(as usual im making up for my lack of regular updates by vomiting a truck-load of entries)


touch and take out the bottles of clay, out from shelves of grey. paint it on my wriggly fingers, slowly and softly, and watch them glow in the dark. listen. silent screams of an ambulance's flashing siren echoes. smile and bite my fingernails, star-scarred with pickpocketed five-pointers grown in the skies. fallen onto earth, then stored in jars. (if you look closely, five is actually one. then you blink and one disappears into fives.) jars, c-c-cracked but whole. jars, happily sitting next to the bottles of clay, standing behind papercups. air caught in these cups coated with layers of dust. it's dust that glitters with a flick of a switch.

i'll love you till the ends of the earth. the earth is round, a circle that goes round and round. it began in the dark days. it began from the end, the ends are nothing and nothing's really a beginning. the starting point points at the ending point (fingertips meet), realises that it is it's mirror image. shattered but real. the end.

the beginning. where's the ends of the earth;heaven/hell/sky/sea. they say till death do us part. so it must be buried several feet underground, beside broken skulls and crawling alongside earthworms. land of the dead. or burning brightly admidst charcoal ashes flying towards the horizon, where skysea meets. actually it's in the air you smell, an endless sniffing chase. the rich scent of fresh soil dug from down under, mingles with the salty fragrance of the sea you see. slips away from your nostrils, sneaks away from the grasp of your fingers. its everywhere, yet nowhere.

it's okay if you don't understand. it's what you think it is, or what you think it is not.

sometimes, questions are answers in themselves. RIGHT?

RIGHT.