there is no autumn here.
there is no transition from summer to winter.
there is no in between darkness and light.
there is absolutely no movement.

there is a psychedelic flux of colours in the mind
there are seasons in the closed gaze
flow! time is still here.
stillness coupled with silence.

so sorry, yes I am.
to leave me alone to be a better man.
only stories have to end.
but we men only end our stories with tombstones.

free to die!
please don't cry for me.
please don't be sad.
close my book when it must end.

i am flying.
stationary, perpetual, unearthing the secrets of nothingness.
i am still.
moving, ending, hiding behind the backstage of luminosity.

there is no rhyme to the song.
there is no melody to the poem.
there is no reason to read this aloud.
there is no time for this.

you mourn for the death of nobody.
your tears are wasted on the Neverman.
the man who never was and never would be.
so sorry, I was.

to leave him to die.
time doesn't understand
my pain of my betrayal.
but all stories still have to end.

must they?
Life, we all must go.
goodnight, we must sleep.
time to wake to another day, and another, and another.

don't pity me.
there is no reason to.
it's just a narcissistic projection.
it isn't your pain, it's mine.

we all know this familiarity.
a gulf that hope digs up.
yes, a familiar leap to death.
across the pit of dark space.

Behold!
there is nothing to see.
nothing. just a black void.
only the faithless sees.

no guarantee you'll see.
save for a hopeful faith.
only time will tell.
ah...I heard that for all infinity.

dream!
dream of your unconscious.
warning you of your consciousness.
and there you see all your pain, sorrows lusts, sins, dreams, hopes, prayers, black, rainbow,

don't be sad,
don't be happy,
there really isn't time for emotions.
don't be crazy.

be mute, but don't be crazy.
madness drives you to negation.
it eats your life away.
be silent. but never stagnant.

the river can be crossed twice.
river of answers.
haha!
I laugh at this proposal.

this can go on forever,
where was I?
autumn? yes. autumn.
there is no autumn here.

just my memory of it.
never mind the distortion of it.
night comes and ends and comes.
back to the hotbed of dreams.

close your eyes and pray
who or what do you see?

when i am in front of you
i cease to be me
when i am with myself
i cease to be me
so who am i?
i am everything i am and am not
i am everything you want me to be or not
i am who i am
and not
and embodied.

while some of us merry and tarry in absolute faith of hope
others weep and seep into despair;
to the millions who died for the sins of men,
to the millions who in despair sinned.

singapore should be understood through her pores.
squeeze them and you will find the answers.
perhaps, if you search deep enough
you'll find out something
that singa's pores really make
singapore unique.
perpetually vomiting out.
love her for not what she is told to be.

i remember the Neverman.
let me be silent about it.

the posthumous archetype
the child is whoever man is not
the child is post-man
the child is pre-man
the child shows man who he/she is to be
and who he or she is to live as
and who he or she is to die as
a child
helpless
crying
curious
bored
needy
adorably irritating
but in them everything is forgivable
be childlike
less man, still man and die as a child
in truth, we are nothing but a child refusing to be a child

nothing will come out of nothing
yes.
(nothing)
nothing is nothing.
not no thing
but nothing.

between life.
between death.
the birth
the living
the dying.
love.
time on the walls.
looking on.
the passing on.
i gaze
onwards
beyond
i can't say goodbye.
byes are not good.
but those smiles leave an everlasting trace,
of some memory that lasts for a certain time
you run a lonely race
but you run beside time
between life and death

you can never capture life.
you can never know beyond death.

in madness.

i need to leave soon. live alone. and cook alone.
ok...more like i need to be independent again.
before my cooking becomes figures, and numbers, and plotted on
pay curves of the top 1000 earners.
ok. it's not always greener overseas.
but at least i learn to live without being wok-feed.
i prefer to do my own cooking.
time to embark on a new journey!
of cooking.

move. stop. move. stop. move. stop. move
i stop. no matter how long i am going to type, i have to stop at some point in time.
stop. move. stop. move. stop.
read.stop.
the point that one finishes reading is the point of stopping.

nonsense. you move on. onto something else. but it's still a stop isn't it?
moving on. move.
now..really stop. as if time really stops. and then think soooooooooooo hard. and what do you see?
see.

it's impossible to stop.
in as much as i can stop writing.
so stop lorry.
and let the perception move.
consciousness move where objects don't.

"le Mensch sole kunoor fida le sola schloe daa shite"

translated: "men are dumb."


don't ask me why.
i'm watching the clouds stop.
day by day.

between the raw and the cooked
parasites and germs
flies
flying existences
frying exercise
fried meat,
oiled.
between food and throat, stomach and rectum,
parasites and acids
gas and shit
raw qualities of bygone nutritious diet.
i am meat.
tender meat,
with parasites on me,
cooked,
ate,
digested,
excreted,
recycled,
well done metabolism!
well done forces.
the internal and the external,
parasites.

we dream alone.
so at least don't eat alone.
we dream alone.
so at least don't sleep alone.
turn to your side.
and open your mouth.

in between light and dark
undecidability
i don't believe in day and night
i believe in twilights.
before/after day, changing geographies,
believe in neither/nor

the root of evil is boredom.

perpetually reaching out.

still bored? make a choice. and reach out again.

Customized death.
die in a preferred language.
but really. value life.

Federico Fellini. (Italian, 1920-1993). 8 1/2 (Otto e mezzo). 1963. 35mm film, black and white, sound, 135 minutes. Gift of Joseph E. Levine

dreamscapes
a filmic inspiration.

watching the clouds stop.
the branches don't sway.
the trunk don't bend.
the leaves don't fall.
my eyes move.
imagining the clouds go by.

life begins in a bowl. life ends in a flush, a flash. breathe.
you live.
eat and drink. all syn-ergized into one bowl.