i flip the switch. lights come on. is this my room? yes it should be. books all over. a messy bed. books and bed don't go well. to read without falling asleep. i have not mastered that. the ceiling may fall anytime. the stereos are not loud enough. the cds are trapped in their plastic cases. most are cracked. liberated often. the time is passing towards dawn. the wind is not blowing tonight. those window grills. i hate them. i hate the patterns on my bed. is the light really on? typing endlessly in my mind. what appears in front of me are contorted. empty cup noodles. lemon tea is going to attract ants. this is me and a room. facing a screen that is going to blind me. i type. expecting some useful content to manifest. reading nonsense. is this becoming interesting? shall i begin a description of the events that passed? doubt so. poor reader, I shall not make you read my complaints or my words of thanks. there is nothing valuable in those. there is, to me, more value in the contemplation, in between the moment of encounter and the moment of repetitive representation of an event/experience. (they are separate entities) Things are hardly accomplished with such an attitude but the satisfaction i gained from the experience before it transcends to representation is one of excitement, anticipation and immediate response to the experience. After all, once reduced by reason and understanding, I depart from the holistic experience into a fragment of it. I enjoy temptation more than the act. I can feel the guilt from both sides: the ethical boundaries that condition me to react in a certain social manner; and the liberal creativity to manifest that temptation into an act. I do only violence to the temptation. Temptation is possibilities. Must I be Apollian or Dionysian? To align myself to one aspect is to do violence to I. I am perhaps too egocentric to believe that I am predictable. Some of us just like to be multi-faceted. However, multi-faceted is not apt to describe my condition. I find myself shifting from one end to another, restless and hating myself for my movements. However, the discovery of the temptation before my action is often the most exciting moment (not always lovely and positive). Perhaps it is fair enough to say I enjoy this sadistic side of me. But often I find myself resisting action. Afraid what the next morn will bring me. If it is even possible to maintain such a tension, I would certainly be better of inhuman. After all, temptation leads to action most of the time. At the particular second that a sentence is uttered during a conversation, a response is expected. if sometimes I fall into silence, it is my preferred mode of self, to contemplate, and try my utmost to maintain that tension. A sentence uttered is a violence committed, revealing in part who I am. Violence or the act of reducing the whole me into some recognisable part that people can easily use to judge me. I feel like I have digressed. the point, if I am truly making one, is my desire (of the ego) to exist in between being insane and sane (madness and reason). I find myself being more insane than sane for my own good. But at times when I find myself too sane, the reasonable self is really not a projection of the inward self but a self socially conditioned. Repetition is an attempt to only reestablish the recognisable fragment of the I. repetition is but the futile attempt to make some absolutely unique to itself into a universal phenomenon, easily replicated and copied for mass production. I cannot be repeated. My proxies are me and still themselves.