| Tides of Romance |
[Nov. 21st, 2005|02:24 pm] |
|
I could hear the wild waves break, salty liquid waken, sound of balance. Silence was born, swiming against the tides of romance. My arms were fallen, find me home find me home. |
|
|
| As she grew older... |
[Nov. 1st, 2005|02:21 pm] |
Until she herself became the flame of her wall, understood the fatal episode of the given, never did she mean to, taint you, but she was in prison, yelling freedom.
Emerging in a hardcore world, with minorest care, she wouldn't let you see her soul. Girly giggle, pure pinkness, loned blunt mind, so tied to adventures. She just stayed, in confusion, her herself a white karma.
Deluded her thoughts, still real with feelings soar. Freedom with missed love, salty smell with coziness warm, the coastal romance, this and that, close and drifting traces. Laughing at it, we were all reflections of sin.
Cannot return. |
|
|
| Sept.13 Client's Party |
[Sep. 21st, 2005|10:25 pm] |
The client’s party, with a huge that’s Beijing emblazonment and a whole bunch of our magazine ladies, went extremely well. I acted funny due to a terrible cold that allowed me to sneeze three times in a run, aching through my head to my eyes. But it’s my party, so I’d better steer the boat good. Inner poise, I was rationalizing in my new theory, which I learnt from a book ex love gave me. Oh he’s sweet with that new beard and I wondered what he was doing then. Gosh, carrying too far there… And gosh I was sweating like mushrooms after the rain. One more sparkling wine—I needed all the bouncy bubbles to cover up my pinkish cheeks from the damned fever.
“It’s such a nice place!” My client said, all sweet smiles.
I parroted, feeling like a swaying beer bottle. I yearned to go home. Bed bed bed, my warm soft pillows. I felt like yelling.
The music drowned in silence, the speech long. They lined in beautiful pattern and they dined elegantly. Such a lovely evening, I signed at the corner. High class atmosphere, sophisticated food and significant conversations. All seemed visually gorgeous.
In the end I was too tired to go home, too sick to be good. I went to a friend’s, smoked weed and felt empty. After sent a colleague home, I was in the cab, crying. I didn’t know why; I talked too much there. My sadness was of no genre, but strong, so strong that knocked off my heart. Mom, I started to miss you again. I was so much wanting to give you a wonderful life but I felt like a loser this minute. No place I belonged to. I was a freak carrying a thing called grief. Fuck fuck fuck! |
|
|
| Slow February |
[Sep. 20th, 2005|02:15 pm] |
Stop haunting, my song, numbers and figures, questions in the circle. Tail the painful heart, I will never tell, I will never unseal. Run run, my weary soul, in the beautiful petals, red red winter smile, February slow.
Come out to meet you; I am just a broken bottle. Put the puzzles apart, tell me you love me. My circle clear with running eyes, life not easy. Heaven till the end.
That was just a sound darkening the air, me lovely in the crowd, losing it losing it. Saddness welled up, unable to touch the scar. Yes yes yes, take me back to the start! |
|
|
| Fanny |
[Sep. 12th, 2005|08:46 pm] |
I love Amanda,in a lesbian way.
No need to tell her; the chick has already got chaos in her messy life. Look at the way she dresses herself recently, a typical less-corrupted Madonna. I say nothing; I only listen. Isn't that what I am for to her? A friend, a buddy in her odd language. A BUDDY? Hey you don't call a woman a "buddy", sweetheart. But whatever!
I am here again, listening, and falling in lust with your thong under your transparent night robe. Black, as I can tell, so slim. |
|
|
| Monday Phobia--Sept.5th |
[Sep. 5th, 2005|08:56 am] |
Monday Phobia--Part two Sept.5th
It’s Monday again. People even invented a disease called “Monday Phobia”, which makes every sense in feeling grey and reluctant to get up after Sunday glee. Again, work is still the most effective way to shun personal problems if you happen to get tons. Well, unlucky Homo sapiens and despite the fact that we are fragile gals, we still have to work as if we are strong-minded feminists in a men’s world.
I get up, staring at the slightly cracked wall. I wonder if I smoked too much, or that was the draft beer last night at Bookworm, that makes my stomach coo coo. I make coffee, and then drink it in front of my computer, mentally planning my feminist Monday schedule. Just hideous meetings one after another, in which I usually hold my face down and duck my head in the same rhythm my boss blasts orders to me.
Don’t get me wrong. I love my job. I work at an English magazine as a PR, a position sounds more like a social butterfly. For the same time I write a column called “Hard Candy”, a column I frequently dump my dark opinions towards rowdy Laowai and enjoy applauses from readers. You don’t need to remind me how shallow that sounds, in fact, writing is a means to balance the bad karma in my realistic life. I write in English and that’s already good enough.
My office room has got five ladies sweating their careers in its mouth. Five ladies, that is hilariously not funny. I used to propose to have a cute intern boy running around, but the good will was conveyed as some unreasonable requirements from a narcissistic slut. So I shut my mouth and just plow like a cow (I wonder cow has ever plowed).
Let me map out for you how the big office works in the residential apartment. We have got more than 30 people work as regular employees, coming at 9:30 and go home at however late it might be. We have got reception, then this tiny conference room which is always full that we have to drag our clients to the kitchen for a cigarette, then this marketing&distribution office where I work furiously on my skinny ass, this big area for sales people and another big area for editorial, a place for production (up to now they are the only gangs enjoying some drawing peace among us intellectuals), three bathes and two kitchens. Opps, forgot my boss. This American set his office facing the big sales area, overlooking the editorial. When he was having fun spying employees we unconsciously spy him as well.
It’s 8:50 and I have finished two coffee already. I will drink none at work. Kinda late now--I’d just take a quick shower. Oh I love my shower. I love the fact that I am building up a nice livinghood around me when I don’t need to get out to boogie. I bought new blue bath pad for the bathroom and set more candles in the living room. Life is all smiling at me, although it’s a Monday morning. |
|
|
| Diary part one--Sept.3rd |
[Sep. 3rd, 2005|09:09 pm] |
Whenever I begin to doubt my own self worth, I write. Alcohol helps freeing my strained brain, no longer an uptight weirdo. How smooth my words on the computer paper, all this emotion. Candles fly, air thick with the force of autumn. I am writing my life; the thought gives me chills.
I see no point of elevating my philosophy; Muse bites my tiny ass and urges me to sing. I will just start where I am now, tearing down the bars please don’t tear apart my memory.
I am living in an international area of Beijing although my apartment remains the very profound Chinese character—old, conservative and filthy outwards but luckily got it all made up inwards. There’s this elevator girl I see every day and she’s from the same province as me. But she’s living a distinctively different life, killing time by reading palm books and working 9 hours in a stuffy box seven days a week. I don’t pity her and I can’t. There are always people living a sad life—I just chat with her asking about how her days go. She will give me a look and she stares me long when I am all dressed up for a party.
There is a small supermarket on the street behind my building. I like the convenience, but products they have got there are very very Chinese. One time I bought two bottles of Qingdao and the plastic bag broke. I was paralysed when the bottles fell on the floor into beautiful pieces of glasses soaked in beer foams. I felt teeny glasses between my feet and my summer sandals; I stood, not saying a word. An old guy was bursting into a heroical gesture, running to me with a cloth in hand. He seemed very nervous and I pushed him away when he tried to grab my foot and cleaned the glasses off with the cloth. That was too much. Five minutes later I got myself out of the mess and nodded to the manager when he got me two new beers. I still go shop there, just more careful about those bags. A knee-jerk reaction.
Tonight I went to change some more beers, and saw a very funny board at a BBQ shop on my way back. It said: “Freshly baked vegetable-definitely break the desire.” It sounded more like a shop for adults. Then this massage place, outside sitting the boy who’s only 19 and he’s already left home doing magic to my painful back twice a week. Those white uniforms they wear casually, not the least like my dad, who is a doctor himself, who used to put my hand in his before I went to sleep. Dad, a remote call, a title that I could never understand. I carried my bags, my eyes hurting to the change of the weather, but I didn’t have a cold.
Lightened all the candles, music on, so safe and calm. Yes I feel calm, a bit bored maybe, calm in the smell of my Dove bar soap. I am still single, however I tried not be. Perhaps I was cursed perhaps it’s better this way. So many intimates told me things, but I see it as screeds. I will start tracing down my life, from this minute on. People talk, let them do.
So intense the fire burns in; it dances miracles. I am all unfolded, not judged by any human being. This is me, my life, through all these years. Smell, and pretty in the transition, reality and dreams, not so tethered. |
|
|
| Hope of the Hopeless |
[Aug. 3rd, 2005|01:25 pm] |
Paperworks pile, your head a monkey cry. Close enough, never able to snatch a moment wise. Could be possible, a piece of ease in a life time, but why only the coffee headache numbing?
Hate to bring it to you, so falling apart. Your laptop a radio, I could ever guilt. I thought of a therapy, a weird person needs gorgeous thrillers.
Take something that life don't give. I will return with heavenly smile. In another world, you are what you feel. |
|
|
| The Wood Shell |
[Jul. 25th, 2005|12:09 pm] |
Her Silhouette face was aureate in the last leap of the wilting dusk light. Covered by an ethereal tulle conjured up by the mountain's eye, she debauched inward, aghast in her wood shell. The figures traced down the feel of the surface, a feel merely raw and earthly solid. Muscles, sweat and blue blue shoes, hedonistic theory authorizing. The sojourn of her scenery was meant to be believing, but it was offered sympathy, the heavenly frame for happiness.
Carousing, nowhere to begin, chilly stillness of a mountain high. Hollow sky, a chaos of flipping colors, bewitched slow pas sailing into a full darkness. Hear the stories, a legendary tale that mystified the lovely one, grayed greenness, thick layers of imagination.
She didn't quite remember how the wood burned to flying pieces, in the scrumptious smoke, smelling a lot like an old masquerade. Define me, define me, she curved her question mark, karma ajar, a Buddha’s smile. Only the freedom stretched to the unreachable edge, all night long, her crooning demands. |
|
|
| Red Shoe Diary |
[Jul. 18th, 2005|10:05 pm] |
The color deep, vibrates under the ceiling, smokey aura entwined, dyed brown hair, long and sheeny. No waste, please drink.
Red-hued my tiny shoe, needs your tracing figuretips, brushing like summer breeze. The lark of the flesh, our emotions peaking with raw flame. Your power over me.
Narrow your eyes and watch me spin, I was born to dance this way. A wild creature, slinking from the law of the universe, free like a star hanging in a fullmoon sky.
I use words a lot, so the diary was achieved perfectly. I have no heart to give; I have my mind's sharp. Give me your words give me more. The way you utter your soul, the way I am stunned.
Trancy music, we dine and wine, not much to do just sit, our hearts tight together. |
|
|
| Wacky Tacky |
[Jul. 6th, 2005|09:08 pm] |
Infinite greed in a career path, I lost the inspirational instinct of my own--the very part was appreciated dearly by you. Suger-coat me, the invaluable experience and content as a woman in her full bloom. Something missing, rarely recongnized by an occupied head, but atone me with sea food and white wine, so cold that shuts up the summer swelter. "Enjoy life before it's too late." They enhanced the worldy theory.
Here, right here with me, together dwelling upon intriguing times we spent all last summer. Did I give you too much guilt to shoulder? I love you, though you are not the one.
How funny that life turned this way? I am not startled--I only shiver, on an easy Saturday morning. Not bad at all, my sweetest boy, it'd been wisely put by the magic hands of God, and I have got your blessing for a future with the Sir Right and happily ever after. So Cliche, your words, you downed me deep deep into the soil of your planet, huh, the woman stepped on Mars. Legendary, grand and immortal. Allow me, you, to admit certain awakeness inside my vulnerable self, inside, you hear me good, I am so hard to grind but so soft to swallow...
Familiar feelings aloft high, don't you dare to forget. |
|
|
| In my head |
[May. 24th, 2005|06:07 pm] |
You are always in my head
Even the passion dies
Even the seduction stops shrieking highs
Mystify me treasure life
Air and shine
One mad journey
Everybody fine
Not shy but bye bye
Playing a juggle mine
That was said thrice
In the mass of sagas
Hey you and me
This close this dire
So embrace all
Since we dare |
|
|
| The Indelible Stain |
[May. 5th, 2005|10:16 am] |
Hey hey do you remember me
Do you remember this
Are you still yourself
After all these years
Will you change your mind
I thought it'd be different
The way we look
The way we see
You tell me things I try to understand
You give me your rough hands
Take that off be naked
On the floor this time
Fantasies never end
I lead you there |
|
|
| Back to Reality |
[Mar. 11th, 2005|07:19 am] |
Names are chains, to strain you into certain identity, things never tangibly spoken, spicy lips curling, forever cynical. Tattoo, joy and motorcycle, weapens yet not too sharp, twice you fight a why.
This time you play, with romantic mystery, like a puzzled psychic, holding out your left hand to touch. Delicate bud, so sexual that you tangle. They are your world, one thousand miles away from reality. Creatures all visional beings, only senses undying.
Your stage aloft high, higher than the reality earth, as if on the cloud, your king of Arthur kneeling to surrender his sword. Yet a thespian doesn't pity, they living in tragedies.
Life will offer you, in the end, reality. |
|
|
| Danger Flight |
[Mar. 1st, 2005|05:58 pm] |
I am dazzled when I hear your voice, the husky voice echoing in my ears, tearing me, pounding me and loving me. Looking outside, how the buildings high and calm with the sunset, how the light vanishing beyond, in my eyes, you Godlike wills blue and white.
It is not here, it never. I took a journey to the north, my wings heavy with too many thoughts, admired by the wind of March. But it is all written into my face, smile or swear, my crunched teeth daring on.
File the history. I'd never lay my hands on it again.
Unbelievable, my sweet boy. My body is in your arms, my kisses in the air, you letting out your high. So the journey hangs, you blue eyes touching my brain, breezing soft scent into my mouth, my tongue moist in the color of pink.
Treat me right, treat me with fire. Tell me how you feel, baby, my sweet baby. Say sweet words when you play me a song. Then patch my surfy soul, sail me into the peaceful repose.
The powerful seduction around me teasing my curiosity, hold me tightly and never let go. Be strong to write our story, baby.
Why you love me even I never belong? Why you care my feelings when the others just want to fuck? Huh if only I could sing, I would sing for you. I would let you know my heart, overwhelmed by evilness and sentiments.
Tell them I am gone, and nothing wrong. |
|
|
| Prelusion of a real life |
[Feb. 9th, 2005|07:49 pm] |
I have hated spring festivals, and for years I grew bitterness and cynicism in me to block the bleak scene in my own family. My immagination became powerful, taking place of my self pity and the lackness of love. Still I am a kid without dad, been lonely and strong and cold since the day he left for his own happiness. I used to transfer my hurtful feelings into hatred, but it did not last long as I became a woman in this strange town and determined a life of my own. Call me proud and I won't stare. I will run away from the edge of the reality and build up a stoney castle again.
But I always remember my previous New year's eves with mom, how we struggled and encouraged together, how she tried to give to act to hug to love, how she sacrificed her own self. I wouldn't go back, mom, and I hate to sacrifice any human's life to gain the so-called glee. They are so shallow, mom, only your arms are truely warm and firm, mom, they all gone evetually, mom, because I want my alone soul to be pure and creative. And I hate to be bothered by their own thoughts, their lives, their numberless kisses.
My little heels sank into the smooth lawn of this town, mom, did you see my feverous passion burning up everywhere I touch? Did you notice the deepened frown underneath my limp expression? Please don't, 'cause I will never let you have the whole, mom, you deserve the best part of your daughter, your own flesh, your own creation of love and life. Tell me God wont betray--he is just being naughty, and he plays with my destiny. He laughes at me when I weep. But I will look him in the eye levelly, telling him I am getting there, telling him step aside.
Days molder away everything, everything that matters to me and I eventually move on for the best. I do not want to look back-- I am only a lier to tell sweet lies, to fool the world and my self. But they want me, only because I am woman, a kind of my own.
I am searching, all my life, dumping, and trying. I desire understanding, but I won't comprimise. Dont know what it is like to have a real life, since all the ups and downs before were only prelusion dipped in flowers flowing on the surface of the water. I wail and I cheer.
Let it vanish, let my castle grow higher, let life expand and let myself out of the safe cocoon... Let life burn with love and lies and youth and pain and my flesh. I am no one to fear. |
|
|
| The Smell (short story) |
[Feb. 9th, 2005|12:30 pm] |
He's been waiting a long time, a long long time as if time means infinite stillness, to fall apart into the smell, to nuzzle into the scent, to indulge his sense in her, to have her forever but lose her so unbelievably easily. And she appears, a lot like her, fluiding her figure between bookshelves, squatting, standing for a bit, looking, searching, spreading her mythicism to men's sensitivity.
to be continued |
|
|
| Tweaked |
[Jan. 21st, 2005|07:54 pm] |
I am gonna tie you up and tickle your feet baby. And I am out of here tomorrow. Life is short, too short to toy with, but I don't give a shit.
Her shaking ass spurred the girls into a fury of hostility, wild roses, ignorant of all pent-up decency the whole society trying to lecture, such a seasoned player, they all leaning towards you.
When you upheave your hand they flock to listen, when you drown, there's no life raft baby. They are willing to get you laid--you are such a sexual thing, who wouldn't think you that way? Get more pluck and bank paper, the night is all yours baby. You are the king of God and you are vain, and empty and poor as a stolen soul.
If only there's a man not for bullshit, if only I am holding my tears to let you in.
But I am crazy, I am nuts, and yes here's your woman. Inside, do I still have your blessing, God? Love again, mercy me, please.
Everybody's gone, left the television screaming out white noises, so you flush your anger down the drain. Your English is shaking, you bowing to the mirror in front. Sagging sagging sagging, don't know where to park my car any more. |
|
|
| Spontaneous Nostalgia |
[Dec. 24th, 2004|10:07 pm] |
No way for me to trace back. What had happened won't happen again. So I gotta let it go. My columns, my love, my past life tales...
Get down, Jessica, put down those snapping lips, don't give a shit. Be strong, sweet baby.
My struggling life as a writer ended in peace. The hassel, the lack of words, the hypothetical situation, eventually drew a close, although not perfect still real. In a life time, what are you chasing? Love, huh? Fame? Or the simple understanding from a warm warm heart? So you are tired, I am too. No more games and enough downs.
I have been down so many times, and I heard them laughing. I always choose the hard way to prove certain things and I maintain true faith in myself as surely.
I love you when I drink, I love you all! But none of you is really there for me. Curse me if I am brutally honest. I am so scared that what I am looking for does not even exist. I cry no more, so I just hear the rhythm of my free heart. I know I do what I want to--I take the risks I couldn't afford.
Don't understand you, lady. Who are you, Amanda? You are sexy and wild, but you are shy and distant, you are falling--you like the fillip of the danger, the unbearable, the shiver... |
|
|
| Alone |
[Dec. 16th, 2004|10:37 pm] |
No need to understand me. We are on different tracks already. Lose my soul and let me roll on into my own high. Proud spirit, holding all my pain, silently fit in my cracked wall, no longer me. Alright, if the girl licked her icecream in the cold that made me shiver, I guess I could sing my heart out to celebrate such a loser. I pursed my lips to stare, everything at odds--who I used to be, I don't want to remember. It's already a mess, only being alone can save my shaking faith from collapsing.
Don't dare to approach closer. I know my smooth skin, I know how it feels in hands, I know how they want it... But my feelings are in a pause, numb and needy, a sweet ditty of the unusual way to live my life. Huh, the smooth touch of God, telling me all my wickedness, never sighs a clue.
The loneliness stops from the sunset, starts from every single moment in dream . There are so many sleazy hunks for me to slip down, but you were not there to judge me. You never really let me know your thoughts--things you randomly spit out, were not the truth that I am able to filter. I learned love in the hard way, perhaps worthwhile. I deserve a man good, a man bad, a man held in my warm chest--I'd soothe his soul the same way I did to you.
My fucking choice, my fucking suffering. Sometimes I give up my columns and job to find a heart close to mine but I fail inevitably. I stop asking why, instead, I think it's beautiful. The way we were together, enough to counteract my agony. |
|
|