there are moments in our everyday conversation when you let out a silent utterance of disbelief.
sometimes, believe that disbelief.

i gasp for air as I speak. I fear of being breathless. What if my words rob my air away and fly away as a fleeting impression? once it escapes you cannot capture them. God knows where they fly to.

words stalk you in the night.
words trap you in your room.

to believe in that disbelief is not to say that everything we say are lies, but that there are always elements of subjectivity and departures from the entirety of the uttered and its roots. I may be relating a factual event but my expression of it may differ from what actually happened, only in terms of how i expressed the event. Hence, the question is not to ask about the plausibility and the truth of its existence but that how do we negotiate (or merely accept) the expression of truth as always believing the disbelief -- bridging the gap that traces of truth inevitable creates.

that gaping hole is always obliterated by our faith to believe. Or should I say ignore? or just unacknowledged; negligible?

but nothing must be negligible if it is part of the what constitutes the truth. but what is truth?


I shall not answer that because I would lie if I said I knew.

but the matter of this observation is never on what to believe or not...but to overcome our disbelief into the belief of disbelief; yes...even the apparent paradoxes of life and death.

bring it on.

I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.

say it a million times and still each repetition does not reaffirm that emotion embedded within the 'love' word.

I can say it in a million tonal differences, injecting different stresses on the words or it may just be a question of my conviction to those words.
But without doubt, such a statement has its clear rules. Subject-object and action verb. But is it really an action verb? What makes "love" an action? Ok, love is not an action. It is an emotion. So? It is narcissistic emotion projected from the self to an object.
To make things worse, "you" is an object, devoid of expression and forced to be the object of my expression of a desire (i prefer to call it that). It is the receiving end of "I's" emotion of love.
But the focus remains to be the "I" in the equation. "I" love. and "you" is incapable to love because I am conventionally told to read from left to right.

doesn't it give you a sense that it's futile to say such a word?
therefore, (it's a leap) I don't love.
To love, or rather, to say I love (someone) is to begin the negation of the living person into a dead being, incapable of a response. At least, with the sentence that I utter: I love you. -- The action or emotion is trapped within the linguistic structure. j'taime is more cruel. It entraps further with the intimate '.

But in a opposite perspective, to say 'I love you' is precisely the greatest expression to someone who does not offer the same emotion back, or rather, cannot and will not allow her/him-self to suit your sentiment.
In other words, "I love you" is such a lonely statement; love that is not reciprocated.

hahaha!
such a deconstruction of love! at the end of the day, I only have to say:

that there are some misery in this world that are not initiated by the lack of love, but by the investment of love from the "I" subject. Don't say "I love you".

say "we love"

we love
we love
we love
we love
we love
we love
we love
we love
we love
we love

somehow it works better.
maybe not. who constitutes the "we"?

why do I even care?

N/A + C U

only meaningful if i give it aural significance

if i decide to assign NA as Not around/avaliable..C U can logically mean see you next time when i am around

but it can also hav a double gesture.of meaning the act of seeing you...but how can i see u..if i am not around to physically see u?

ich
die frage bleibt noch

grand exits
are not my kind of entrances

hide.ride.a certain flow to this narrativising of exclusive experience, a never-ending hype, of a little insignificant occurrence within a larger scope of things, normalise into the global trend. i think i become insignificant. an.another flow to the flows. a byte to the giga. downward spiral of my narrative, i resist. but i still fall. i end up
saying nothing.
despite saying so much.
go with the tide.

tentative responses to ground zero fumes of destruction
i think i hate
ideology
terror has many wives
i see so much. i end up seeing nothing.

so much to do.
i do but i only do nothing.

i think i love.
so much.
i end up not loving.

tension is a silent wife, nagging persistently of your duty
i become a citizen of my own estate
i compile the anthology of my narratives
a commonplace to wail my silence

dead words! speak!
that my confessions reach a deeper ground

we can see things fall.
but can we see things unfall?
see people unfall?

i don't hear.

dich
das antwort fliegt noch.

i label the two months that went past as perfect numbness
and i am very much pleased to announce the last phase of this year as the first stage of a significant change, primarily the great leap to find my performance direction.

this announcement is long overdue but very much anticipated. on to more random stuff.

Simulation's genius comes not from its conjuring of ghostly hauntings but its evil genius to conceal itself as a ghost; a trace to mask its disappearance. So Carlson is wrong. Everything (almost) is banal.


There is a pointless hope that resides in this blind faith. the greatest thing we should ever learn, is not to love, but to not expect love.


i sigh in a silent way, both expecting to be heard and not to be heard.


let us stop all these pretentious endeavours. nothing will come out of nothing.


at this moment, i cannot feel what you feel. i cannot hear you. i cannot sing the same song.

unforgettable. even if they're dead.


stop this nonsense. stop listening for once. stop seeing for once.
and perhaps
we may realise there is nothing to see or hear.
then we will not create that ghost to see or hear (to remember).
and let go of the nonsense.

my weariness screams.

my prayers depart.
they disappear.

again and again
we enter into our own dialogue with our own Other
feeding ourselves, hearing only ourselves
making fools look like saints.

(I)

(you)

i am holding auditions soon for a dance performance. it will require at least 3 months of workshops and devising to achieve something. please rsvp as soon as you read this.

perfect numbness comes imperfect reaction
and my reaction will be quite shocking.
very.
perhaps.
maybe.

I am angry.
very angry.

it's the day of the month that I feel obliged to say something.

have
The Peace of God
when

the rope lash is wrapped around your neck
and death gives you a final love bite

you stand at the edge of vertigo
between the desire and phobia of the leap from the tower of life

you feel the slow and steady stabbing of your lungs
with each breath drown by your rushing blood

you face all walls of darkness
the silent void of nothingness

you feel exquisite pain
the sort of pain you feel when you feel the first touch of a cold blade

you are tempted in the desert of the real
40 days and 40 nights of simulacra

you grab a broken plank
castaway with a monstrous whirlpool

you fall through the infinite bottomless pit
as if a sparrow shot by a playful arrow

you meet children
and witness their spontaneous laughter

you listen to His silence
together with those moments when you
weep and tremble at your filthiness;
weep and tremble at His graciousness

you come face to face with Him
at the dark colourful stage of prayer

a split second before your last heartbeat

Have the peace of God
when you pray to the silent void
of the Father
the Son
and the Holy Ghost

-
it is better to be haunted
than to pretend to believe in the tangible and the intangible transcendental.

a little crisis will do you good.

not really. i think it takes more than a crisis to make us listen. revelation is always waiting by the wings to capture your consciousness. whatever punches it throws at you, receive it and ask for the best wake up blow.

i think it is more about the listening that marks revelation as revelation and not just another voice that creeps into you. The key focus is also never about the voice, it's about the discernment. But let's just focus on the act of listening.

listening takes more than patience and understanding. listening requires you to disengage yourself from a collective whole into parasites of different voices, leeching on them to discern and differentiate every nuances of every single voice. Hear beyond the audible voice that you hear a person speak (and/or yourself). I always hear a second voice (i'm still learning to understand the third voice) that is the Other thought behind the sentence. It is to delve deep into and wide about the subject and object; The inaudible and unspoken. But sometimes these voices blend into each other. Nevertheless, there is always a gap between them. There is where I locate the third voice, a voice of possibility some may like to suggest. But I shall not go further into that. I think it is important or (manipulative) to be able to listen deeper into your speech, i.e. listen to yourself externally and internally. And when you do, it's not about "listening to your heart" but to find the departures, even the most subtle ones. The shocking thing is that you do not know which one to believe. That is when discernment takes over and informs you what voice to believe. It is not always the inward that is true. What is spoken might have come from somewhere you never expect. You may think it's easy but the distinction between these two voices is almost impossible if you are never critical of yourself.

i love and hate to spend time listening to myself in those different instances. Listening to myself alone is pretty straightforward, (if you ignore the third voice) but it is during actual speech and inner evaluation/motivation/contemplation/etc that separation becomes a tedious process. Frankly, not many of us do so. We do not listen often enough. I do not listen enough, especially to people around. We listen to ourselves more but we tend to focus on only a voice. My charge here really is to listen as deep and wide as possible and to not let your mind to be idle. Voices dwell in places you do not want and they take over when we become lazy. There are no essential voices, in that voices are not concerned about some holistic well-being of the person but they are only interested in their own projection. They are not distinct but they follow stages as well. The development of particular voices has to be mapped out and discovered early if possible. Voices, even the silent ones, can be monsters or angels. It is really relative to the listener/non-listener.

i hope that i learn to listen better and to be firm in the voices that I agree with. Do not trivalise such a process. Because, like I said, voices are neutral because until agreed upon, we do not really know who or what they are distinctively (maybe they can never be distinct). They only take their shapes as they grow.
but now...the truth is, can anyone truly locate all our voices and make a fool of them?

Sometimes, crisis helps because it breaks the normality of the familiar voice we listen to ever so often. Crisis shouts out to you to listen to something or someone else. Of course, it is does not always take a crisis to reveal, but the leap of revelation happens at the point when we listen differently, across all possible channels, until one particular voice feedbacks into your consciousness. Listen well. before you miss it.

i wish i could listen better.
i wish i knew how to listen to silences better.
but really, some voices cannot even be understood or defined.
but really, the discourse of silence (and blindness) is for another day after I finally grasp Levinas.
take these words as avenues for discussion.

--
after mid-October, the other blogs and pseudonyms will begin to voice out their perspectives, as an experiment to listen to my disparate voices.

i feel a little warm. the kind of warmth that gives us life and robs us of our cool comfort.
there is always a confession to make. And the seconds before it is made, we feel the rush of blood.
but sometimes the simultaneous occurrences that we experience with the main event (its importance attributed by us) receive so little attention that we react in belated regret. you know, the kind of selfish outburst of honesty, only to release our own tension within. We are selfish, more than often, to comfort ourselves, and to please ourselves. isn't there a greater tension that may happen when honesty reveals the impossibility of being as it was? perhaps we can but the difference is established.

i feel bad. to find myself in a perpetual vulnerability, which is simply the triggering of your image in my mind every now and then. i cannot help it. to unfall. but this trial, perhaps, has a deeper significance, which i cannot discover yet.
can i tell you again how i feel?
no i can't. repetition only works when the repeated identical words are said in a different context. whatever the case, the irony is always that truth is never fully revealed. it has to suffer for being the truth, and it has to commit violence to itself. i cannot undo what i have done. but i can certainly identify with this certainty of paradox. reality is always lesser than truth. before truth is manifested, the action to confuse truth happens almost immediately. we can't deal with the truth. the subjective truth. one person's truth is not another's equal reality. to accept mine is to compromise with another. but if i may, i will still feel what i feel. it is such a longing. jedem Tag zu sehen.