the orchid wound

my dear friend he came to the opening of LMU's architectural exhibition. He looked tired and exhausted, but he brought me a bouquet of orchids. he wrote, 'orchids grow in most adverse environment, they're delicate but strong.' i wish to be like orchids, i wish to be like cats. They're delicate but strong, they're curious and wayward, they have an edge. Just like Judas. In a fortnight, they started decaying, and the dark clouds roam the sky, engulfed the sun and all light together with happiness. At that exact moment, I sat in front of the computer, consumed by the area schedule for an unknown residential project.

The orchid she became my scar, an exhibit of my naivity and detachment to reality, to the ground. I put it near the window, so it takes up sunlight and oxygen, so it flourish and mark my devotion to be outside the box. not before long did it start to wither, and my skin was punctured with deep long cuts, blood oozing out from underneath the delicate flesh, swell like diabolic pearls congealed on my skin. I am punished for being independent and shy.



so I coiled like a featus at the corner of my bed too large for my body but too empty for my soul, and dug myself a grave with Kafka. Night after night, i started reading from midnight to dawn, and realised how tranquil solitude could be. I don't want to be verbal, I want to be secretive and hysterical. I want speak as if nobody would understand.

and then morning comes, breeze through the curtain and made it shiver. I pulled my body half metamorphisized into the white shirt and tight trouses, and put on the mask of a motivated, self- assured individual of society, a profession.



in my dreams, I saw an alien, he ate up my date. I pushed it out the glass door, and it turned into a hairy monster, stretching its myriad hair through the keyhole, gaps of the door. I brought scissors and cut them all. It ate my date just the way he bite my skin when we sleep, just the way he suffocated me with his charm, jas the way he drowned me with his self obsessed ego. 'I can't help loving you because I think you are as handsome as I am.' how disarming.

music review: Caetano Veloso_CAETANO VELOSO


I am, and i assume we all are, superficial. Human are more visual than anything else. we know it's going to shake our world just by the cover. Tropicano's pioneer Veloso started his anti govermental revolution with a good cocktail; brilliant latin numbers, delicate and layered composition, raw, unprecise, intuitive, and topped with piercing lyrics. I am never good in language, but the english translation of the lyrics are just as exciting as sex. It's easier to be angry and sad than happy, Veloso criticised his world with an optimistic twist, you feel good being a rebel. How's that? Buy it.