what visions unfold before the amblyopic eyes,

a deficient image made whole nonetheless by the glare of the blood-rushing cogitated impulse,
deeply profound but strangely immediate. I see what I want to see. Completing the image as I encounter the blurred image.

I cannot see beyond what I see. Anything beyond has to be magic-ed; an illusion to piece reflected lights into a rainbow of imagination. My mind is so diligent, messing with what I want to perceive and to process as well as those I ignore.

These shades of reality, always so pretty, without revealing them as a diabolical truth. I find these pretty objects poignant in the revelation of our human weakness. There are only more reasons to feel sick; more reasons for us to feel so deprived. If only we would peel those stripes of colours into their respective shapes.

I live in the perpetual state of unification and fragmentation, the doubling act of my mind to both unite the fragments into wholes and to destruct wholesome unities into unstable entities. Am I so naughty to incur the wrath of contradictions? It only invites unrest. But there is an absurb beauty to the unnatural equation. The instincts of opposites to refuse each other but rely on each other to co-exist. There is an Abel and Cain complex hidden somewhere in my mind. Even the explanation of such a description is so hard to be written. An Abel that is the apple in the eyes of my Lord. A Cain who has been condemned. There is an Apollo and Dionysus complex. Doomed and Blessed. Complete and Fragmented.

And comes the realisation that the tainted colours stripes could still form that perfect rainbow.

If I could, with ease, find some solace with this knowledge, then perhaps the nights would deliver some rest to me. Eternity is a long time. Long because it is not here yet. I am wide awake. With the trauma that comes from unexplained tensions.
leave some room for that moment of senile. since I do not have the pleasure of experiencing eternity but to be here in a limbo. It is a cool place. But I cannot stay there all the time.

And it seems, my troubles are trivial. While the earthquakes raged, the graveyards are flooded with recycled tombstones and men in black fret over the changes in numbers, I find myself more blessed than a couple deciding on their (first) honeymoon trip.

Before the argument turns generic and personal, capture me at some crevices, where I hide my wings and refuse to fly in the sunlit sky. I may stare at you and ask for a fishing rod and some bread as bait. Maybe not.

Seeing is not always believing. The illusions of the mind are more subtle than those that appeared physically before you. If we could just see with blind eyes, perhaps we only had to deal with the shadows and colour forms in the darkness. However, the undiscovered country will continue to fascinate us; though afraid that our fantasies will turn real, we continue to faithfully believe that they are familiar enough to welcome us. The plurality is unsettling. The real is far away. unless we stop seeing with our own eyes, we will never look at the same rainbow. unless I stop writing in riddles, I think I can never be truly understood. Or can I?

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personal moment

loving is so hard to do. but the imagination of it is so simple to enchant, to entice and to enthrall, leaving only the imagined taste of it but never the reality of love. always grasping some truth of it but never the whole package. perhaps then, that makes some of us yearn for it more, which keeps it anew like the morning dew. always refreshing to discover something new. always never the person but the concept of our love. love the person not the concept. sounds easy. but if we be flawless, we wouldn't have to think of how to love. but what use are these thoughts? if morning dew should so quickly turn to salty tears. for me, there's not even the tears. the manifestation of some honesty is difficult when I do not even know what I have to be honest of.
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