The food was great. In fact, brilliant. Clothes were splendid. Fitted well, looked good. Decorations up with the usual colours : red & green mostly. Tree was lit, place brightened up, clutter of the wine glasses and kitchen utensils together with the unwrapping of gifts were on going. Despite the norm of the practice of the celebration, the joy and excitement of embracing it, was absent this year. To be precise, numbness was present instead. Physically, body was there to invite family and relatives in, to satisfying their well-grown hunger. But, the mind and soul was travelling elsewhere, to a world unknown.
I find honesty and purity of love from some, the countable some. While sarcasm and revenge from a larger portion of the crowd. One or two just butter you up to get into your pants. I wanted to run....away, far away from this charade of "happiness" and act of generosity to the hands of people who love me and respect me for who I am. I wanted to run back to the time Penguin and I were at Old Town burning our lungs to death, or to the time when Ms. Typewriter and I were trying to get high on expired plants. Or to the time where I was dancing happily with people whom I called family, these people who accepted me for the way I am, perfect or imperfect in the eyes of society.
If only I could collect these real joyful moments and bottle them up in an air tight jar, I could just open it anytime and let my mind and soul run back to these moments and drown in them, instead of running to a world unknown.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
ART
A word with only three letters in it, so significant yet undoubtedly meaningful. When someone is asked, what is art, the foremost that crosses his mind is a veteran artist with a paint brush in his hand, scribbling away a painting on an art block. This piece of drawing that is supposed to amaze the world, or better, exist as the seventh wonder of the world.
Art is actually a skill of the human mind in thinking creatively and applying it in whatever that is done. Beauty is art, fashion is art. Every fashion designer is unique in his ways, especially when it comes to being the cream of creams of the fashion industry. For an example, each would try their very best to think out of the box to come up with a creative style to beautify each model to look their very best on the runway. The skill used by the artist to create the special garment creatively, is art.
A nude model posing on the front page of the Cover Girl magazine is art. Simple and natural beauty protruded so merely, showing the world the pride she has with God's work. That is art.
Murder is art. Each killing is pre-planned in detail. Each step has its "Plan B". Precautions are not taken in a trivial way. The prey slashes his victim in specified areas, in order his message is understood crystal clear. Whether the reason was for revenge or just plainly for fun. The victim is the art block, the murderer is the artist, blood smeared all over represents paint, and the murder weapon is the paint brush.
Photography is art. Expression on faces is art. The look of fear, joy, anger and even depression inclines the work of art. Children are art. So innocent, so pure, so gullible, so fragile, yet witty at the same time. Their smile lights the darkest night, their eyes light a pathway in caverns and their laugh....oh their laugh, makes Lucifer, the God of Satan, cry. Now, that is art
"As long as men can breathe, and eyes can see,
As long lives this, and this,
Gives life to thee".
As quoted by Shakespeare in Sonnet 18 when he was comparing the beauty of his beloved to the negative attributes of sumer. The words implied seem so sophisticated, yet rhymes so beautifully when read out loud. The line, "As long as men can breathe and eyes can see" is a longer version of "as long anyone reads this poem", while "as long lives this, and this, gives life to thee" means that the more will people be known about his beloved. It is complete, just like having a plate of brownie topped with Ha'agen Dazz ice cream after enjoying a scrumptious meal at Carcosa Seri Negara. Everything about Shakespeare is literature. Shakespeare is art, literature is art.
Martial is art. The technique used to perform each swing of kick and strike of punch has its own unique way. Contraction of muscles to accelerate power. impulses sent from the brain to quicken each step and twisting of hips are some of the vigorous ways that are learnt and understood thoroughly. That is art.
The bottom line is that, art is just art by itself. There are no masks, no pretentious, just natural. Art can almost be anything. From the most perfect and sceptical matter, to the treachery and sordid lifestyle of the slums. It all depends on the perspective of a person on art.
Art is actually a skill of the human mind in thinking creatively and applying it in whatever that is done. Beauty is art, fashion is art. Every fashion designer is unique in his ways, especially when it comes to being the cream of creams of the fashion industry. For an example, each would try their very best to think out of the box to come up with a creative style to beautify each model to look their very best on the runway. The skill used by the artist to create the special garment creatively, is art.
A nude model posing on the front page of the Cover Girl magazine is art. Simple and natural beauty protruded so merely, showing the world the pride she has with God's work. That is art.
Murder is art. Each killing is pre-planned in detail. Each step has its "Plan B". Precautions are not taken in a trivial way. The prey slashes his victim in specified areas, in order his message is understood crystal clear. Whether the reason was for revenge or just plainly for fun. The victim is the art block, the murderer is the artist, blood smeared all over represents paint, and the murder weapon is the paint brush.
Photography is art. Expression on faces is art. The look of fear, joy, anger and even depression inclines the work of art. Children are art. So innocent, so pure, so gullible, so fragile, yet witty at the same time. Their smile lights the darkest night, their eyes light a pathway in caverns and their laugh....oh their laugh, makes Lucifer, the God of Satan, cry. Now, that is art
"As long as men can breathe, and eyes can see,
As long lives this, and this,
Gives life to thee".
As quoted by Shakespeare in Sonnet 18 when he was comparing the beauty of his beloved to the negative attributes of sumer. The words implied seem so sophisticated, yet rhymes so beautifully when read out loud. The line, "As long as men can breathe and eyes can see" is a longer version of "as long anyone reads this poem", while "as long lives this, and this, gives life to thee" means that the more will people be known about his beloved. It is complete, just like having a plate of brownie topped with Ha'agen Dazz ice cream after enjoying a scrumptious meal at Carcosa Seri Negara. Everything about Shakespeare is literature. Shakespeare is art, literature is art.
Martial is art. The technique used to perform each swing of kick and strike of punch has its own unique way. Contraction of muscles to accelerate power. impulses sent from the brain to quicken each step and twisting of hips are some of the vigorous ways that are learnt and understood thoroughly. That is art.
The bottom line is that, art is just art by itself. There are no masks, no pretentious, just natural. Art can almost be anything. From the most perfect and sceptical matter, to the treachery and sordid lifestyle of the slums. It all depends on the perspective of a person on art.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Louie
Oh, how wonderful today is,
The sun is shining bright,
The breeze is warm and welcoming,
I can still feel how you jumped onto me last night,
Licking me,
And wishing me good night,
And now,
I find you lying so at ease,
In body, mind and soul.
As I jump out of bed,
You tag along,
Leaving the messed up room the way it is.
As I prepare breakfast,
You start tickling my legs with yours,
Giving me the feeling of comfort being with you,
Everything was just fine.
It has been a week since we talked,
You never come over,
No more sleep-overs,
Like we used to have.
Was it something I did?
Or was it something I said?
Now, you are gone,
Leaving me cold and alone,
With no one to hold me,
Cuddle me,
Tickle me,
Like you used to.
I miss you, my friend,
My lover, my boo,
I will never forget you, Louie,
Oh, my dearest cat.
The sun is shining bright,
The breeze is warm and welcoming,
I can still feel how you jumped onto me last night,
Licking me,
And wishing me good night,
And now,
I find you lying so at ease,
In body, mind and soul.
As I jump out of bed,
You tag along,
Leaving the messed up room the way it is.
As I prepare breakfast,
You start tickling my legs with yours,
Giving me the feeling of comfort being with you,
Everything was just fine.
It has been a week since we talked,
You never come over,
No more sleep-overs,
Like we used to have.
Was it something I did?
Or was it something I said?
Now, you are gone,
Leaving me cold and alone,
With no one to hold me,
Cuddle me,
Tickle me,
Like you used to.
I miss you, my friend,
My lover, my boo,
I will never forget you, Louie,
Oh, my dearest cat.
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