, but a sudden gasp cut it out. A ghost! No. Perhaps you're just having an optical illusion. It happens all the time, right? It could be light. It could be something. But what something? You don't know. Cellophane? Plastic bag? What the hell is that? It certainly has a form. It certainly is moving! So what on earth could be white as ghost, moving like a tasty jellyfish waiting for onions and garlic? Aliens? No. Perhaps a murderer on the loose, wearing ghost costume to kill its victims with heart attack - or a bloodthirsty axe. Whatever. Perhaps a lucky madman who found the freaking way out of the asylum. Your mind is flying. You are thinking of axes, rusty foot-long butcher knives; chains around your delicate body while you are chopped inch-by-inch, sliced like meat, roasted alive, eaten by some satanic freaks! There are endless possibilities. Any way, you're dead.

So you stayed up all night. It was not until morning that you felt safe. You survived the night. You checked the backyard, that time, a little confident the evil thing was gone. The first thing you saw was white. It was white like a ghost, moving like a jellyfish. It was your blanket. Go to bed, coward.

Letter to the Dead: My Sweet Disease

You don't know it is till it's there,
Every bite at first is sweet,
Just a chocolate-coated strawberry,
And a sugar-coated chocolate chip cookie.

It's not radioactive,
Not a bomb that blows your guts,
Not a poison, sour or bitter,
Just a sugar-coated chocolate chip cookie.

Then you find a warning sign,
Like the one that says, "Don't drink and drive,"
Still, you tried, and died one night,
But then, you found another chance.

You can run, but not escape,
All roads end, so don't waste time,
There's a path through that drug,
Against the chocolate-coated strawberry.

Cookie Jar Delights

Was it good when I did it?
Paper roses sweet as real,
Did you feel it like you wanted?
Like your first ride on the ferris wheel.

I'm an actor, I'm an expert,
I'm the writer of the script,
I am fighting in my head,
I shall keep it like my breath.