Find out your hiding places again

Today was strange in the sense that I read Dean Young and Gertrude Stein one after the other while looping Lorde’s Pure Heroine (Extended) album. Instant mindfuck because All The Images.

Here are some lines I liked from lola Stein’s Objects (I’m going to try to slough through Food and Rooms tonight because tomorrow’s going to be another blah day at OPD):

  • There is no gratitude in mercy and in medicine
  • What is the use of a violent kind of delightfulness if there is no pleasure in not getting tired of it
  • Be reckless be reckless and resolved on returning gratitude
  • Some increase means a calamity and this is the best preparation for three and more being together
  • Out of kindness comes redness and out of rudeness comes rapid same question
  • The time to show a message is when too late and later there is no hanging in a blight
  • A large box is handily made of what is necessary to replace any substance
  • Suppose the rest of the message is mixed with a very long slender needle
  • The severest and the most preserved
  • Anything suitable is so necessary
  • A stubborn bloom is so artificial and even more than that, it is a spectacle, it is a binding accident, it is animosity and accentuation
  • It showed that it was open, that is all that it showed
  • An elegant use of foliage and grace
  • Water astonishing and difficult altogether makes a meadow and a stroke
  • The least thing means a little flower and a big delay
  • A table means necessary places and a revision
  • Go red go red, laugh white

I kind of don’t understand the entire piece but some lines make for good tattoos. Hehe.
I also made a strange poem after. Which I think is a good thing. Strange still. But then, almost all my poems are strange.

…I skipped lunch entirely though (hello, positive loss of appetite and weight loss; we’ll see where you go). I also managed to highlight a few pages on the Upper Limbs chapter of my baby Snell reviewer because even if Boards is a hundred years away it will be the Ultimate Boss Fight once I get there.

Miss An Thrope

The truth was most people tired her. The rhythms of getting acquainted felt like being in a Street Fighter match where her fingers were dipped in butter and couldn’t hit the right buttons to unleash a single chain attack.

“Good morning” marked Round 1. By the end of the day, she felt like she’d been KO’d a hundred lifetimes that none of the phoenix downs available to mankind (or elf-kind) would revive her negative-digit HP.


Laughter and/or pretensions of looking into space, watching Dust Mites conjure colonies, seemed to be a temporary solution.

Speaking of strange things also do well at wearing out the other people’s interest.


“That doesn’t make sense. You’re loud and brimming with color. How can you possibly not like people?” Said friend N.


Her Experience Points gained placed her in the quadrant where Disappointment and Honesty intersected. It wasn’t a convenient place to be in. But she was used to inconvenient situations. Anyway, she had high points for Evasion and Strength. Defenses were weak, but that was another thing she was used to already.


In this version of the universe, there is no Game Over, there is no reset button. The level never ends, regardless of the side quests completed, the treasure chests opened – hordes of secret weapons piled in a corner, gleaming with disuse.

& if you close your eyes, it’s like nothing’s changed at all

Tomorrow, two of some of the good friends I’ve made in Med School fly back to their homeland a good continent away. We’ve said our non-goodbyes (because they said “It’s always ‘See you later’”) and I don’t feel Very, Very Sad about it. I promised to write a postcard (which I intend to, once I get their address).

I figure these things always happen. I didn’t have many close friends from High School so I never really felt it back then. College, though, was another thing. Some people just naturally drifted away, to the point that it would seem unnatural to initiate contact exceeding the obligatory or random Facebook like. It only half bothers me. Yes, there were those I wish I had been better friends with or still wish to see today. The types I’d think of when I see some film or artist or whatever they might fancy. Some days I imagine what’d it be like to see them on a daily basis again.

I mean, I did try. But my definition of try is mostly a few messages here and there. If they stop replying or things get awkward, I simply stop. Best to move along.

Continue reading

Do I dare?

I can’t say the words, so I wrote you into my verse. – Poet; Bastille


There was a point I foolishly picked you to partake in a wondrous thing now past, passed over so easily. Like plates, piled in the sink after all the guests have left, leaving us with nothing but the air to fill the spaces we emptied out for each other: blind but blinking; massive crates and caves even light refuses to enter.


Congratulations, you’re the first one in a long time to leave me with the words still floating in my mouth.