ALIEN LANDSCAPE
Author : NHJ
MSN: crescent_cage@hotmail.com
email : spherickey@gmail.com
Other Blogsites
MRH
Yeoks
Airina
Iskandar
PostSecret
echoncyllan
Before Gargoyle
One Million Footnotes
Read My Poetry.
Playing:
Between the Bars (Elliott Smith Cover) by Metric
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
flight tag
Nuri and i played cloudchasing. there is a big field in the west where the grass sway and laugh and where great shadows of clouds fragment the green with gray and black. the point of the game is to stay on one of the moving cloud shadows and not to be in the sunshine or you will be burned to death. Nuri picked a particularly big cloud-shadow because she was a very big little girl now. i chose one slightly behind her and we raced across the field as fast as our breath and legs allowed without stopping. the green seemed neverending. the run seemed to take days and our feet tickled with the tease of wings, but then the field ends and both of us would have to leap to another shadow and fly again. it was a wonderful game of freedom and flight. i lost of course. Nuri has great strides so i burned in the sun and got buried by her laughter.
oh Nuri, you are so beautiful it hurts me slightly.
Posted by NHJ 8/31/2005 01:55:00 pm
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
the Endless seven
the problem with speed reading something as chaotic and as deviant as Neil Gaiman's Sandman is that it sends a myriad of luminous ghosts of philosophical and satirical ideas ricocheting softly about your head. you start falling in love with characters like Delirium and Dream. and who could resist the most attractive and human of the Endless, who is Death herself?
Delirium has bred colourful flickering guppies in my head that feed on logic and common sense. it drains and uplifts at the same time. while Dream, he is boring and strange and touchingly human.
Neil Gaiman is a bizarre writer. he bores me with his library of extensive historical and modern stories and characters yet at the same time excites me with the madness and depth of the dark allegories of the Endless (Destiny, Death, Dream, Destruction, Desire, Despair, Delirium).
at the end of the mad journey, and at the death of Dream, Delirium holds my hand while promising me more guppies and Death whispers things unheard. Destiny's quill scratched away while Desire and Despair hid in crevices of the soul that i dare not peek.
Posted by NHJ 8/30/2005 12:56:00 pm
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
he never realised how apt his words were when he called me Ruby-Eyes. i opened my them this morning and i saw they were both shining red. the pupil was ringed with bluish silver. i do not feel any different.
Posted by NHJ 8/17/2005 10:51:00 pm
Saturday, August 13, 2005
the way only a tornado can.
when riding the motorbike, the moon and stars run with you, the trees along the road blend into one moving kaleidoscopic green canvas and the wind embraces you the way only a tornado can. you feel like Clark Kent or Wally West!
the trees play a story that repeats but never is the same! you see how leaf veins and blood veins and great river channels and even our very hands echo the ambitious claw that is the tree. you see a murmur of history and of the future. of freedom in rootedness. of the heroic centimetre-a-year climb towards the sky. your dreams get lost in its green canvas flow of a neverending vision. the colour green and that of true immortality.
and when you spread your arms up high, it feels like nothing can stop you and the stars are all within your grasp and they feel like prickly dandelions, not the great spheres of gases they really are. and the moon is ever changing. a crown upon your head. a friend by your side. a runaway pale satellite. a shadow. your shadow. the moon largens and humbles as you reach higher.
but you know what is the best part? the wind. its beautiful howl. how it tells you secrets in a whispery impatient forceful rush if you learn to listen. how it runs its soft, insistent cool hand all over your body. and when you laugh loudly or shout, you don't echo back or just fade away. the wind carries it far and wide like a fleeing letter to be heard in thoughts and dreams.
and the wind, it embraces you the way only a tornado can. that is all. and that is everything.
Posted by NHJ 8/13/2005 11:55:00 pm
Sand and the transvestite mommy.
i was reading when an adorable little boy with brown curls and skin the colour of beach sand edged from his seat then looked at me with a dazzling, soft little boy smile. still lost in the magic that is Patrick O'Leary, all i could afford was a small smile which seemed to delight him. he started singing and screaming and something in between. then, i heard his mommy berate him with an unusually deep voice for normal mommies.
that was when i realised little Sand's mommy is a transvestite. he was tall with stiff, shoulder length, dyed hair, malay-brown skin and small but noticeable breasts.
as we were getting off, little Sand waved at me from his mommy's shoulder. i waved and winked in return. that was when i noticed everyone was staring fixedly. it wasn't surprising; it is basic human curiosity in the face of such an abnormal outcome of self insecurity.
but i felt very protective of the boy. i could not help but feel anger as i looked upon yellow and brown faces as they stared in open disgust at the boy and his parent. what sin has the boy committed to earn such stares? why did they not smile as the boy gleefully laughed and sang at them? they merely stared with stupid scared looks. laughter proved to be immune to ears stuffed with misplaced prejudice and ignorance.
i disapprove of transvestites, yes. but i disapprove more of the insensitivity and heartlessness of society when they judge a young laughing boy for what his mother is.
this happened yesterday.
i might have written a much better entry if i recorded this immediately after it happened. feelings are so much harder to hold on to than thoughts.
what scares me more than homosexuality, is how i understand their attraction. in the part of women of course. gay men are beyond my understanding or desire for any closure for understanding.
Posted by NHJ 8/13/2005 10:52:00 pm
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
puddle
Craig: we'll play again tomorrow, Laura.
(Laura continues crying and hugging his knees)
Raina: Laura doesn't believe in tomorrow.
she doesn't believe in tomorrow. she doesn't believe in tomorrow. do you know how it feels like to hear that of Laura? like hooking swinging pendulums from the edges of the heart. how does it feel like for her?
so i told Fir today, let's just sit and talk today, ok?
i... i don't think i believe in tomorrow either today. but this i did not say out loud.
being the ever innocent cynic, at that note he started to lecture me about the state of the world and the futility of National Day.
i looked into those angry gentle eyes and said they don't exist, ok? look at me. do they exist?
he paused, smiled and said no.
when it rains, i step out of the window and try to use the raindrops as stepping stones to wherever Fir is at that time. it almost is like flying.
but my feet are always not fleet enough as i try to skip from one drop to another and the drop my toe is pressed on, fall to the ground and disintegrate like broken glass.
i fall and splash apart together with the rain.
do you think it hurts too when raindrops break Fir?
you never made it to my window.
are you a puddle like me now?
do people look at you and only see themselves?
do they kick and break you because they do not like what they see?
it is raining again, love. my toes are wet against the windowsill. let us meet in the middle and stop dancing. we will fall together and break to form one puddle.
that way, when people kick us and break us, at least there will be a million other pieces of us. you and me. rain.
i love you.
Posted by NHJ 8/03/2005 09:41:00 pm
Monday, August 01, 2005
An Arienette.
there is this girl who kisses with a blindfold on- a mercenary. i am not sure if undertaking that kind of duty is out of selfishness or simply because of a pure heart. there have been insinuations (from her part) however, that it is a mixture of both.
drifted an inappropriate distance from herself, she floats aimlessly like a ghost; she is so repelled by herself that she completely disconnect from her own beauty. she tries to hide it by being strangely frisky at unexpected moments when one assumes one has actually come close to unveiling a wonderful sweet secret then just gets left behind in a confusion of flurry falsely happy movements.
it is ironic that a mistrustful person such as her could be so appalled by the idea of loneliness. she seems to think it a defect. maybe even a sign of social ineptness.
a gift or a curse when she is just so... needed? the world needs a person such as her. someone sweet, reliable, available and sufficiently sociable. it is nice to be needed i guess. but with a depleting amount of trust, it is terribly lonely.
(it is because of things like this that i am comfortable with my current social level. or rather Unsocial level.)
hers is a labyrinth of characteristics and intentions. at times a mismatch of destiny and identity.
what i feel for her - that is a crucial component to the point of this particular entry. i do not deny that there is a certain affinity between us which she may not even see because of our conflicting personalities. and there is the fact that i can create so much just by holding a place in my heart for her. feelings that are able to be translated into poetry and words are precious. which means she is special to me. there is no why or how. certain things just are.
i wish she could see that part of her that she needs to see and not be bullied by misery whose only leverage is some deed she is ashamed of. i hope one day she learns how to harness that untapped radiance inside of her to cast light on all the shadows she has been wearing around her like a winter coat against a snowstorm of fear and mistrust.
Posted by NHJ 8/01/2005 07:04:00 pm