Monthly Archives: September 2016

whtwldyntd

Help me, i’m calling out to you
You’re not doing anything,
Not cos you don’t want to;
Because you aren’t listening

You hear me,
My words not my meaning
You see me,
My being not my feelings

I’m reaching out as i slip away
You’re so near yet you don’t offer your hand
You see me falling! I know you do!
But to your understanding i’m just moving

I wish you’d open your ears,
Open your mind
And hear that i said I’m not okay
That must mean something, right?

I know you had a bad day too,
But that’s not the point
I’d listen to you complain some more,
But i’m not okay

I need help.

p.s. i had the idea for this recently but i don’t think i put the words down right. i’ll either rewrite or edit this. or not, hah. we’ll see.

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mhh

​Often there are times in life

When we must choose: left or right 

It’s not so much the path we take

For right and wrong may seem the same 

Remember when you think it through,

To hold your heart and feel it too.
What’s good today may all but change 

When tomorrow rears its ugly head

So take your time and don’t be swayed 

By all the things that others say
It’s all too easy for one to speak

When the decision to be made isn’t his 

The tongue is light and has no bones

And words may glitter, though not gold 
Often there are times in life

When we must choose: left or right 

It’s not so much the path we take 

But living with our choices made

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thrchmn

“Growing up i had many people to look up to. I’ll tell you about my father and his boss.

My father worked as a driver to one rich businessman, Mr Masato. When i was in third grade, i had to follow my father to his main office. He had to do something there and somehow i ended up following him.

As he sat filling in some form, the room suddenly went quiet and everyone rose, bowing to this man who just entered. I just stood there staring; wow, this must be some special man who just walked in.

I remember he wore really stylish clothes (at that point i didn’t know what a tailored suit was) that looked crisp and expensive. He had neat, black hair and he was very handsome. He walked like a boss.

He quietly greeted people with a smile as he walked down the hall, stopping here and there to exchange a few words. I heard my father whispering urgently for me, and when i turned he frantically but stealthily waved me over. I took a step to him then i stopped. I wanted to see this cool man!

So i turned and stood in his path, just staring at him.

He saw me and gave me a kind smile. He walked up to me then knelt down, and asked, “and who’s child are you?”

Wordlessly i pointed to my father, who had hurried forward bowing and apologising frantically.

This cool man patted my father’s knee and gently shushed him. He turned back to me.

“Do you know what your father is?”

I guess he was some kind of boss, and if my dad worked here then obviously he was the driver.

“Driver!”

Cool man Mr Masato looked down, a small smile on his face. Then he looked at me.

“Not just any driver. Every morning i put my life in his hands and trust him to drive me to work. He is never late, he is a good driver, and he is a good man. You should be proud to have a father like that,” he stood up and ruffled my hair before gently leading my father away, to talk.

That day on my father had the car to send me and our neighbours’ kids to school, every day. He would greet them all cheerily and even opened the door for us when we arrived, and that made us feel super special. Why did he do that? “I’m a driver, son, that is my job and i do it well,” he answered once with a genuine smile and twinkle in his eyes.

Only when i was older did i understand what happened the day i first met Cool Boss Mr Masato: those forms were for my father’s new contract. Mr Masato wanted to make adjustments to his schedule, and he realized that opened up the possibility of my father sending me to school… so why not use his car?

My father always spoke highly of his boss. He never failed to mention the favours his boss had done for us, and even told me to grow up to be a good man like his boss. “Boss is a smarter and more charming man than i am; learn from him! Every time you see him, observe him closely. When you get the chance to speak to him, listen closely to his words,”

Growing up i was privileged to be in the company of a simple man who worked a humble job, who did not hesitate one moment to praise and say good things about another person, especially his boss Mr Masato. Every now and then i also had the good fortune of hanging around a man who literally owned shopping malls and hotels, who made others around him feel like they were so important and amazing. He never told lies nor sugarcoated anything. All he did was recognise everyone for who they were, and then showing everyone love and respect.

My father might not have realized this but as a growing young man, it hit me really hard that it took a big man to admit that another man was better than himself, in whatever way. It took a big man to recognize his place in society and fulfil his duties with pride and excellence. It took a big man to admit to such things without degrading himself. And for all that my father was the biggest man in my eyes.

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mslpyrmlv

The world got dark and my eyelids heavy. I was definitely alone at home but I could hear some voices. I wasn’t startled at all and in fact it all seemed perfectly normal.

I had a conversation with a conversation and it made perfect sense.

I told me to stop talking to myself and he said ok let’s try. We failed.

I wasn’t going anywhere but i knew i wouldn’t returned so i waved goodbye and just… let… go…

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jstsmwrds

Words have flavours, and it’s not hard to imagine them sometimes.

Rage is hot and rough and violent.

Rough is jagged and rusty.

Tangy is chewy and sticky with a spark.

Pristine is even, smooth and sparkling clean.
Pair them up and we open up a whole world of fun.

Purple memories.

Hot space.

Sleepy victories. 

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thrshvrs

It was my first time deployed to conduct a zombie autopsy. Since the three weeks of this disaster, we’d been so busy coping with everything else that we hadn’t had time to properly study the problem.

I entered the morgue nervously, and there it was laying still on the smooth metal operating table. No one else in the room.

I proceeded to switch on the tape recorder and started with the usual documentation narration when suddenly a man burst into the room, carrying a machete. 

He looked at the zombie, at me, then back at the zombie and without warning he swung his machete and cut the thing’s head clean off. 

“Sorry, doctor. Next time don’t talk till you’re sure it’s dead,”

I must’ve looked silly, lost for words. 

“We’ve received more reports from the field. These things aren’t as stupid as we once thought. Now excuse me while I find the bugger who’s in charge of this Z autopsy project. His carelessness could’ve cost us…”

Suddenly i wasn’t so comfortable about being alone in the room with that… Thing.

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