Watching the Witching Hour

I watch the death throes of a diseased and despondent year. I watch it die in pain and wonder if I should smile. I wonder if it is dying from the pangs of painful labour, or is it a major bout of diarrhea.

I await to see with little hope, watching with eyes overgrown with cynicism. If in its dying push, would it birth a beautiful baby, or fart into existence, a little piece of shit.

Songs of the Morning

I've been woken up earlier than I would have wanted to, much more often than not, lately. Have you ever felt like dwelling longer in slumber and perhaps escape waking up to yet another day you wished you didn't have to see? Ever just wanted to sleep later, after a late night?

Then you might understand how incredibly happy people get, when they are rudely woken up in any circumstances.

Today, it was the sheer stupid inconsideration of a bridal procession. The noise made in a funeral procession has no qualms in silent curses, since the person is already dead anyway. But to drive in a procession of several cars into a carpark closely surrounded by HDB flats, in the wee hours of the morning, with every car honking away is just going to blow the fuses of the happy couple's neighbours, bathing their happy day with wishes they may not expect.

Tradition may call for loud noisy processions as the groom makes his way to the fetch his bride, but when you logically think about it, they have very good reason to do so. Ancient times saw people living faraway in possibly remote quarters, where the noise can aptly inform the bride and her family of the arriving groom and how soon they will be arriving.

These days. We have mobile phones. Need I say more?

This morning was the third I've experienced in such an early cacophony of honking vehicles, resulting in a rude awakening from a weekend slumber. I covered my head with pillows to muffle the noise which seemed to last forever. It isn't fun to wake up to a migraine. But I could feel it coming. I couldn't take it, I went to the window to look at the circus. I could feel the joy welling up inside me, similar to an untimely moment of diarrhea.

Then the noise got louder, this time a series of shouts and cheers from monkeys in suits who had gotten out and stood outside their cars, while the alpha male chimp strutted before them. Considering how happy they were in sharing their ape calls with everyone (no matter if the neighbourhood may actually need some quiet rest), it was only eventual that others may begin to join in the fun as well.

I could hear loud blessings coming from various windows around the carpark. Blessings of "KAO PEH LAH!"... "SHUT THE FUCK UP!!"... "DIAM LAH!!" (and one distinct anatomically correct description of the groom's mother) rang through the neighbourhood. It was a hard not to enjoy such raucous singing (some may even call it rapping or hip-hop) to show sincere appreciation to the monkeys' posturings. One can even imagine the background humming from a multitude of silent wishes and messages sent from other neighbours who may be too shy to publicly show their love.

The groom and his groomsmen must've been very touched by the neighbourhood's impromptu acapella performance in appreciation of their early morning wake up calls, as they stood there in silence, soaking in the love and attention of the rudely awakened neighbourhood.

I couldn't help but smile. I had almost wanted send them a congratulatory message by decorating their bridal car's windshield with a flower pot. But I was too lazy.

A Short Detour From Depression

Saw something as I made my way home earlier.

Stupid teenagers. Playing with the elevators. One seemed intent on slowing two others from going up and probably home. So he presses the button, everytime the lift nearly closes. Then he uses his foot. Then his hand. And ultimately, he peeks in. Yes, he didn't look very smart.

Yes, the door closes and does a fast clamp on his face. It opens almost immediately. And he groans as he squats by the door, holding his face. I think he broke his nose.

I wanted to help, I wanted to ask if he needed help. But I couldn't. I couldn't breathe. I was laughing too hard.

Sigh.

I think my morbid sense of humour is the only thing keeping me sane now. Or am I? Who cares. I felt alive for a moment. My life is in such a mess. I am absolutely in a mess, its almost laughable. I'm destroying everything I touch, and people I care for are probably among them. Perhaps I should just disappear. Sometimes, packing up that backpack and just walking off into the sunset is just so tempting.

Anyway, his friends pulled him into the elevator and probably brought him home. Yes, they couldn't stop giggling too.

Words. Just words.

Loss.
Defeat.
Failure.
Nothingness.
Bewilderment.
Depression.
Death.
Cowardice.
Tears.
Pain.
Self.
Destruction.
Loathing.
Fading light.
Fading will.
God.
Take me home.

Masks. And superficiality. That is all anyone will ever see.
I am not me. And for what I have left, I leave only for me.
For you. I shall be.
An illusion of what you want me to be.

And if even that is unsatisfactory.
I already know forever is not to be.
Perhaps oh Lord. In eternity.

Myself, my echo, my shadow.
Only true companions I know.