Chapter Forty-one: Sitting on a Milestone

I walked with a circle
A company of light
Who glowed in their mischief
And lit my boredom bright

Lightly shadows slip past
Enter and exeunt my head
To paint and daub the canvas
With colours they still shed

Whence my feet hath trodden
The hallway looms ahead
To walk straight up and take a left
Or take a right instead?

Tomorrow I leave to gain reprieve
From the odd world I understand
And till my return, may it yet burn
For a chapter of my loving hand.

Chapter Forty: Oddities of a Ramshackle Mind.

One word of caution
A note to myself
Let thoughts not quicken
But creep by in stealth

For in my head they did race
And whirl me in a dream
Twisted me in an obscure embrace
Beyond my conscious stream

I step far from yon mirror;
It shows the demons within
Yet i needs must see them clearer;
Thus cycles re-begin

Perhaps i need to follow
The breadcrumbs along the way
Your strength perhaps i'll borrow
For sure, i'll wander astray

So i clutch your sleeve and hold on tight
Letting my eyelids close
And entreat you to adopt my fight
Perhaps you'll triumph, who knows?

Chapter Thirty-nine: The World inside One Fragment.

i gazed into a painting, but then it cracked on me
it shattered into fragments, more than i could see
i looked then at the pieces that lay prone at my feet
and wondered why it seemed as though their edges wouldnt meet

picking one of them up, i was shocked to find
that each piece was a picture, a story of its kind
i put them back together, they wouldnt fit at all
for every single one of them was a different world made small

so i took the broken pigments and ran them through my eyes
travesty for honesty, i took the truth for lies
these to melt and splatter, on the canvas inside my head
till they seeped forth from the fabric, colours that slowly bled

i try to scrub them off the walls, scour with turpentine
to have instead a clean white slate, untainted by chimeric state
yet thoughts entice, cling like a vice, by nature serpentine
so how can i my art deny, my power to fabricate? 

Intermission XVII: A (Rather) Strange Kind of Fascination. My Obsession for Paradoxes?

i'm being haunted by a pair of slanting eyes.

till now, i have never truly understood the meaning of imperfect beauty. never in my experience of reading poetry and literature have i ever been able to understand how being imperfect can almost be necessary in order to be beautiful. (not even in those strange sculptures..? they're beautiful, but it simply is beauty in imperfection. the imperfection does not make the beauty.. hmmm...) after all, the greeks believed that beauty was found in perfection. and havent i been raised in a culture that appears to agree with that?

i could not understand what drew me to such a face. neither could i understand why i kept wanting to see what fascinated me so, why i could not get it out of my mind. why i kept wanting to look at those eyes.

slanted, of the asian variety. not slitted, but not wide-open. eyes that were intense, and striking.

i look a little closer, and i notice that the eyes are not proportionate: one is slightly narrower than the other. there. imperfection.

strangely, it does nothing to detach from the beauty of the face. that very imperfection fits into place perfectly, like jagged pieces of a puzzle that fit together to make a hauntingly striking picture. and i dont know what it is about those eyes that draw me. the drooping eyelid of one that hints at secrets forever hidden, and the cold composure of the other, no matter the expression on the face they belong to. the heavy-lidded gaze that studies the world around them, but never reveals what goes on behind them.

the masculinity that peeps out from behind features too feminine to be male. the aura of fragility that belies the toughness of a warrior.

a tantalizing illusion of delicacy...

what is it about androgynous characters that fascinate me so?

Chapter Thirty-eight: I.

I ‘m floating on the horizon

A dot upon the sea

I don’t know where I’m going

Or who’ll be going with me

I’m as like a lost sheep

Baaing her way around

(So) I’m still a-meandering

Hoping I can be found

I hope in time I’ll discover

I’ll still like me, whatever that be

After searching the why;

But as it is, the one I resist

Is no one less than I.