What catastrophe will it lead to? Why such moral standards are needed to set apart teacher and student, doctor and patient, artist and model, and so on so forth? It is the matter of nearness. Why aren’t teacher and assistant professor prohibited to each other? Why aren’t doctor and nurse? Artist and his peer? Heart […]Read More Why is It So Wrong?
Me: Cut yourself. Me: No, don’t hurt me. Me: Your pain will be released. Me: No no, don’t hurt me. Me: It is easy, just as you has done before. Me: No, don’t. Me: Come on, you good girl. Me: Please, don’t. I have done nothing wrong. Me: A shaving knife in the shower room. […]Read More Is this a Dagger which I See Before Me?
Doctor, your tabs are not effective enough to bring me to the dark realm of sleep. Another white tab was in my hand. Doctor would certainly scold me for doing this. I felt the cold water running down my throat. Fauré’s Requiem is so relaxing, would God curse me for listening to Requiem instead of […]Read More Dalloway Chapter 3
Full and bright hangs there lover’s moon. Springst romance in this night of June. Reach out to touch thee does my hand. Leap up my feet from where I stand, Yet lover’s moon is still too far. . The stars start to blink mocking me. Also laughters heard from the trees. Is my solitude so […]Read More Lover’s Moon
Why heart is the tenderest thing, While love is but the roughest thing? Why the two needs encountering, For the suffering to beget? . Why bygones can’t be just bygones, While present is mostly cheat’ on? Why, why memory needs to haunt, Merely for the sore to beget? . Why is it true that you […]Read More Why and While
I do not want to sleep. I hate sleeping. I do not want to dream, to be falling in that black hole full of illusionary stories. And then to get dragged desperately back to the reality in which none of those stories exists. It is just an exhausting cycle, happening nights after nights. . Sometimes […]Read More Personal No. 8
Halt, halt ere thy feeling goes wander, Halt, halt ere thy heart falls there yonder. Ere thy soul starts orbit that of his, And thy body then cries in a whizz For it hath become his satellite. Though thou may feel nothing but delight, Yet its power’s mighty, thou think not. Thy tragedy therefore shall […]Read More Epistle to Myself