The aftermath of tasting the juice of a lemon, scrunges your buds and twitches your jaws. Just like how your lips shrivel at the sourness of the lemon. Ideologies you shoot your mouth off with doesn't make you the person your beliefs should mold you to become. The fine thread you grit your teeth onto slips through the gaps that you forgot to obstruct. The visits you make to your psychiatrist don't arise any improvements and you are still spellbound.

So tell me, how is it that Man should be able to soothe and cure insanity when God cannot? Tell me, why God rests on the 7th day of the week?

We are overpowered with fatigue that absolutely nothing makes sense; not the mathematical formulas we memorise, not the equations we conjure, and definitely not the things we say or do when life holds its possessive and jealous grip of us.

I'll sing it one last time for you
Then we really have to go
You've been the only thing that's right
In all I've done

And I can barely look at you
But every single time I do
I know we'll make it anywhere
Anyway from here

Light up, light up
As if you have a choice
Even if you cannot hear my voice
I'll be right beside you dear

Louder louder
And we'll run for our lives
I can hardly speak I understand
Why you can't raise your voice to say

To think I might not see those eyes
Makes it so hard not to cry
And as we say our long goodbye
I nearly do

Slower slower
We don't have time for that
I just want to find an easier way
To get out of our little heads

Have heart my dear
We're bound to be afraid
Even if it's just for a few days
Making up for all this mess

Run (Snow Patrol)

You swallowed down the apple jammed at the back of your throat, forced the pangs from streaming down your face in forms of droplets, and acquainted yourself back to them with a smile. The upturn of your lips suggested positive socialisation and the others too, in return, greeted you with the exact gesture you had displayed to them. Still, hostile silence crowded you (like vultures crowing around a carcass), and the noise of the piercing quietude shattered your hearing ability.

Alas, emotions imploded into a burst of tears. You savoured the apple that was stuck at the back of your esophagus, and you relished relief from blockage of breathing. Gladness overwhelmed you, but the stings would linger. The tales would be swept under carpets, and kept closeted.

It wouldn't be long until you realise, that negativity has its way of toying you.

Eager faces greeted at capacious dinner tables, with dazzling chandeliers plunged from the ceiling, glistening the far ends of the spacious dining hall. Fine cuisines whipped up and served in perfect dishes followed up by friendly gestures the diners and waitors welcomed guests with. They exchange dialogues of wisdom and bread for thought.

Yet amidst frenzy, all she could see was the flame of the candle seated right beside her; such gracious implementation of human etiquette and posture. The marvel of her attention caught her engaging in intimate glances.

He acknowledged flirtation with a responding smile. It was how their story commenced.

Intricacies of the methods, formulas we use to live, makes the performing more difficult than it already is. The raucous squeezes goodness in things, and all that's left is a hysterical state of tears and a whirlpool of self-inflicting intentions. Dreams we pursue; the sought-afters never end. Lethargic souls in dismay and devastation, unable to discover truth between lines of deceit. The interludes have halted their purpose, to allow time for rest - to breathe. Often, anger overwhelms, to the extent of overtaking consciousness, causing the overflowing emotions to rupture in abrupt ways you always end up regretting over.

Return me my sweet surrender.

The familiar faces.






My angel. (Effects of photograph purely coincidental.)

Spread your clipped wings to caress the horizons that were once out of grasp. Embrace the legacies of childhood and innocence your parents read night after night; nostalgia now dampening your eyes and filling the self with emotions. Tragedies of fairytales gone wayward thrown into fires of the forgotten. The world no longer the stage for the other fronts you own; your safe playground where feelings and love nurture and stand firm on the poles you and her cling onto.

Awaited friendships have returned, the better overflowing from the bad ones. I guess, it does, afterall, shine after a rain. Lacking of faith doesn't hinder smudged pages of the sepia book, the written will come sun and pour but the rainbow will mark infinite happiness, forever.

Leeching onto me is the best thing that has ever happened to me. And you, not a word less than I love you, will tell you everything I feel. You, my victory's crown, my prized gem, my all.

They take a stroll in the subtle breeze to a little hut where they settle themselves in comfort, outpouring details during one another's absence. Their hands never came apart, interlocking gratitude and appreciation for one another's presence. The tales seemingly never has a full stop. On her lover's lap she cushions all overbearing grudges and clenched troubles. With sparkling droplets trickling down her rosy cheeks, her lover gently wipes away her tears. She casts away intentions of veiling emotions and affection, revealing all that was never visible to her lover. In complete adoration, the evening spent under the hut conversing heart exchanges touches up with a perfect goodbye - the passion arises. Gradual soft kisses become unseparable affinity.

The lovers then gleefully part, in anticipation of their next ride.

Beastly emotions clogged up her thoughts, her mind fogged with games of the heart. The pangs did not discontinue; instead they ate up on control. Consumed to lethargy, she made yet another attempt to crawl up to the peak once more. The summit she prowled upwards was steep and winding. The rain and wind caused wear and tear, they caused pours down her face. Still, the journey she seeked was unsure.

She joined the drama scene. The world set itself as her stage, where the plays repeated, where genuity never exists. She took roles from the wretched widow to the dusk angels, from vixens to sunshine fairies. From comedy to drama, her journey was undecided. Still, the games Love toyed her instilled deeper facades. Acting wasn't her form of solace. The make up caused her to grow pale in complexion, the tears smeared her rouge.

Again, she embarked on another journey.

Her discovered passion for the piano soon grew. Smitten by the one that taught her the ropes to the fingers implementing, then lifting off from the black and white keys, she found herself indulging in passion on both sides. They played the pieces together in harmonious composition. He rubbed her silk-hands each time her hands felt weary from practises. She served him his meals, and took good care of him. They developed a passion and expertise in the field they were in; in the games they played. It was with music of the heart, where she found she belonged.

Her search was concluded. Her journey went on..

Incessant screams and preposterous mourning, ludicrous nature of the internal self contradicts the visible external. Furiousity collected within, and the chest tightened with grudge. The heart relents, but never forgets retrospection. Shut-eyed, tear-soaked, mascara-smudged, it is only slumber that will take her further than her given boundary to reach. Her lover tarnishes her faith with batters and spiteful scorning. Her empty being brims itself with hatred and unforgiveness as she narrowed herself from the world.

She then found herself in the world of the unconscious, where the beings there, too, were exactly the same as when they were in reality. She forced her soul, lost in the middle, between dreams and reality.

-

The idle interferes, the timid and cowardly hides, the protective inconsistent in her tellings and cowardly deeds. Far too long, have these matters been dragged by chains and venomous chatters. An end, would be the kiss of apology.

Cheryl: I think Germaine owes me apologies too, don't you think?
Julian: never mind
Julian: She doesnt know all these alright?
Cheryl: No, I don't practice such bad habits
Cheryl: Well, she should
Cheryl: Tell her
Julian: I will.
Cheryl: Or we will
Julian: Ok.

An apology from Germaine would dissolve all problems. It would be nice too.
Cheryl 06.15.05 - 7:08 am #
Give her time. She will. She just need the computer. Thanks.
Julian Homepage 06.15.05 - 12:47 pm #

An email from Germaine:
My apologies for everything that has happened. I hope everything would end here and get on with our own lives. Thank You.

Maine

Seeds of resentment scattered by the hurried winds, and nurtured into hatred that erodes the soil of fertility. Contradiction seems no further than vision's length, while your lips dehydrate from thirst of truth. It is her, that I have seeked reverie in. It is her. Behold the light that will mask your sight into eternal nothingness, and never forget that karma will be a good man's favourite justice.

Scurrying through melodies and the inked past, she pondered deep on how she could salvage the turmoil that was instituted right before her. Her eyes glistened with tears that resisted her from paroxysm; her lips chaste.

In the castle she grew up in, lived kings and queens, princes and princesses and royal ministers. Yet, she could hear the echoes of piercing silence strip her sanity off her whenever she took lonesome walks in the afternoons in the castle.

There came a day, she took a visit to the commoner's streets and chanced upon a fine young lad. He was a performer on the streets. Intently, she watched him carry out amusing stunts and she found that she blushed whenever the street performer took glances at her while he was performing. Soon, glances and blushes flourished to personal introductions to one another. It wasn't long before they found themselves in utter love with each other.

Day after day, night after night, she thought of nothing but that street performer in idle moments. She knew that it was never going to be possible for her to introduce him to her royal father and mother, for they would be furious and disagreeing. They would shove the affair to secrecy, and would never permit the princess to ever see the street performer again. The relationship would never be discovered or exposed.

One day, a royal subject that was doing his weekly routine checks, spotted the princess and the street performer intimately gazing at each other at the fountain in the middle of the cottages. In suspicion, he turned to telling it to the King. The King got in a rage when he got hold of the news about the princess and the street performer. Without question or further probing, he demanded a guard to lock the princess in her chamber and the street performer was to be sentenced to death immediately. The princess was frantic upon hearing the verdict from her father. Desperate and devastated as she was, there was nothing she could do. She stayed in her chamber weeping, bitter-hearted and agonized.

Still listening to the lullabys while penning down final details of princesshood in her diary, the tears finally rivered down her helpless and vulnerable face. Images of the street performer flashed in her vision as she took off the pin that bound her golden curl-locked hair. She bundled her long hair, stepped up her golden chair, and roped it around the wooden poles that held the ceiling firm. She slid her delicate neck into her hair and, with a gentle push-away from the chair, her body soon became lifeless after a tragic struggle.

It was then, that eternity was embarked.

Fallacy dispersed to cruel crumbles of both worlds. Your hand holds the flute of magical champagne and your head holds strategies of the bloody human war. The scale you rendered shook from inbalance because no weight tallied. Bubbles of fantasies melt at immense intensity of hypocrisy. Your legs scampered great distances but you never could hide. They were the boundless walls that persistently hunted you. They chased and chased, no matter how you kept fleeing.

"Well, i have admitted. And the blog template is changed by me, cause i find it ugly to have something in common with them. Even the template placings." -Julian Seah-

Prior to that, if it was so 'ugly', you wouldn't even harbour the thought of copying and pasting the codes into your template. Think about it. Words of justification.

12th June's second entry was comment-inviting and emotion-inducing. I need all your help to participate in this short survey (just 11 questions) -
(Link URL)

I've warned, plagiarism is illegal and a no-no for a designing student/designer. And copyrighted ideas/materials rightfully remains copyrighted. In case you didn't catch my copyright disclaimer, here it is:

Contents within this blog boundary are strictly copyrighted. Plagiarism charges will apply without hesistation if contents or images in this blog are discovered utilised outside soulcleavage.blogspot.com without permission. Contructive comments are warmly welcomed. Spam will be reported to authorities.

Check out this ripper's layout (why, the htmls codes are almost identical). Friends/lover(s)/good relations of this blogger who harbour intentions of shielding her identity by either frivously commenting or dissing me in any form, save it. I'll have to be anticipating unkind, unnecessary and unsightly remarks from mules who cannot comprehend the previous statement.

http://knickersnstockings.blogspot.com/

Happy 18th Birthday Priscelia Chin Meh Meh!

Weird dreams have been mapping my sleep lately. First, I dreamt that Nique and I were cohabitating and she refused to support my expenses, and she refused to let me work as well. Next, I dreamt that Siyuan knew Marion, and he changed his msn nick to commemorate her third death anniversary, when in life he doesn't know her at all.

Breaking out in consecutive extreme chills and cold sweat. Plans of buying a new printer cancelled because of flu, instead I'm downloading Corrinne May's album online. We've been quarrelling a lot, and it's causing me to feel so weary hanging on sometimes. Nobody's initiative, not even her. It's disappointing.

Gusts of wind brushed against the window panes. Wolves of the wind sorrowfully howl as gentle energy hits the glass, coinciding with the music softly playing from the gramophone. The familiar fragrance of rain spreaded across the room as the world anticipated rain. Oh what beautiful await. She wanted to dance to the music, but her aging body lifted her no further than a few steps from the handles of her rocking chair. She rested in the cushions of her worthy armchair, and began to fall asleep. Moments of wondrous youth streamed into her vague memories as her being began to immerse into immortality.

Ah, she felt the heavens outstretching their Light to her. Her extended journey was done.

The ridiculously hectic schedules have been jam-packed lately that my biological clock is haywire. It doesn't feel appropriate to wake up at 7am (like this morning), and it feels more atrocious to be waking up at 10am (other days) when I'm turning into bed on the average at 3am every night. Whatever the description is, I am thorougly drained and will be recharging myself up this weekends. Lecturers reading, please be kind on deadlines.

I need more time with you. We need to replenish all that's been burnt during the past weeks. We've been squabbling far too much and I don't like things this way. I've been too tired to even quarrel with you. so I left things hanging on that string. Give me time to tighten the knot back.

It's only a month and four days more to that day when emotions will stir to ugly incompatible mixtures. Yes, July 14th every year since three years ago. It's amazing, how unbelievable these three years (to be) have swum by, yet the distinct images of the mark of her physical absence forever replay themselves over and over again throughout. Death still is a threat to me, my worst enemy. She deserved a subtle painless death, but it was cruel and tragic. I don't think I'd know how to react this third death anniversary. I miss the times when rebel ruled our youth, when frequent trauncy was manipulated as times for us to truly bond, the times you courageously stood up for me, the times you shed tears when I did. I miss you very much. The tears are drawing to my eyes, and they're burning from fatigue. I wish things could be different.

It is easy, to churn adjective after adjective, describing how the inner mind lives its days. What isn't simple is how to stop conjuring words and start drilling into actions. The level of extreme difficulty faced, when your mind echoes louder than your heart.

A daily dosage of Coldplay is the temporary cure to my incessant mental probing. Tomorrow, I will purchase my first legal pack of cigarettes; no other escape route for now.

Misled into intense falsity of well-promised relationships, she discovers herself sinking deeper into that muddy swamp with no rescuing hand. She gasps for air, but the mud diffuses into her breathing; a thousand needles puncturing her lungs. Too late to speak, no more time for last words. Her limbs aching from panic and struggle, numbing rapidly at each tedious kick made, but still, no sign of aid. She saw shadows approaching. They walked to the borders of where she was drowning. They stood, and watched. Their faces oblivious to her yells for help, their bodies in no prompt to save her.

The piercing cries soon were silenced. People who witnessed knelt to their knees and began weeping bitterly, crying out to heavens over physical loss of a desperate friend who once needed them.

Moments hold still, time ripens
Showhand; the cards they play
Lay them on the table,
Miserable facades that's been sweeping under
wicked clutches that roped you down
Induce joy, discard the games loathed
The entertainment that made you part of them cruel beings.

Rain and tears smeared together
onto tender cheeks you once kissed
How Man goes astray so easily, effortlessly
How lingering pain eats into

Callous intentions prick the goodness you hid
The heart once wrecked, still broken
That doll, torn and forlorn
Returns; does it not deserve?

Its golden shimmer peeped from the corner of her vision; it captured her attention. Such grandeur was not worthy picturing, let alone witnessing it. Delicate perfection prostrated before her, manifesting true wonders that were carried down these decades, centuries and milleniums. The key to her soul, shone indescandently. Tears rivered down her vulnerable cheeks as she stared, astonished and speechless. Her mouth felt numb, causing her to stammer as she tried to shape the words she wanted to say.

In front of her, was affinity's miracle. Her knight stood, suave and dashing; swept her off the windy grounds she stood upon, swiftly lifted her to heights of heavens. Her savior, her everything.

Docile femimity; alluring seduction at the edge of her tongue as she spoke the words. Still, they gazed into one another in utter fondness, with a million expressive metaphors to depict true meaning. Yet, silence was complete.

Their bodies slayed in restless exhaustion, not a limb caught in movement. Eyes walled off from visions that scalded realism. Life - consumed.

Truth remained concealed, yet the will to witness; overbearing, crucified under temptation. Her eyes welled up with sorrow; the void of gathering. Gruesome verbal disputes concluded in holocaust. Her everything imploded into a rubble; the dust and soot dissolved by tears.

The repeated procession continued in solemnity, with veils of blackened dresses soldierly collecting burnt efforts. Marching up winding road, the impurity clustered to irredeemable dirt that can never be washed of its filth.

It was never about pushing the dirt to someone's blame, it was about cleaning it up together.

Terms from spectrums A to Z related to design and proposals buzzing to my conscience subconsciously. There is too much work to harbour plans like shopping and entertainment. So shopping session today took my mind off certain matters for awhile. It didn't take long for bad occurences to return into thoughts. Adding onto that, my tragus piercing's acting up. Good part of today is, I haven't anything to worry concerning deadlines for tomorrow. Go on, console yourself girlie.

Shopping expenses under girlfriend today, as fifth monthsary presents. Mng black full-of-type top $30, Project Blood Brothers pencil case $20, MissHa pearl-green nail polish $2.50 and vintage earrings $3.90, date with my love - priceless. I bought her a WH jersey $16.

The roof of affinty houses home, yours and mine. I, cook your favourite whipped-ups and you, just be there provide me with tender loving care. On your shoulders I will cushion my lethargy onto, and in my heart you will seek your home at.

The wheels of time halt for no boundaries, except for the ones already crossed over. The route was finely carved and pathed, so may our ideals and goals. Our destination is forever, and fifth month is only beginning. Patience travel us further than lengths of deserts and oceans, it attracts us deeper into fondness. This five months of tolerance and sheer loving, has been the most incredible ride of my life. Live this ride on with me, and we will pen down new stories for all to green at.

You know I can't do without you now.

The Home's infrastructure has wired up in meshes. Complexity permits in between lines of positivity, and none questions their failures in behavior. Merely 16, yet too tangled up in homely politics; too caught up trying to chase after perfection. Her mind hollers cruelty of human nature, yet her heart murmurs her flaws that were too vivid to miss, penetrating her with guilt.

Have we refused to open up to options, or has Man become truly informidable? Does it take too much to lower just a portion of pride?

Home suddenly, feels foreign.