Valuing Life

Time exists. There always are both past and present and future. Alas we do have the scarce to unfold the future and so it's not counted anyway. Often it pushes me to wonder, what if there was a twist in the past, even a minor one, that all of them will round up making all the pieces of the puzzle completely aggregated into one single - the present - now.

Rather than figuring the possibilities in a puzzling daze, I unwittingly caught a glance at something. It was a stack of photo albums. Blowing off the dust in shallow curiosity, I revealed the contents. Oh, those were photographs of memorable past. The ever so beautiful memoirs where my parents came about marrying each other, and with that, I was here seventeen years and three months ago.

So there isn't really anything to doubt about. There isn't anything larger than love that could bring me into this world. Still, I believe in silent faith, there are still many empty, indiscernible, unseen souls pondering around us, waiting in queue for their departure, and their arrival to this world. Just how many as blessed as me myself to be born this way, just how many, if you had been into any places, happened to visit any hell on earth, like any of the houses where the disabled ones were compelled into, like any of the needy on the driest continent of Africa, who, still murmur in tacit prayers, emptily hoping for a miracle to happen, vacantly beseeching for the most basic rights and virtues to embrace them, and that could just be below impossibility.

I have everything some people might die for. I have everything some people would not have sought forever. Bitterness of humanity crushes mankind on every corner of the world. The world's so huge I've no rights to complain. Injustice surfaces everywhere so frequently I've no rights to falsify my basic duties as a human being.

Three weeks ago I've been known to a news about a twenty six year old man committing suicide jumping off an overpass, my dad's friend's son, just because of some very teeny-weeny financial overshoots, and that ends his life.

If I happened to meet him somewhere by chance, his soul, or spirit, whatever, he must be regretting for killing himself. Life's so greatly precious he was NOT given the due to perish his own. Come on, think, many more lives out there are still struggling, striving in the hardest way, in excruciatingly bitter adversities, just to keep their pulse beat everyday, every moment, every single millisecond. WHY WAS IT SO HARD TO KEEP LIVING, IF YOU WERE GIVEN EVERY GODDAMN NECESSITY YOU'D HAVE NEEDED, EVERYTHING SINCE YOUR GOD BLESSED BIRTH? Half a potato and a handful of muddy water could keep a person living on the poorest land in the world, and why the hell had he chosen to jump off the building, ending the life that each of those poor people would be dying for?

If you are still now complaining about life, about having to work or study everyday without some breathing space you ever so wanted, about how short the time your parents have been allowing you in front of the computer screen, about how little money your parents have been giving you, or, about how annoying the time when the closest people around you breath down your neck, then go ahead, because life already seems just utterly meaningless to you.

If there is a chance, I do wish to feel the way of living in any poor lands on Earth. Because life seems just too hard and those people, mostly, could still bite hard to keep it pacing forward. Even any of them are born in the dirtiest surroundings, born in the poorest family, we should always salute them, for they never talk about giving up life, nor would they ever think of committing suicide. Because each of them truly knows, life is treasure, a godly present that God had chosen few to grant.

So how am I going to value life? For me it's simple. STOP COMPLAINING. Life isn't just about complaining about the bad ones and cherishing the good ones. Life is a black and white, both good and bad come to you simultaneously. Once you complain a word about life, you are taking it for granted.

Open your eyes. You are damn blessed. And please, be grateful, ever so.

New Order

IT'S LIKE SOME MOST AWKWARD BUZZ KEPT ITS ENNUI REGIME BUZZING MY HEAD OFF THE NORMAL ORBIT.

At most least that buzz hadn't start burning.

Had it been really one sophisticating year ahead, with unknown futures gradually unfolding in considered courtesy, I watched souls stared in some astonished wonder. Over the rare bizarreness shot over the horizon now gorgeous with some six hundred long seconds of fireworks, many had their mouths hung open. Many had their eyes glared transfixed, as if some magics did that effect. And their eyes, now luminescent, swirled in the ocean of flames and lights like some heaven light, like faith and energy all of an unknown sudden replenished within each of them.

And that soon second after the blares, it ended, summoning hallucination of every sense.

Now I heard some grumbles and sighs involuntarily mouthed out. Like some old ancient scaffolding falling down over an old inn roof. A new year.

Magics over.

Reality came.

A Hollow Interval

The year's ending soon.
Part of it's worth fantasizing.
Hell knows what's touching our senses.
Hope I would come to meet someone who could foresee the future,
like unfolding pages in novel in advance.
When the future, will, be bright and nice,
it is a sin to tell out before it comes to realization.
While the future's going to be devastating,
it is a sin to not tell out even though,
I wonder, anyone could foresee that.

The earth's becoming hotter, gradually,
there, hardly is a place to breath,
even air with dusts swarmed aghast,
even breeze with dim sunlight hung askance, still as ever,
you and I stood for living necessities evaporated like,
been-hopeful, current-realized mirage.

Hopes slowly became a fragile silhouette.
There's no vacancy for human beings, no lungs for storing air.
When years and years embellished, decades to come,
between them are nothing,
but a blank plot,
an empty story of hollow intervals.

Senses

Sandra says lifeless-

it gets pretty empty sometimes.
Then, always followed by cold, cold.
Out of the equator now, snows over the north, blaze over the south.
Moderate it remains here.

Visions become blur at times;
Sounds become... inaudible.

Taste loses its stimulation,
Attempts become more feeble than I could figure out.

Breeze out there howling for vacant oddities.
With no inkling in advance, nightfalls are reliefs.
The next day, off it goes the memories and senses,
fluorescents goes dim, dimmer,

Ultimately, vanishes.

Frequency

Different beings on earth depends on their very own frequency.
We vary, differ.

On different track.
Each of us.
There light glows, probably, where light comes, it relies.
Something aren't right, most probably.

There is a frequency,
particularly, you and I.

Black Future

.2081.

A story derived from Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.'s short story!!
Harrison Bergeron...

*intro*

Like Ray Bradbury's story, Harrison Bergeron takes place in the future, and in a domestic setting. New technology is having an important impact on people's lives. The story is told clearly and with a degree of detachment. But Vonnegut's story explores a different social theme: the idea of what it might mean to make sure that all people were equal. Vonnegut treats the subject with irony and a darkly humourous touch, but the story suggests some serious social questions -- about the place of the media in our lives and our freedom to act as individuals.

Kurt Vonnegut is an American writer, born in 1922, who often uses features of the science fiction genre in his novels and short stories. Harrison Bergeron is from a collection of Vonnegut's short stories called Welcome to the Monkey House, which was published in 1968.

x x x

The year was 2081, and everybody was finally equal.

They weren't only equal before God and the law. They were equal every which way. Nobody was smarter than anybody else. Nobody was better looking than anybody else. Nobody was stronger or quicker than anybody else. All this equality was due to the 211th, 212th, and 213th Amendments to the Constitution and to the unceasing vigilance of agents of the United States Handicapper General.

...... (picked from: HARRISON BERGERON, Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. Literature In English SPM 6th Cycle) ......

Frankly I'm really looking forward to watching this video as soon as it is on the theatre box office. A whole new scientifically ironic video that is surely a uniquely worth-fascinating blockbuster at time.

Wake Up Moron.

Always, the opposite gender seems exactly resembling an iced hot cocoa.
Often that we give the judgment towards him, or her, we've have wrong impressions.
The initial stage looks beautiful. It is because you tend not to have flipped the seal of ice toppings.
Of course it tickles your appetite, running down your nerve, it's the so called 'feel' one feels.
For this holy second, thanks to cupids, you feel super-delightful assaulting whole of you.
Rejoicing the plenty of time till some of the ice slowly melt.
Part of what is called mundane reality gradually reveal themselves to your eyes.
You may look astonished in utter bewilderment, or you might as well feel relieved, for it suits what you have been guessing all through since the start of it; or, most probably, your guilt is relieved, because you are as mundane as everybody, as human as everyone else does. You no longer love the contrary anymore, and to your relief, it is just exactly the Tweedledee for the another rotting half.

Now you finished the drink you've been looking for. Just a shallow oasis you'd met.
Merely, you enjoy the contents, but, bear in mind, it is no way in god's name you'd really fascinate the aftermath, leaving only worries, anxiety.

Girl, he loves you for you supply him real love where other girls would not even when paid for.
Boy, she loves you for you pose a shelter to her, and it is ... temporary.
Wake up.

The Ignorant Time ---- Killer

IT WAS INDEED A VERY DEEP GRUDGE TO WATCH THE HUNTERS FIRE ON THE BEAR. It crawled and hardly let out a sarcastic moan which was resonant along the slightest movement of the dense and freezing air around. And that was finally renescence -- a deadly blur view of the corpse which was then evaporated along with its soul that has been encroached on.

My eyes closed. The sense touched me again. The familiar but unfathomable magical abracadabra flushed into my vision. As the very essence of this particular grief-stricken memory came into emergence and started enthusing in its stark contents, I was finally diving into my abyss of hallucination.

It nearly formed half a decade since what happened that winter in Hokkaido. With all my old buddies, a trip to this angelic place was almost tantamount to wandering in the cradle of the beauty of Oceania. We booked a resort for two weeks of group living amidst the enormous and gorgeous valley profoundly surrounded by thick, white forests. From a certain distance, the chimney of the little resort and the soot that paced vertically up into the air with a regular rhythm can already be seen.

This winter was just perfect for vacation. We played poker all night and ate steamboat on that teeny-weeny wooden table that was crafted neatly and beautifully. Despite the hardly describable sum of money needed for the expense of eating and living and footing the bill, it was rather worthwhile to stay here enjoying the ultimate breeze of coolness and relief.

Snowboarding was the chief game that played the crucial role as to quench our boredom. Cold, it was snowing out there. The sky darkened by and by yet we insisted on boarding. It was too difficult to suppress the thirst and need to accelerate on the plain white snow ahead of us. We couldn't even be patient to just glance at the plan view of the map for one or two seconds -- the ice boards, now having five pairs of ravenous feet securely fit and tied along with, were the only radars applicable.

It started then. The freezing snow was like ice-made daggers that combated with my inner defense against the abjectly frosty surrounding. Soon an epiphany twinkled and eventually in hurry nascence, emerged within my logic sense of thinking. I didn't want to get defeated in this race with all these natural facilities presented right in front of me. Nastily, I freed myself and took some strength, with that I rotated and felt as if the ground revolved beneath my nearly unstable figure -- a perfect fifty-degree slant towards my left, still speeding. Cool, thought myself quite aggressively, might as well duh -- rendezvous with them all after personal rest yeah. I'm going to have a long rest down there with this velocity driving me along this deserted hillside that looked much steeper, much advantageous for my need for haste.

I imagined rocketing downhill like lasers now. The snow never had stopped nor had it receded somehow, but it soon condensed into more watery particles showering the entire field, which was just flipping from my view pages by pages. I didn't have an inkling of how much on hell the temperature now was, but it was bitingly cold, as though the snow and ice simply penetrated my thick woven jacket and deeply rested themselves in my blood vessels through one superficial layer and another...

The snow was incredibly heavy now. Never on earth had I met an outrageous climate like this. My front view, in distorted version now, still shortened hastily feet by feet. I never had realized until the fierce snow surprisingly receded and eventually stopped later all of a sudden. I tilted my dizzy skull and gazed on top of me, and through the misty pane of my goggles, in nascent amusement I noted an indistinct mosaic pattern of the forest canopy. I was in the forest now.

An abrupt flush of anxiety bubbled in my train of thoughts, ungraciously jerking my mind forth and back. I stopped boarding and halted in the midst of nowhere. Subconscious commanded me to tie the snowboard onto the back of my frozen spine. I maneuvered every item on me and adjusted them into correct positions, I felt desperate to peering into what would come into my view next. It was later then I noticed the front part of my snowboard posed a few clear linings of cracks. Perhaps it was the forest floor that exerted a force against it as I opposed the friction before I woke to my unseemly visit. I paced slowly and carefully to stabilize my figure as the snow was too thick along the unknown path I took in deep hesitancy. It was hapless being here. The snow, flakes now, whispered something faint I couldn't possibly comprehend.

Disheartening, I held to a tree trunk for support. I was too fed up to continue pacing into nowhere within the still thickening mist. It occurred to me to insert my palms into the two side pockets at the bottom part of my jacket. Fate, I imagined being toyed, being a laughing stock by he who was named sarcasm, would I simply just die in this deadly maze which I hardly had the due denial saying that me myself being miserable here wasn't a root of my filthy fault? Options were clear, and I chose diving into this hazard; I was the one who did the choice.

Still managed to breath, nay, gasp in bewilderment and astonishment; I pulled my hood further down to my nose level. I questioned my faith, would I just have the slightest fuel in me as to really get me out of this nightmare? The thought echoed around, still a blank thing -- nothing really did return.

Being left stranded alone, confined in this invisible cul-de-sac, I couldn't help searching for God's words -- please, prognosticate for me for only this once.

No reply, still.

I slowly resigned to kneeling down by halves. Now the air I exhaled against the windy atmosphere was unexpectedly renewed by a whole new, strange and odd scent. It was an illusion, I thought convincingly. Half a loaf is better than no bread, a stupid philosophy which I was compelled to follow now pulled my feet forward. I held out my right hand which balled into a frozen fist now and shook vigorously towards where the scent might have originated. As soon as that scent befell onto me as a sense too faint and dim, an owl appeared into view, taking me by astonishing surprise; it shrieked so loud that it made me halted.

And now my sixth sense magnetized my vision downwards to look at my feet, which now scrambled into a hidden cross under the sponge of thick snow. It startled me. At instant, I lost my entire balance and stumbled backwards. I barely had sufficient consciousness to realize that it was a tiny hill behind me and as these images shot into my shocked and bewildered complexion just in time, I was rolling and tripping along the gradient of the hill with tiny stones and frosted snowflakes ramming to and fro around me. Still in rough and hasty motion, I instantly dozed off into deep unconsciousness.

A mixed variety of hallucinations that could hardly be caught into sense seemed like nonsensical cries and bombardments circling my mind. Darkness and fear shouted all around me in anguish and slowly burned my nerves into dried, contorted ashes. Throughout this catastrophe contented with grief and fright, all I could do was to stay calm in virtual darkness.

A small and tiny force pressed on me. The sense was real and unreal at the same time. But slowly that object now generated a little heat around my arms and feet. I couldn't open my eyes, but it was indeed comfortable. It was hard to relinquish the temporary relief now to the mundane reality out there.

The heat expanded and it convinced me to open my lethargic eyes. The distorted view slowly revealed to me and it was first unbelievable. In front of me -- a huge gray bear who posed almost nil offensiveness, laid my head onto its bare and furry chest. Aghast, I thought of escaping, but my feet were entangled to the ground, and it was surprisingly comfortable and the warmth really did shelter my nauseated awareness. Most of all, I felt safe. It slept, too -- with a human, who was so weak and vulnerable that presented to him as no more than an easy prey which, normally, it should have simply taken for granted. It was too strange, too odd to feel even the slightest sense of comfort and relief within its mighty chest. A strange thing, I thought in utter stupefaction.

I fixed my eyes on its complexion -- relaxed, peaceful, harmonious, etc. etc. more words to describing that. In wonder of amusement I discerned the situation whether it was real or totally phony that was merely a phantasy, a gift, a consolation right at the threshold of the entrance of heaven, a soothing sanctuary built solely for me. But this tendency of discretion in me was paralyzed and overwhelmed by the comfort I did truly feel now. It felt much warmer, and livelier, much more hopeful than I could have imagined. I slowly closed my tiring eyes -- I prayed for a miracle, a wonder that will appear in front of me after I reopened these eyes. It only seemed impossible, but at least, still hopeful -- hope, the last thing I shall lose my grip of.

Eventually I reopened my eyes. At that split of a second, what came into my auditory sense was a cocking sound of a familiar rifle too vivid against my awaking response. Over-audible, I begged something would stop that. Time always ignore the rules, cried an annoying repetition within me, and bullet is just as rapid as that... The cocking sound never had forsaken evolving into explosion before the fragile seconds might at least suffice my nerves' reaction to explain -- to explain everything -- it wasn't harming me, muttered the inordinate craze now quaking inside me, it sheltered -- hopeless, totally hopeless, was the message on the frontier straight after the bloody murder was done. Full stop, I minded. It all ended right after one second and the poor creature's mourning and struggling and hypertension and roaring and gasping and wobbling relatively terminated.

I drifted in and out of my range of belief. I didn't want to choose to believe. All of it was a dirty concoction of the dark blood, still flushing out from the giant's skull, and the inexorably flooding adrenaline inside me.

The two hunters brought me back to the resort.

The untold memory never succeeded to wipe itself off from my still disoriented mind. Never had I confided it to anybody else. Alas, I didn't want to restraint myself within this terrible experience of agony and woe.

Time always ignore the rules, thought myself in confounded retrospect, and innocents are who this hateful culprit victimized, always.

I didn't want it to succumb to death, to die, merely because of me.

Authored by H.C.Lai
~2009.9.3~

He Who Must Not Be Named

Lumos.

A Patronus charged the Death Eaters.
anything a fans of JK Rowling would have said.
enchanted words, sentences,
the Gryffindor uproar.

lies beneath all truth within the Godric's Hollow.
You-Know-Who smiles.
you would say what desperate glory i'm after.

quadrangle it seems too ancient a Renaissance.
too magical a Hogwarts stands,
Albus gets hold of his Elder Wand,
where Hocruxes were defeated by the master of Death.

whoa, i am truly mad, don't I?

deluminator

click.

999

tweedledee and tweedledum of a pair plus one
connotes something,
nor miscellaneous it may seem,
but we just did it foolishly,
without that logic which is due to exist,
without that much little thought of being that much irrelevant,
irrelevancy is gone,
superfluousness said farewell,
with as much as black and blue on the surface,
contaminated.

someone wrote this,
i saw it in the desk,
and i just realized,
it was the darn self of me.

9
9
9

happy, be happy.
you wouldn't want,
a short, plus a sad life.

happy 'trisomy 9',
puff--