Bored
Oh well, while I'm trying my utmost not to be absolutely furious with my maplestory which refuses to work, I shall blog again.
I found one of my VERY favourite poems while digging through my pile of rubble (yes, my room looks like a war-zone, ask zhi hua if you don't believe it). Okay, turn off my blog music if it is blaring out right now. Need to get into the mood, you know? So here it goes...
CarouselLucinda RoyI often spin around with you and hear
the fragile music of a carousel;
I feel your black arms around me in a heavy sweep
of closeness, taking me up on notes which fall
like eggs through water.
I am older now
and you have fallen from the garish horse
a long time since, and I am holding on
with thin brown fingers. Do you know
it's been a quarter century since you
(with your voice like the man who plays God in the movies)
kissed me? I don't remember your kisses.
I remember you wearing striped pyjamas
and waving to me from the ward -- your great hand
scooping a half-circle out of nothing;
how my brother almost choked on a Lifesaver
until a male nurse turned him upside down
and out came the white mint with the hole
that saved him.
I dreamed you died, and when I woke
my mother was by the bed. 'How will I light
the fire?' she said. I didn't know.
It was cold in our house; our breath came out
round as balloons and dissolved till we breathed
again. We learnt to accommodate spaces
as you must have learnt to accommodate...
but no. Where there is no space to put things,
no place for your bones or your slippers or my words
there cannot be a place for spaces.
It must be fine to know only lack of substance
the round emptiness in an angel's trumpet --
and still hear music.
I have the things you made
and she has made us see you in them.
I have the ivory statues and the pictures
telling stories of African ancestors,
a birth, flights into Egypt. In your work
I find the stillness of your eyes and mouth,
the stillness which is always at the center
of the spinning ball which we hurl high and long.
I often spin around with you and hear
the fragile music of the carousel.
My horse would gallop forward if I let him
but I prefer the swinging back to where
we were, slow undulations round and back
to identical place. I prefer to see
your black hands with mine on a crimson mane
which will never be swept back by the wind.
---
And
that, ladies and gentlemen, is my favourite poem ever.
I love the way it makes me feel rather sad, even though when I read the poem first time I didn't quite understand it. I could almost hear the faint music of the carousel while the author goes through her memories, the angel's trumpet, the stillness, the cold. Oh, this poem is so beautiful. Haiz.
Oh yeah, in case you are feeling
hur? 3 points to note:
1) The author's talking about her father
2) There's a repeated motif of a circle throughout the poem
3) The angel's trumpet represents that though music cannot be seen, it can be felt. Like her father, who, though physically not with them, will always be felt. According to my teacher at least.
If only, if only I could write like her. Sigh.
So now, I've been busy staring at the downloading box, and it reads 8%. 8%. And the box tells me that the estimated tiem left is 6 hours 54 minutes. How pleasant. I hope it is lying, the little liar. Bleaugh.
Do you know I have this picture of the sony ericsson k700i staring at me from my window cos I plonked it there a rather long time ago to let me see my beloved phone which is never going to come? It's been looking at me with its camera, the sleek silver surface with a tinge of grey gleaming off in the whatever light they used to take the picture of the phone. Yeah, the camera never lies.
And I have a picture of Sony Cybershot DSC-T5 sitting on my desk, the metallic red surface coupled with silver, the slightly greenish lens of the camera also looking at me. That sophisticated thin camera, in a picture, staring at me.
*goes down to the kitchen to get a knife, and comes back up again, then starts to frantically wipe the silver surface*
*the surface gleams with a shine*
Melody: Zhi Xin! What are you doing?
Zhi Xin: *snickers evilly*
Melody: (oh no, zhixin's up to something, and I don't think it's pleasant)
Zhi Xin: heh heh heh... BLOOD, MY KNIFE WANTS BLOOD! MORE BLOOD!
Melody: (oh dear, I was rather right...)
*shakes head* Oh dear, I've been neglecting you all readers... but I told you I found myself a great companion! BLOOD...
Melody: OF WHO? *widens eyes, a horrified expression*
Zhi Xin: WAHAHAHAZ! Of my HISTORY and CHINESE exam papers! I want their BLOOD to stain the edges of my knife! BLOOOOOOOD!
Melody: (oh dear, I'm afraid the exams have fried her brain...)
One more shark was killed yesterday, eaten by my murderous family. Poor shark. It lies somewhere in the ocean, a bloodied corpse, eyes turned out in agony. Floating, waiting for other sharks to devour it. Overpowered by weapons that give it no time to react, cruelly, a part of it hacked off, then thrown back into the ocean again. Pain. It tries to swim, but without its fin, it is helpless. It falls to the bottom, unable to breathe, suffocating. It dies in the place it calls home, in the place where so many fishes fear it, yet it is unable to defend itself against a predator from land, a predator which every animal fears. Died, of excruciating pain, and of suffocation.
When i have my wedding in future, shark fin is not going to be on the menu.
13% downloaded, 6 hours 33 minutes to go. Don't ask me. I tried downloading it by bittorrent, waited a total of 2 hours, and was fuming mad to find that the file was YET AGAIN corrupted. If this is corrupted too... I don't know what I'll do. Probably go out and tear some buildings and let out a roar that can be heard all the way in pluto.
*ROOAAAR*
Pluto-tians: What was that? Oh dear, it's must be our death day! RUN PLUTO-TIANS, RUN!
I'm bored... can someone suggest a viable alternative besides Maple? Please?
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far and wee
you and i together mysteriously and always floating
Saturday, October 22
11:15 AM
