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hello, oscar. a balloon ride would suffice.

magic often covers your eyes. even in black and white where sand and popcorn are the same shade of gray. how sweetly you sing my lullaby tonight.

somnumbulia

… and in this moment…

we must have floated through a thousand skies that day but all the years seem to settle on a single cloud. my eyes closed; i see the lights through the cigarette holes in our nightsky blanket and the only words i hear are “and in this moment i am happy”

and i spent a lifetime trying to answer all the questions i thought i had to ask only to find the answers have been there all this while; now withered and tattered and flapping lazily in the wind. All i had to do was look because you have been there all this while. only i was to full of myself to see you within me.

in the billion repetitions of voices, i feel you growing inside me; ready to explode. and i am looking over a ravine with you standing beside me. i am eager to jump. and it didn’t matter whether you jumped as well because if i stepped off the grey slate, i know i would soar and you would follow suit. because you cannot let me go. we have tried and we somehow find each other’s shadows again eventually and sleep is oh so peaceful nestled up next to your greying figure.

in the darkness of sleep, you hold my hand. each time, your face a different form; your hair a different color. but you resonate through the playful masks you put on. and we would sit quietly speaking in silence. i still don’t know what it is you want to show me sometimes. each time you try to lead me to someplace, i awake to find myself gasping for a breath i have been holding on to the whole time you were here. my fingers are still warm from yours and they tingle like rainbow champagne.

if i stopped asking the questions, would you tell me where you are taking me? is that you crying inside or is it me? i still cannot tell the difference. when your arms wrapped around me so tightly i begin to drown in you, and you drank me in thirstily, in that moment everything became nothing and we are in your submarine again, catching adventures with a butterfly net.

i feel you in every cell. both good and bad. your highs and lows your pains and peace. and they are jarring as they fight for a space in my finite form and i try to settle them quietly as strangers are afraid of screams and laughter of no known origin to them.

in this corner i wait. i see your hands reaching out. yet you stop. wait. to meet me halfway. to move only when i move for we move as one. the blackhole inside me is spilling out through the cracks of my fingers and i need your hands to hold it for me.

in veiled haze, i see people smile and tell me that you are me. that you are slowly fading away. and i smile back because the only thing they can see would be my lips. and i know you have stopped fading because i have stopped shining. do not worry, penelope. i will not let you ebb into nothingness. just as you have held mine in yours and kindled the glow worms in them. i will do the same for you.

we may be older in body, more weary of mind, but in that split second our souls brushed past each other, the lightness of being seeped through our fingers and latched on. i am exploding and imploding at the same time. i am still at awe at how beautiful you are. i am still taken aback each time you call me by my true name; only to be jolted back to reality by a quiet hard voice behind us. we eventually have to wake, penelope. but in this moment we are given to the winds and the haunting voices of melancholy angels with darkened eyes and bloodied lips.

it’s as if i have taken a step into another room and the brightness is both dark and blinding. and you are there again to greet me ‘hello’ and i knew it was you all along, a smile playing upon my lips because i have only been fooling myself into believing that i am not this being. and in the walls i see myself. and i attempt to reach out to the chalky cool blackness that would stain my fingers. and it doesn’t matter because in that blackness is the truth that we have been avoiding. and if we allowed it to swallow us whole this time, we would fall a thousand depths ad infinitum and my tears would hold no lead. neither would the hard silent voices distract us from exploding into a galaxy.

… and in this moment we will be happy…

seeking spartacus, my greek waldo.


a decade spun us into a frantic whitewater cruise on fragile origami sailboats. the ocean gapes ahead, winking in the orangepurple imitation of light and forged impressionist illusion. one more day. one more hour. one more minute. and i hold on tight to the sides of the boat, crumpling the paper in my hands whilst we sag lower and lower into the soggy paperbottom. a thousand years and then i open my eyes and you were gone. where, i do not know. should not know. your secrets you have kept so well from me because i have always refused to see them for what they are. their ugliness were beautiful because i squint so much in their glare. and everyone could see it but me. you have left me in that boat for years. for far longer than i realised. far longer than you realised. or intended to. a million years. a millisecond. yet the perfect youshaped space you left next to me and the warmth your fingers left in my hands were still jarringly obvious to every pore on my body. and there, the stone grey dorsals meet my toes as sleepless ancient eyes stare me down. i am bait. i am flesh. i am eaten. their gentlemanly smiles invitingly winsome; seduces my hunger with the wyles of a french courtesan. ah qui! i mangez vous avez maintenant! and their immaculately carved teeth leave scars on limbs so deep and gnarly that you cringe when you see me again.
your shadow ripple by the banks of the current;  your toes are dry, your smile is wide and i almost thought i saw those teeth amidst those lips of yours i used to kiss. your aviators hide those golden emerald eyes; oily with seawater and mystery. Tis not fear that coats my skin each time i see you now, penelope. perhaps it's anger that you have simply developed albatrosswings and have flown above the waves without me. as the absence of your weight sank our paper vessel; as briny ink seep through the folds and soak my dress and hair, i feel you whisper in my ear and hold my breath for me. and if i'm a beached whale on a cold northern beach, you are the inkling of a tiny child in yellow raincoat and black rubber boots splashing water into my gargantuan breathing apparatus.the futility of the desperate imagination would fuel me for a thousand more years. and yet when i turn to look at you straight on, i feel you slipping away like a shy spirit; lurking in the corner of my eyes, cozy in my tearducts.
My screams are silent to the watching seabirds; the spritely hermit crabs speedeating their short lives away nearby. Awaiting my own death by drowning out of water. my imperfections are more apparent with each breath. your tiny imaginary fingers the only soothing balm. i hold on tighter to your emptiness; afraid that if i let go of nothing, i would be nothing. oh and you. my death will be a silver web you swipe at endlessly for the rest of your life. one when people ask of, you would say georges gilles is your best friend.
i wonder. this haze that i cuddle in. the balmy coolness of a dewy blanket much like the sickly pale skin of a dying man. this web of mine i named after you; my georges gilles. would you muffle my crude obscene screams or magnify my imperfections beaming them against the hull of old ships and dinghies that happen by across my paperboat in a ruse of play pretend lighthouse.
and i think. perhaps if the clarity of your shadow and empty space was more apparent and fullfrontal that i would feel safe in the midst of a perfect storm. that death is a blind transparent eel at the depths of an ocean trench and i am the almighty great white devouring seals. such is the greatness and frailty of the ego you have planted deep within my belly. it fades along with the thoughts of your existence and grows; fueled both by sea volcanoes and seafoam. that your tiny childeyes soaking in the grandeur of my drowning whale carcass in comparison with your puny infant body would feel like the deepest darkest ocean.
oh! you are invincible! yet as i speak these words through my saltbroken lips you fade a shade lighter with each breath. and i disappear along with you. such is your lilting mermaidsong that befall my sailor ears. the weakened state of all things ME would cave in without the tentacles of your voice holding me up. and i melt. and bubble. and disappear into the seawater. until i become one with the monstrous depth that devours dreams and little children.
and here, i am afraid that you might smile the smile of a shark and forget that you were once human. that your waxed body would have brassplated etching of carcharodon carcharias in 13point helvetica for wideyed school children to oggle at in a museum one day. and perhaps i would be a taxidermied specimen displayed in the next room.

an invitation to happiness

we are bubbles waiting to pop. you paid me a visit and I saw rainbows on my skin. thinning and rippling in sunlight. sweet penelope, your invitation card read rsvp for 7 years ago. you help my hand while we strolled through the forest; no grey moonbeam to light our steps. But you deftly guided me through inkwells of sorrow and willowtrees. you held in your fingers glowinthedark spidersilk dropping it silently like mute pins. you said you wrote me letters. you said you dropped by for a visit not too long ago but you saw me cocooned up in flaxened tears. you said you whispered something in my webbed ears before leaving but I do not remember hearing anything. Perhaps the ghostly shadows that play upon my skin when I woke. They were trying to leave me messages you kept with them. perhaps you would tell me again one day. every friday I am reminded of a song and how you creep over the darkness to keep my fingers warm.

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hello penelope.
your quiet is a warzone in my head. when you finally spoke that day, you held your hand against my chest then ran away snickering like a little child when you felt it beat.
i heard you have been leaving me breadcrumb trails. the birds told me so. sourdough, they said. not a favourite, but they left them there for me to find. said that i should follow long lost trails which would perhaps lead me to myself.
I'm not quite sure i want to see that yet for now.
but i have been picking up the breadcrumbs as i walked along. slowly. they taste great with rainbow mushroom soup.

you put the lime in limericks -_-

you fed me stories with a side of fries. you asked me if i wanted more and said you would throw in a bowlful of rainbow icecream. i shook my head and told you i'm too old. you smiled and said it'll be good to know how to pick out rainbow icecream stains on your children's lips next time. I held your hand while you curled up to sleep with that smile on your face. it reminded me of waybackwhen especially when you asked for a bedtimestory. then you showed me a picture of your pet rock and asked me if it looks like you. only the eyebrows, miss.

cardamom tea and giant bugs

dear diary. there is a boy i know. he can get away with murder. any murder. everytime i see him i have to hold back the urge of poking his belly with my finger or hugging him because he reminds me of a teddy bear. or a koala. or a wombat. or a honey badger. yes. definitely a honey badger. there. i said it. he's the adorable-est creature i've ever met. at times i'm almost afraid to touch him lest he'd burst like a bubble or scream like a girl. it's just too bad that i was already picking on boys in first grade when you were born.


---

this here in my belly, welling up about to explode into a rainbow splatter. all the secrets and candies we've gorged on over the years. there's so much i want to tell you now. but perhaps it's just an itch i cannot scratch. i find all sorts of names for you; dress you up in vintage dresses and wayfarers. dust you with baby powder and set you out into the world. i'm not sure if i remember your real name now, penelope. but i will make up more names and write them in fancy script on 'hello my name is:' stickers. perhaps then i can keep track of your colors.
when you scooted next to me the other day and tapped me on my shoulder and asked if i would like to listen to the oceans you have collected in a seashell, you reminded me of the nights where we used to take rides in your little submarine and you would show me oceancreatures and explain them like we were in an art gallery.
i've stayed up for 100 hours; the colors and the waves still ringing in my ears. i can still feel the sand wet between my toes. you have long gone and here i am still holding on to the sounds.
i watched you build molotovs then seal them with pink kisses. then said you would pay babies with warm honeyed milk to throw them at people. you told me i could write little notes or love letters or thankyou cards that you could tie around the molotovs before they explode. you know that i already have them hidden in my pockets.
i love you penelope. why is that so hard for me to tell you to your face now? it plays at the edge of the cliff like the tarot's fool. i am the dog holding it back without real purpose. your shadow's spread across the valley below, ready to catch me if i fall; wrap around me like cloudy grey cashmere and rock me to sleep.
i met a gypsy girl one day. we sat down for tea and coconut and clove cigarettes. she told me my secrets and sang me songs. fed me macarons and tofu fritters. she told me that i would jump, not fall. and you would wrap your shadow around me but we will fall. but whether we land or not she could not see as her eyes rimmed with seawater. she knows but she cannot speak. her silence is my curse as she cannot help me with my journeys.
penelope, you are more real now than you ever were before. i smell your seaweed hair every night and i hear your smiles when i pretend to speak to people. i feel your breath as your spirit tells me who i should kill. you are destruction and a pink fluffy cloud. you are candied poison with a shot of tequila. you will be the one to kill me and i will still love you for that.
my choice, the gypsy girl said would be to walk the journey of the tarot fool with my heart rotting in a sack or i could make you swallow your molotov. pay off a child to toss one to you. i will make it pretty with glitter and stickers. i am afraid that if i leave, i would not have a heart to keep in the sack. and if i made you that molotov i would hold it for you.

my heart is not a goddamn tamagotchi! give it back before the battery runs out!

jello shots

everything seems better with words sprinkled over them like garnish. perhaps it's the assumption that you make of the meaning these words bear. the teeny holographic glint that catches the corner of your eye to make you believe something that isn't really there. like an invisible raincoat or a color which isn't really here nor there.
i'm really sitting in my parents' study, in the midst of the swirling funk of stale durian; heady, hungry and honest to god lazy. but let's pretend for a moment that i'm crouched at a corner of a bohemian park, watching people go by, scribbling incessantly into my moleskine because i'm ALWAYS plagued by inspiration. they come SO often that i cannot bear to live without my venti starbucks coffee as my companion and a pained look on my face. yes, being creative and bohemian is HARD. [i'm really wondering if instant noodles would make a good lunch because goddammit i'm fucking hungry as hell right now] perhaps i'm struggling so much that i cannot even afford starbucks. so scratch that. ANY coffee would do. because somehow, someone one day made people believe that guzzling coffee is 'cool'.
enough rambling. eat first. then sketch. or perhaps just back to sleep. it's one of those days.

***
i find it amusing that you would name your pet rock adam. it's been almost a year and i only just realised this. perhaps there are things that we know about each other that we do not even realise we know. perhaps i have written your stories in the past and you are living my imaginations. had i typed ctrl+del would you still exist tomorrow?

teatime with strangers in cheesecake shop

hello big burly bear! i dreamt you took me hunting for pirates treasure but the shops were closed and the pirates were at sea. A snake charmer beckoned and asked us if we would like to buy snakes from him. on a ratty brown couch, we sat, flipping through the snakes he handed us like they were wallpaper samples. you told me i could have one and most of the time i was more preoccupied with hoping i wouldn't catch anything from sitting on the couch.

penelope, when you dropped by the other day with a boxful of candy and mints, you kissed me on the cheek and asked if i am still alive. you smelt of peppermint-the red and white stripey ones; and your eyes were the color of blueberry boiled sweets. ever the imp, you smirked and lounged next to me, wondering aloud if i missed you while you were gone this whole time. i do not know how to answer that exactly. perhaps when you drop by again next lifetime, i might be able to scribble out a notecard to you.

heaven hell and bright orange BBs

when i was five, a trip with my father to a faraway place (it seemed far away at that time) found me at a tiny bakery. we'd stopped to meet a client of his and we were feeling peckish. my father has an affinity with bakeries and anything bread. sitting on the top of the refrigerated shelf was a tray of the most wonderful pastel rainbow colored dessert i had ever laid my eyes on. after much bugging, my dad got me a slice. it was a strange moist cottony texture that wasn't really cake or pudding or jelly. and it was wonderful! i was pretty convinced that i was really eating a piece of rainbow/cloud confection. if you could eat clouds, they would be of a light moist cottony texture that melts on your lips. it would be like heavy cotton candy. and rainbows would be just the same, only more colorful. that was my slice of heaven.

a forgotten name leaves the empty feeling of having your guts being hollowed out by a candiru. HEL!!

craptacularly cheap BB gun and BBs for less than 9 bucks. watch out cats!