Alien Landscape

thousand glass feathers

i met a woman who wore Hasini's scent today, expertly repairing a choked machine. i could not help but lean in closer to catch a stronger dose of what reminds me so fleetingly of her defensive and deceptively soft brown eyes and her unknowingly sad smiles. her pitiful nomad living in this thorny island often leaves me with a hollow feeling.

the scent hung around the woman like a mismatched colour; a soft scent on a woman of slight stature with a set of booming vocal chords. the essence of Hasini shouldn't be worn by other ladies because it seemed to belong too much to her and those who does seem too much like bad actresses trying to pass of as the elusive, cleverly ignorant Hasini. the sleek otter.

speaking of the Putri, i never did thank her for inspiring the emergence of Lady Fawn of the Singing Swamps as i usually did with all my other muses. somehow i just know Fawn will not appreciate that her existence was inspired by a staunch city girl. besides, nobody likes it when creatures of mind possess their creator and wreak havoc upon innocent blood muses like dear Hasini. i suppose she would just have left me. she does not strike me as the sort who understands the dangerous state of a storyteller who falls in love with her own stories.

i worry for her mainly because i cannot see her. i doubt if she even sees herself. talking to her is like talking to a mirror most of the times. sleek otter. more like a peacock of a thousand reflecting glass feathers. you want to focus on the pretty head but all you see are incorrect images of yourself reflected in a big tail-fan of deception and elusiveness.
Posted by NHJ 11/15/2005 02:25:00 pm

Tuesday, November 15, 2005