Time and Tears

Life is absurd. Happiness is arbitrary. Pain is inevitable. Oh, the melodrama! Dear heart, bleed for me.

Thursday, February 24, 2005


Her eyes glued to the graying earth, she walks aimlessly upon hidden tracks and forbidden passageways. She passes burning trees and sinking mountains. She threads upon crimson rivers and blackened flowers. Around her the world is sinking. Around her bodies are drifting. She takes no notice.

Her head bent low, she swims in an ocean of thoughts. Her opinions stray wild and collide. There are no justifications. Around her the sea is sinking, sinking into the opening wound of mother earth. The dolphins cry and the sharks drift blind. Around her the world is dieing, bleeding and falling. She takes no notice.
.
Her body is quenched but her soul drenched. There are no tears to be shed. Now only desire remains. The desire to satisfy this insatiable pain lingers in her heart. But there are no tears.

Her only salvation lies in looking the world in the eye. Her salvation lies in seeing, hearing and feeling. If only she could take her eyes from the floor, if only she could hold her head up high. She cannot. She is frightened. She has been damaged beyond repair.

In her solitude she embraces her wounded soul. In her solitude she clings on to the pieces of her shattered self. In her solitude she grabs for her drifting life; drifting before her eyes; eyes that hold no remorse, only bewilderment

And in her solitude she begins to decay. As the world loses meaning and as it ceases to exist, in her solitude she too ceases to exist. She slowly blends in with the sea and is devoured by the earth. She slowly bleeds. She slowly dies away. Fading, drifting, she still cannot weep.
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Tuesday, February 22, 2005


There came across my path
A stranger who dared make me laugh
He sewed through and through
What lingered of my broken past

He wrapped his arms and healed
A broken mind and broken wings
He stood strong with his eyes burning bright
And looked through my heart, fighting hard

He held with all his might
A heart burning fiery bright
He stretched with his emerald leaves
And gathered a heart that cleaves

“One food after another” he plead
“I will help you along the conduit.
Lend me your hand dear heart,
And I will lend you way to light”

He then held me high and let me fly
The solemn trunk, he sat and watched
As I soared through the open sky
My mended wings now stretched wide

Golden petals upon a face so bright
Burning with all their might
Destroyer of the wicked night
Lit up my life

I wept, joy in my heart
Shimmering pearl, down they fall
Innocent child
 Posted by Hello

Tuesday, February 15, 2005

Personality For Sale?

There appears to be an awful lot of lack of personality in this world. Wouldn't it be lovely if all these droning masses could pick up a personality along with their groceries every now and then? I know I wouldn't find it so painful to associate with them on a day to day basis if that were the case.

Sadly, there is no personality for sale. I am thus surrounded by a trail of followers, copycats and wannabes. These people fall under two not very distinct categories. One category consists of people who are more boring than a piece of cardboard. No matter what you do to them or how hard you try there is simply no way of making them more interesting. These people are unaware of their lack of personality. In fact for the most part they're unaware of their own existence.

On the other hand, however, there are those who realize that they bore people on a general level. Thus, they knowingly model themselves after an individual they find interesting and who appears to in fact be an "individual". In this way they turn into wannabes. Sadly enough, these posers stick out like a sore thumb in their sad attempt at leeching on to someone's personality. I find these people particularly more annoying than the former group.

What was the point of all this?
Blowing off some steam.

Lesson?
If you have a personality, good for you! If you don't, get a life and stop talking about school!

Monday, February 07, 2005


.hazy hue of morning dew.
 Posted by Hello

..Sleepy.Haze..

I woke up this morning to the apparent shrieking of at least two of my three alarm clocks. This memory is at the verge of fading but I recollect looking at one of my clocks and seeing 8:20 and then turning and looking at my watch and seeing 9:30. A surge of confusion washed over me as I struggled to decipher the meaning of such numbers. It seemed to me as if I had just entered a strange land, fell down the rabbit hole, completely incoherent and muddled. I was not sure where I was at all, nor was I sure what time of day it was. In fact, I am quite sure that in my frightened confusion I did not even bother to remember that such a thing as a “day” existed. I remained in this sleepy haze for a few minute, looking around me in bewilderment. I then decided that there was no use in attempting to make sense of this absurdity and thus I willingly returned to the land from which I had seemingly risen. It was in this way that I returned to sleep and managed to miss two of my three morning classes.


He said: I used to love you
She said: now no more?
He said: now no more.

She said: I used to burn for you
He said: now no more?
She said: now no more.

He said: I used to dream of you
She said: now no more?
He said: now no more.

She said: I used to cry for you
He said: now no more?
She said: now no more.

He said: I used to want to grow old with you
She said: now no more?
He said: now no more.

She said: I used to wish you’d come back to me
He said: now no more?
She said: now no more.

He said: I used to wish I could come back to you
She said: now no more?
He said: now no more.

She said: things can never go back to the way they used to be.
He said: things can never go back to the way they used to be.
 Posted by Hello

.go.with.the.flow. Posted by Hello

..Human Connections..

What does it mean to connect "humanly" per se?

Consider a regular day. We walk, sit, and dine among strangers, completely oblivious to their existence. Ordinarily you will pass the random guy in a suite on the street or the dirty old man who stares you up and down as you walk by or even the sad little girl in her Gothic makeup that only stares at her feet when she walks without a second thought. Sometimes you may feel compelled to turn around and stare if you observe an unfortunate soul talking to himself or sitting in a corner shivering in the cold, slurring random gibberish from which you can only decipher, "do you have change?" But none of this really registers. It's merely everyday life, nothing more.


But every once a while there is something more. And this normally seems to happen in a state of considerable intoxication. Now words are exchanged among strangers. They may be as simple as "fuck you!" or "shut up!" but nonetheless language is now at use. If you get really lucky you may have someone approach you and ask your taste in music or if you would like a drink. Every once in a while a smile is exchanged. Oh what precious moments!


Now, on the very very rare occasion, human connections may be established without the use of drugs. These are indeed strange moments that engrave themselves upon your memory, a reminder of the occasional social nature of human beings. I have been lucky enough to have meaningful conversations with several random strangers. Mostly one party has been slightly intoxicated but twice only both parties have been completely sober and have spoken of issues of some importance.


The first instance occurred outside LCBO where I was forced to wait in the cold for some friends to obtain the alcohol for the evening as I was underage. A man, obviously homeless, waited in the cold with me. He was desperate for a cigarette and asked me for one but I do not smoke. He then proceeded to ask passing strangers. A man whom he happened to stop pushed him to the side and threw the cigarette butt at our hobo. I was shocked at such behavior; there clearly was no need to be so rude, no one was deserving of this kind of treatment. Our hobo seemed extremely infuriated and began to swear in quite a vile manner. He then proceeded to stand in a corner and smoke the cigarette butt. He looked up and saw me staring at him; I smiled. He looked at me and suddenly began to curse the man who has treated him so unkindly to me and I agreed that he has been completely rude. He told me, standing here in the corner, he did not want any money or alcohol from passing strangers, a smile or a kind word would be enough. He was tired of being ignored, as if he was a fading shadow in this dieing world. I nodded as he spoke until he eventually calmed down. Finally he asked if I had any change and I gave him what I had. He proceeded to make a random comment on the weather. I said it was unusually cold for this time of the year, being Christmas time. Upon hearing the word "Christmas" he began to recite his story, almost talking to himself. He told me what he knew of his past life, of his birth and of his family which no longer existed. I listened but really did not know how to respond except with "I'm sorry." He expressed his loneliness during this time of the year and I agreed that the holiday season was definitely the loneliest time of the year.
I felt a strange attachment to that man on that snowy day. I wished I could have stayed more or that he would have told me more about himself but alas no such luck. He told me his name but I have forgotten.

The second instance occurred today at Tim Horton's (also known as Timmy Ho's). This little shop on Bloor Street seems to be a sanctuary for the homeless of this city as it is open 24 hrs a day. However, despite what you many think, this time it was not a hobo that approached me but a distinguished man. We were waiting in line and as it was moving unusually slowly due to the incompetence of those who worked the cash registers, the man behind me asked quite casually "is this place open 24 hrs?" and I responded with a mere "yes." He then proceeded to comment that the place seemed like a hangout for the homeless of the city and they may as well turn it into a homeless shelter. The conversation grew from there. It turned out that he was a civil engineer and had much insight about the current job market. He was very interested in what I was studying and began to give me career advice. There was nothing frightening about talking to this man as is normally the case with strangers at Tim Horton's at 2 am on a Sunday night. He seemed friendly and genuinely wanted to talk. We spoke of politics, the evil nature of the business world, his current building projects (including my own residence) going up in the city and even genetically modified food. He definitely had a lot to say and so did I, we got along perfectly. However, this conversation was short lived. The line slowly crawled forth and as we each placed our orders we parted with a "take care" on his part and a "nice talking to you" on my part.
It was definitely nice talking to him.

So there we are. Any instances of human connection here?

Sometimes I regain my faith in mankind. Sometimes I believe that it is possible to break free from this solitary shell and walk upon the path of the living. Perhaps it is possible to connect with everyone in some level. This gives me hope.

Sunday, February 06, 2005


"Her heart's a bloodstained egg
we didn't handle with care
it's broken and bleeding
and we can never repair" Posted by Hello

Wednesday, February 02, 2005


..ExhiliratioN.. Posted by Hello