The following is derived from flipping to a random page of a fiction and taking the new line that I see.
“Get off me! Can’t a man be drunk once in a while? I ask you. Tonight of all nights.”
“Get off me! Can’t a man be drunk once in a while? I ask you. Tonight of all nights.”
“Of course you can. You can de drunk tonight and every night afterwards if you so wish to.” Tristan said in a cool voice and released his hold on Gabriel, who promptly fell down to become a drunken heap.
Tristan did not move or speak, merely kept his soulful glance on the fleshy ball that Gabriel had become, all his limbs curled up around his abdomen, a posture of utter vulnerability crying out for protection.
After a while, Gabriel uncurled himself and glared up at Tristan. “What do you want of me? Why does the world still want me? I don’t.”
“Wolf-teeth moon She looks habitual
I raise the cup drain it of all the wind and snow
Who tipped over the cupboard of the past life enticing dust and quarrels
The hymn of Fate numb reincarnations
You frown cry for the youth that will not return when called
Although history has already become dust my love is not snuffed out”
She’s used to the colour of the moon now, desolate, rusty, somewhat unappetizing, like the ruins of a forgotten dynasty. I raise my cup in toast to her, draining the liquid within in a single gulp. It tasted slightly bitter, like a path well-worn through the pounding of wind and snow must have felt. I glance at her again and wonder who was it that stumbled into the storage chest of the last Reincarnation and scattered all its content hither and thither, letting loose a storm of dust motes and strife. Here the hymn of Fate starts again but after being numbed by numerous reincarnations, it falls on deaf ears. I glance at her again and retreat quietly into a corner to brood.
“Wolf-teeth coloured moon She lolls haggard
I rally the cup dramatise it of all the wind and snow
Who tinkled over the cupboard of the past life entertaining dust and quarrels
The hymn of Fate numerous reincarnations
You frolic crystallise for the youth that will not revel when called
Although history has already befallen dust my love is not snored”
The moon is a strange off-white off-yellow colour, a somewhat rusty shade like the teeth of wolves. She is loitering, limping along as a gaunt shape. I gently press the carvings on the cup, awakening its powers. Wind and snow materialised within it, swirling lazily. I languidly extend my ring finger and the contents of the cup draw themselves into ethereal filament and twin themselves around my extended digit. I hear a faint tinkling sound from the cupboard where I lock away my past life. It is a merry sound, fit for entertaining dust and quarrels. I hear the hymn of Fate also, sung time and time again at each reincarnation. I hear your crystalline voice whilst frolicking, chiding youth for not revelling when prompted. Now history has become naught but dust and my love has not yet hibernated.
“Falling in love is always ebony getting along too hapless
If not yours then don’t try so hard to make it so
The night is already decrepit but you still don’t want to sleep…
All you want is to love a person propitiously”
The process of falling in love is a dark one, a dark but glossy one. Dark because it’s like being in an endless tunnel, never knowing when you will get to the end. Glossy, well, that’s what attracted you at first, right? Oh yes, the real misfortune comes when the two are trying to get along, when they try so hard to tug at the common ground between them. I don’t know why love is so difficult when all one wants is to love a person propitiously. I don’t have an answer for that. And you still want to hear more? Sorry, the night is getting decrepit. And you say you still don’t want to sleep? Well, well, well, that makes two of us.
“Cold laurel seemingly spreads shadowing over the briar in my drawing”
I had a dream. In my dream, I was drawing, drawing a clump of briar, of the colour red, the red of flame, flame that reaches out to wrap around me, warming me. But then a laurel cast a shadow over my clump of briar, and with the shadow came a moaning wind, bringing it snow, snow that waltzes in the air like fine salt. I reached out a tentative hand to feel it and it was chill to the touch, bone chilly it was. I jerked back and then I found my clump of briar gone, gone like wisps of smoke that never existed. All that remained was the tall laurel that cast its majestic shadow over me and I was chilled, so chilled that my eyelids grew heavy….
“I fell in love with a personalty who made me reckless
I thought that was the worship that I wanted to pursue…
I miss the simple pleasant little hardihood in my past”
The first time I lay eyes on the mansion, I knew that I had fallen in love with it and that I would do anything to get it. Yes, I worship materialism, have always worshipped it. Why this is frowned upon by some is a riddle for me, a riddle that puzzles me every day but that I have to face every day. At times this gets draining and I start missing the hardihood I had in the past which was simple direct, as single-minded as a bull charging forward in rage. Ah, yes, those were the good days, the simple good old days.
“I fell in love with a person who made me recognisable
I thought that was the world that I wanted to pursue
But having rushed about here and there, being misunderstood and being cheated
I question whether the world underlying grown-ups always is always fleeting or inconsequent…
The sky is very big but I can’t see it clemently so loopy”
Before I knew you, I was a clean slate, with nothing to distinguish me from all the other multitude. But you gave me my unique footprints such that others would recognise me as me. And I thought that was the world that I wanted to pursue. But in my wilful wanderings I was utterly unprepared for misunderstandings and malicious tricks. Hence, now that I’m lying down on a lonely knoll under a starry sky, a question is plaguing my mind: is everything in the world to be fleeting and coming to be inconsequential like specks of dust in the end? I am lost, yes, I am lost in this world where everything appears so crazy.
“Until my eyesight becomes blessed until I cannot breathe
Let us be insightful in body and shadow”
I never thought that I would be blessed with receiving the Sight, the gift of divining from dancing shadows. Shadows don’t dance, you say? But they do. They dance out of the corner of your eyes. They dance when not observed. They dance in the dark of the night. They always dance in groups. They chase each other, ensnare each other, enmesh together and dance to the same rhythm. It’s a spectacle to behold, a true spectacle, if only you learn how to look. Oh yes, they are not only visible to those with the Sight. I’ve always been able to see that before I receive this gift. You just have to know how to look.
“Half ludicrous within my dreams, I suddenly realise it’s so collateral.
What is love? Merely being among movable winds and bizonal rain.
I had a dream. I can only remember the barest outline of it, the vaguest outlines of the emotions it contained. Within the dream, I was half ludicrous. I cannot remember what exact actions I did but I felt half ludicrous. And then I realized that everything is only secondary, inconsequential, within the dream. I think I experienced love within it but it was a kind of love whereby one gets buffeted by winds that change direction wholly unexpectedly and bizonal rain that flit in and out of one’s vision, soaking oneself again and then again. I was blind in the dream, blind and reeking. I don’t know of what I was reeking but oh yes, I was reeking.
Same as last time, two posts for today to compensate for lack of length. After the conflicting emotion/facial expression series, I started using lyrics from Chinese songs as prompts. I would take a single passage at a time and then play the S+7 game on it, which basically replaces either all the verbs/nouns/adjectives with a word that located seven places before or after it in the Chinese version of the Oxford Dictionary (it just happens that that’s the copy I have at home). This basically gives me three other versions of this passage. Not every version makes sense but I would choose whichever one inspires and do impromptu writing based off it. Below is the first of the series.
“Half lucid within my dress, I suddenly realise it’s so cold.
What is loyalty? Merely being among mourning winkles and bitter rakes.”
Half lucid within my dress, I suddenly realise it’s so cold. I sneer. What is the meaning of loyalty? You ask. I can tell you, oh yes, I can tell you all about it. It means being carried off by so-called loyal servants sworn to protect you with their lives and entrusted with all of your family’s massive wealth and in the blink of an eye, sold to a place where you get to keep the company of mourning winkles and bitter rakes. It means being told that you would forever be a protected jewel embedded in his heart and just when you have thrown away all in a headlong rush into bliss, you are told that all is but a lie, leaving you stranded, wandering listlessly in a desert.