NOVEMBER

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PHOTO ALBUMS (Like it or not)

NIM BBQ 07
The Cure 'Live' 07
HK+Clair's Wedding
Girl's Night Out 06
Sentosa Chronicles VII
Sentosa Chronicles VI
Sentosa Chronicles IV
Sentosa Chronicles III

NOVEMBER
11.07.07 (5:59 am)   [edit]
November's back, and December follows. Endless days of rain to keep bugging the likes of me who can't wait to get a day off at the beach. Alas, with the passing showers, refreshing scents of hot misty evenings do rake up some memories - the days where dandelions would bow to the soft pelting of raindrops and its rise in the morning with specks of dew that shine brightly like diamonds embedded in milk. I would love to have those days back looking out to the fields of tall grass, and bask, in the backyard, where grandma kept a variety of fruit trees and herbs.

The feelings of yearning is a strong emotion, much like the flow of lava through the veins of the volcano, sizzling with passion yet cooling quickly like ice on the skin, making a twin effect of uncertainty, of pleasure and tinge. I would paint the blue sky blue any other day, and dot it yet still with cotton that shifts throughout with the breeze.

Sandy beaches beckon, and I can only sit in and watch the rain fall. I like the beach a couple hours after rain. The sand is cool and the sun is just warm. Tanning would be difficult, but what beats sitting on a crater of soft, yet firm, mat. Aah, the world, is such an amazing beckoning.

I've never been to overseas beaches, for one, hydrophobia restricts water travel. I'm not afraid to jump in, I'm just fearful without a vest. Like so many other things, the moment of gravitational leverage imbalance upon take off strikes like lightning, and makes my skin crawl and knees shake like toothpicks rattling in the bottle. It feels, almost, like falling in love all over again.

Had a quick look at myself in the mirror earlier on - tired boy, I say. Grabbing winks don't seem important anymore without... T. 5 days already, and it's still the same. Akin the pen looking for its cap, which of course, I'm still the antique version of pens - I can't click to reveal the fountain of youth that would run dry unlike the keys that drones these words.

I need to sleep, and I need to rest. But alas, they, are much like Benevolence, stands by the window, and cries.

What better way to spend the morning wee hours engaging in poetic digression of pain, and manic oppression of nonsensical thoughts, like thinking about beaches. And company.

I guess I have much stranded myself in an endless loop of singularity, with little, or in fact, no room for real cuppa with theatrical drama-doers. Distractions are like pinball machines that dispenses, yet drains the ball with much hunger, until some tokens or likeness of tokens could re-engage their interests. I wish I had a penpal, for he, or she, might subtly understand, and offer words of wisdom and comfort wiser beyond the gurus that preach their crafts and idiosyncrasies. Oxy moronic, give the child a gun and tell them not to play rough.

Killing time is but now a past time. Just refuse the cruelty of fact, and fantasy might just make a better aroma in life. Of course, who could we cosy up to without a cause? Like my dictionary says, if you cannot spell dictionary, just enjoy reading.

Now that clapping of the thunders would finally wake the idea of weaknesses, perhaps, this is a good time to take a reflection of thoughts and doings - remedy we need not: but moving on surely. I resist the temptation to open my eyes anymore, before it bleeds with envy and jealousy; breathe, to avoid getting that whimpering scent of eroticism; least of all listen to the sweet nothings of impossibilities and make-believe; not speak to contain my eagerness to inch closer to... practicality. No, I would say, imaginary perfection.

Thank you for your continuous reading, for the counter jumps do excite me somewhat, and the comments could be orgasmic at times. It just show that rants, might be a good thing after all. In fact, the last time I checked, I felt the cool shower of love from all avenues on main street.

If you love this blog, please, send me some hugs. Almost 4 years of "I" could only gather a mere six thousand odd hugs, and barely a tenth of a million visits, exclusive or not. You may think this as narcissistic, I choose to look at it as knowing I'm loved.

And love, sleeps with all of us tonight, and every other night. Good night world.
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