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Month: August 2014


Posted in Journalism

Been working on journalistic pieces and was itching to write creatively for the sake of writing. I don’t usually post this kind of stuff on here but it resonates at the moment:

Heat rises and embraces me, reaching inside to clear away frost. Sitting on the thin utilitarian mattress covering the single camping bed, I’m surrounded by unfamiliar gentle patterned walls. Soaking and dripping from the torrid outside, a fan in the ceiling corner recycles furnace blasts, stroking my face and whipping up my hair.

I ran without a thought, getting away from myself and from the sombre cold. Denying my tracing of your lines, grooves and fleshy human cartography. My eyes opened and saw dehydrated papyrus skin and exposed ribs, heaving under thin paleness, disjointed and fractured. Grey blue pooling under delicate splinters and cracks. Strangled under the angled city skyline, cutting away, exposing bones and underdeveloped muscle wrapped in strangely scented beauty.

Lightening bristled and marched on my skin ablaze with dawn awakenings. Beside my misplaced sleep in a bed that felt too small for me, crammed in against an indifferent wall. Tingling possibilities sung by outside birds, gathering in the concrete city. Structures coated with a pearlescent, steely cobalt sky. Hopeful verdant shoots covered with a downy dew, failed to root. I remember concrete pavements as old as time, winding streets heaving with alien histories.

Aged prints with unconquered continents, circling faintly in between my spaces created an arch, knotted my stomach. Hidden full force unleashed without words and emotion, disappointing and flat. Incomplete definition of me tumbled out in broken sentences. Redundant lexis, speechless cocoon, wrapped up in silk pupa. Sirius extinguished from the distance because your hands closed around it. You crushed me and lined everything with a vapour carapace. Finality with an inferred and inarticulate silence meant I needed to leave and never return.

Speaking in tongues, not dialect in this feverish place, means I ascend effortlessly up to a lavish terrace of a soulless glass building. I watch its reflections intensify the sun in makeshift foundations, wood huts and passages littered below, brimming with life. People seek temporary shelter under thin dyed muslin fabrics and paper umbrellas. Anarchic traffic flows, the incessant human buzz can’t be avoided from moneyed lofty heights. Alive veins flow with noise, community, poverty, heat and injustice.

Strolling with ease alongside crowds with fragrant pandan and incense, the sun beats down on dirt tracks. Dust flutters in scorching sunlight, fighting humidity. Sun seeps in diagonals between crammed homes and shops. Intense green vegetation springs up in corners and cracks, enduring and resourceful. People scurry past, busy surviving but don’t meet my gaze. There is no crystalline, glittering water to offer an invocation to their suffering or my pain.

I can’t be reached and came here to melt into humanity. Skipped borders to burn away every trace of myself with a painless cauterisation; to hollow out my borrowed history without a false one to replace it. I took off to see, develop, grow and thrive with love and tenderness. No longer do I hear your leaden footsteps or glance behind looking for you, checking where you are with your alluring, gorgeous shadow. There will be no chance meetings.