RED SEA

May 22, 2013
   
   

Three months is all you have left,

That’s what the doctor told me.

My vision turned into a haze,

As I burn beneath the red sea.

   

I find myself back in our home,

I glance to my beloved children.

But as I remember where I’ve been,

Red bile seeps through the ceiling again.

    

Oh, what do I do?

Perhaps I should just end this quickly.

Before everything else drowns,

Into this red nightmare with me.

   
The world has long been flushed

Into the color I’ve always loved.

Who knew that such a pretty thing

Can be so painfully intoxicating.

   
After a month of self-loathing,

I started preparing for the worst, but

A man knocked on our creaking door

And broke the looming darkness.

   
He brought with him a folder

That contained my son’s future.

My son refused the offer he brought

For me. To be with me.

   
Oh, what do I do?

Perhaps I should just end this quickly.

Before everything else drowns,

Into this red nightmare with me.

   
The world has long been flushed

Into the color I’ve always loved.

Who knew that such a pretty thing

Can be so painfully intoxicating.

   
My son cannot miss that chance

I’d rather sell my last 30 sunrises

And so I started preparing myself

For that red day of glory.

   
Oh, what do I do?

Perhaps I should just end this quickly.

Before everything else drowns,

Into this red nightmare before me.

   
The world has long been flushed

Into the color I’ve always loved.

Who knew that such a pretty thing

Can be so painfully intoxicating.

   
On his birthday I sent him out,

With a few bucks as a final gift.

I embraced them one last time,

Before they disappeared forever.

   
I took out all their clothes

And put it in my tattered suitcase.

I left them at the front lawn,

And locked myself back in the house.

   
I turned on the valves,

A tear escapes my eye.

I lit the cigarette beside me

And gave out a sigh.

   
The sigh echoed a hundredfold.

The red plague consumed everything.

I smiled as the sound of crackling wood

lulled me into sleep.

   
The world has long been flushed

Into the color I’ve always loved.

Who knew that such a pretty thing

Can be so painfully intoxicating.

         
   
   
Got bored… 😛

maybe I can turn it into a song or something…

It still needs a lot of patching-up though.
I shall do that… when I’m done doing what I’m supposed to 😛

Anyway, the story’s about one of the characters from the story I’m writing. Her name’s Elise and she has two kids: Matthew and Nicole. I’ll let the song/composition tell you the rest… kehehe :3

THE CURSED WRITER

     He is unlike the writers that I’ve met before. He doesn’t work enveloped in the most fragrant red roses, nor does he bask with his words under the warmth of the morning sun. He speaks of love in such a way that the image of sweet moonlight turns into black bile. His words were a swarm of wasps that sting relentlessly, searing right into the very core of my heart, as a warm melancholic song escapes. He doesn’t praise the heroes that most people have loved and admired so deeply. As I turned the pages, scarred voices resonate deep within the darkest corridors of his world’s grandest cities, where the shadows of the hated dwelt. And yet, he speaks of these fallen heroes devoid of hatred. Their names illuminate from the pages, bleeding through the cover, its cries for help long forgotten by most of its beholders. Everyone else did but not me, who had seen how he had grown to love such darkness. He is a martyr, who tirelessly smears light on these tragedies that we avoid so often and free the darkest shadows locked up in the finest, most ornate locks of gold and silver.

Gumi Clean Freak-On Altruism

I stumbled across this video the other day and I find it truly agreeable.

On Altruism
Just like what my friend and I were discussing the other day, I do believe that there is very little room for the existence of altruism. By definition, it is the unselfish regard for or devotion to the welfare of others. Now, taking into account the concept of Causality, every act therefore corresponds to an effect. It is unacceptable to say that one is doing something “for no reason” or ” purely out of selflessness and righteousness”. By saying so, the person’s ability for reasoning becomes questionable (note Descartes’ Cogito ergo sum). Considering all these, I do believe that we do things not necessarily because it is what is considered as right (note that rightness is also subjective). It is quite evident that our actions can easily be traced back to personal interests.

For example, I would converse with a friend (cause) and in turn he shares his thoughts. Even though the situation seems quite indifferent, and I’m probably unable to realize it immediately, I was actually expecting to benefit from her thoughts (whether I agree to them or not) by starting the conversation in the first place.

By saying this, one can infer that we are all just acting based on our personal interests. However, I do believe that what matters most is how the act is reciprocated. For example, going back to the example I’ve given, I can share more of my thoughts to her (which also has the possibility of being beneficial for her) and do this in order to once again open up the possibility of her sharing more of her thoughts which I might also benefit from. Thus, it becomes a cycle of overlapping personal intentions. Some other examples are helping out a friend and in turn achieving happiness and self-fulfillment; and doing favors to achieve recognition and acceptance.

By saying so, altruism indeed seems to be simply another hypocrisy. However, what delineates the justification of all these actions are the means. I give something in return for what I have gained, and I gain something because I gave something in return for it. This reminds me once again of the Golden Rule “Do not do unto others what you don’t want others to do unto you.” Other factors like claiming that one is acting based on altruism or perhaps the benefits of the action on both the sender and receiver is unbalanced (e.g. exploitation) can affect the morality (which is also subjective) of an action.

Thus, I would infer that Altruism can only exist in a dimension devoid of the concept of Causality. In such a dimension, your actions won’t produce any effects so therefore, self-interest is cancelled. Thus, actions based purely on altruism will be possible.

Now, of course I won’t say that I wrote this down out of sheer altruism. I’m quite aware that I’m doing this in order to open up the possibility of benefiting and learning from your thoughts as well. Now, don’t you think by responding to this, you are also opening up possibilities of benefiting from me too?

STUBBORN

Her embrace gave the sweetest burns

all over my frozen, scrawny body.

I blanket my eyes with ignorance,

But her stare ripped through my eyelids.

She held out her white hands.

I yearn to feel their warmth again.

But a sharp bittersweet pain stung me

And its ecstasy lured me back.

And so the fool is once again

Trapped in the cage he built.

The hypocrite remains

A puppet in his own demented world.

Dread

I saw a sullen pile of flesh

standing behind blunt ice.

Its washed-out eyes were buried

within the skin that I detested.

The creature made a putrid smile

As its nails began ripping my neck.

I tried sewing back the patches

but it was all in vain.

Anguish began choking me.

A dry voice drifted in my ear.

I shook and held my breath.

“Give up. I am you.”

The Covenant

I remember the day I traded my humanity

for a bite of the apple you hold.

It tasted like a bittersweet flame

which engulfed my soul until I grew cold.

Now, the ecstasy of the apple is gone.

My eyes began radiating its own luminescence.

I rose from my grave and wafted back home

to finally justify my existence.

I brought back Prometheus’ fire

to the world I believed I held dearly.

But as the gates I forged begin to rust,

a ruthless void begins consume me.

I may have forgotten how sugar tastes like,

and gray is the only color I can still see.

But I can stomach such fragrant drought,

if I’d be able to remain free.

Or am I really free?

Ambivalence

You pricked your finger again
but no blood escapes your skin.
You must catch the threads
before they begin unraveling.


The knots you’ve tied to your fingers
which you held so dearly for days
Turned into dewy spiderwebs
in a calm, moonlit night.


The smell of the reaper’s blade is back
and it’s searing your soul.
You pricked your finger once again
so that you will be forced to let go.


The pain made you remember that
sooner or later these strings would decay.
You’ll be left alone once again,
Making knots to cut and healing hands to prick.