Friday, May 11, 2007
ima wa totemo tsumaranai yo
Who would have thought that this is possible?
Once there was to be no dream. Reality is merciless. And yet it is in this intolerable cruelty that he has found serenity.
With that one glance, something akin to his own he saw reflected in that pair of eyes and set upon a chain reaction that bind and interlock their fate. Take example the philandering, think that it would cease after this encountered but it exploded instead. After you stoop lower than low this coat becomes your best defence. At least they won’t smell the original repugnance as other deceptions has taken over its flavour. Oh and don’t forget that this round, they did cry after sex.
Should it be taken as coincidence or should it be called random. Will the people involved treat it seriously or as usual manipulate and twisted to serve one purpose and discard once it past it sell by date.
And did he try to explain. To let him understand what it really is by hugging his quivering form and offering useless proposition that goes one, life is hard, two, life is cruel, three, life is random, fourth, sometimes good people are forced to do bad things and like it a not, five, sometimes innocent people dies.
I try to let him know that nobody should bother that the past should be left well alone. Half way through my explanation, he stop me and asked, do you know that sometimes innocent people dies?
Try crawling through a tunnel and be engulfed in darkness till you forgot what is day and how is night. Then just when you finally got use of this obscurity crawl back out and see if you could adjust to the light. Come back and forth and at that split second when you thought you are going to collapse, you will discover that you still possessed the capability to surprise yourself.
When I am lonely, I asked myself silly questions of who I am and what is my purpose. Outsiders are so confident that I could make it. They gave me encouragement and positive feedback as long as the toilet roll. Under such circumstances what is stopping me from picking myself up and topping myself over? And when I asked myself those silly questions, I know that I don’t expect any answers. But deep down I still hope you know. That somehow he who is so high and almighty might finally heard my cry and reaches down and touches my heart and promise that he would send his guardian angel to protect me.
But still I am lonely.
And still I cry.
This void I try so hard to fill and everything I do fail to help for the emptiness is getting bigger and deeper. I killed. Only in my wildest dream it came true. I am not bad but not totally good either. I swing in between and get torn even with the slightest hint of badness seeping through my dream catcher. I asked, but you don’t answer. I have nobody on my own. Don’t tell me. I know I am lonely.
That perfect man breaks thy heart. He who remain mysteriously obscure I have been trying since to figure him out. His body is his temple and on a rainy day I saw, through that spotless window the soul residence within has been evicted long ago. It’s a haunted temple. Its wall smear with blood and the floor littered with bits and pieces of remains of those he classified as scum’s unworthy even of this piece of wasteland.
He spun and draws me till I got tangle in his web. Thus began this quest of me waiting each night: for a ring of the bell, turn of the knob, creak of the windows. Any sight to signal he is coming for me. My vulnerability is my weapon. Yet now it’s getting too heavy for me to carry and more and more often I noted the tremor in my hands when I point it at my enemies.
Even this word scares me.
It used to be enemy.
When did it become enemies?
When did I become so unpopular?
Or has the world population become so intolerable that they could find no space to accommodate my existence. When he committed murder how did he feel really?
Recently I couldn't even muster the strength to mourn. And the light that went out of their eyes, the life that drain and fade, the dead, their death, thrilled me. My vulnerability is my weapon that has now turns against me. I send coupons to those who wish to terminate me. I reduce myself to this lump cover with filth so thick even the rats scatter from me. Did I hear that or am I mistaken. Did the time really come? I think I need to take a bet.
Please excuse me for I must now leave to get ready…for that perfect man to break thy heart.
Strip of any clothes, cupping her breasts in her hands, legs crossed leaning against the white wash wall advertising perversity to molesters, rapists, and paedophilia whatever. Outrageous display of provocation took your breath away and even the saint couldn’t help but steal a glimpse. Somehow the brain could not process this image of an innocent angelic face coupling with that womanly body that sluttish gesture of lust and yearning.
Did your heart skip a beat?
Are you hit by pang of pity; pity that it is not your hands caressing that flesh of fresh meat squeezing that breasts? Are you horrified by this effortless lure of temptation then tried to compensate this guilt by dragging up the topic of morality? If you are suppose to represent uprightness, why do I still hear your thought questioning the likelihood of her spraying her legs for you. You wanted but hesitated. In lieu of this dilemma can I take away the probability of you ever venture to the city of sin? What must I do to convince that it is only as easy as stepping forward and asking her how much? Come on tell me do you want! Stop dilly-dally, she is not here for no reason! Show her the money!
Who would have thought that this is possible?
Once there was to be no dream. Reality is merciless. And through this serenity he first identifies then apprehended madness.
Maybe that why even when the coldness of the blade first prick then penetrate the skin, he could still deem this as hilarity and laugh all the way till it slice open his heart.
Painappuru was brutally tortured... brutally murdered... on Friday, May 11, 2007
