I think I will return to Singapore, a little more shell-shocked then usual.

I woke up this morning with a funny taste in my head.
Spackled some butter over my whole grain bread,
Something tastes different, maybe it's my tongue,
Something tastes different, suddenly I'm not so young.

I'm just a stranger, even to myself.
A re-arranger of the proverbial bookshelf.
Don't be a fool girl, tell him you love him.
Don't be a fool girl, you're not above him.

Kiss the boys as they walk by, call me their baby.
But little do they know, I'm just a maybe.
Maybe my baby will be the one to leave me sore.
Maybe my baby will settle the score.

What have I become?
Something soft and really quite dumb.
Because I've fallen, oh, 'cuz I've fall-fallen, oh 'cuz I've fall-fall-fallen
So far away from the place where I started from.

Die alone ~ Ingrid Michaelson

Walking up the stairs from the bus stop, I felt the familiar ache to create music. And then I remembered how I know nothing about this stuff and really am powerless. No instrument is my voice and I am left with feeble attempts that barely make me happy. Happiness isn't even what I'm looking for anyway. No, I know that I never bothered to understand the rules and structures, the theories and constructions of music, although I know full well that is want makes a good musician (Know your theory! - I keep pressing my brother. He has talent too good to waste on elementary self-absorption). If I wanted to express myself through music, I must learn these rules before I have any authority or strength to contemplate breaking them - to make my own, and to call it mine.

And then there's the bigger issue of my life and identity. I don't know how or when I fell asleep here, but at some point, the struggle stopped, and I let the Angel go without giving me a name. My name. I don't know if it was because I was afraid, or because I was tired. But at any rate, I'm left here, whole and intact, which isn't always a good thing.

Not that I'm freaking out or anything. More like sitting in the dust, at midday, dirty and confused, woken by a passing stranger - he introduced himself as Disappointment, and said that he couldn't stick around, but might come back to check on me. Oh well. I stare at my hands and wonder if my legs still work. But before I figure that out, let me lie here a little while longer, while I try to make sense of it all. Maybe the Angel will come back and give me a second chance for more then a name.

Or maybe I should just get the fuck up and see if I can still walk. I'd limp through eternity if it meant that I could dance the truth. Just give me the guts to face You again until you break me, please.

Yes and no. To it all.

Memories :: The Woman in a Tree on the Hill



Where are we now?

When I am afraid and shy about myself, with others. I know there's something wrong. We weren't meant to be this way. Can we just love? Please?

I go home to Singapore to reconstitute myself.

"You need to work on your catch and release policy, Hannah"
~ Mellow.

I'm running away!

So what do I do with a truth that has finally hatched? When thoughts are birthed into reality, in the hands of another? It's ok. I'll wrestle it out.

Cause = Time

You come in, check my time
You've got fornication crimes
I've seen your hope on television
Where you've been, you were not were
They've got tricycles in skirts
This is a mouth that needs religion

And they all want to love the cause
'Cause they all need to be the cause
They all want to fuck the cause

So take me down, down through this
Kill the common law that missed
This is the blood I love to share

Little pistols and companion halls
Desperation tentacles
I've been alone since '89

We've got a menstruating disguise
Then know three completes the five
This is a church that should believe

And they all want to free the cause
'Cause they all need to dream a cause
They all need to be a cause

You've got all and it's
Pretty good, but I
Seem to be in disbelief

You come in, check my time
You've got fornication crimes
I've seen your death on television
Cue immortal child like times
Separation is divine
Here is a strike beneath your knees

And they all want to love the cause
'Cause they all need to be the cause
They all want to fuck the cause

Take me down, down through this
Kill the white within the bliss
Here is a waiting room
That wants to save your life

And they all want to love the cause
They all need to be the cause
They all want to dream a cause
They all need to fuck the cause

~ Broken Social Scene

I have this irrational itch to express some form of identity or meaning. I feel like this itch is just half way up my back and I can't reach it. Maybe I need someone to scratch this for me. Or, I could jump on some analytical tool/theory/truth and use that as a back-scratcher.

Wait this analogy doesn't really work because I am flexible enough to reach around every part of my back.

But anyway. I leave at midnight and through out my journey into the crisp silent night, I find my eyes drawn to my feet. As if a heavy burden rested above my brows. White on black and pink on white, I watch my steps and forget to look into your eyes and at my hands. I am fascinated by the interplay between the bright shoe-shape and the stark grey grids, I forget to look into your eyes and at my hands.

I reach the busloop at 12.38, only to discover that the next bus was leaving at 1.01. Dammit. So I sit down on the concrete roadblocks in front of the idle number 17 and stare at UBC's uninspiring buildings. She tells me again that I never get gritty on myself, as she did 6 years before.

So I peel away Radiohead from my ears and sit. I sit. I walk into myself and start to look around - what is this? And then Volley-ball boy walks right out of A&F land and strikes up a conversation. I never turn people away.

But I do need silence.

So young and so untender?
So young my lord, and true.

King Lear ~ W. Shakespeare

Almost an experiment

Where a fiery block of coal sits burning on table for too long, all that's left is an immense sense of loss.