Carbon monoxide, weathering against clefts
Let go off, habitual detonation
Shriek and holler, read minds, contrive complexities in plastic agonist
Fireplaces for the weak, disguise tragedies with teenage rage
Crayons and pretence, purposelessly drew hurricane in craze

Pick up, the unbecoming of the day
phantoms un-generated, herds of sheep, harsh touches and soft countenance
tore down relics of cataclysmic triviality, captured seconds
Dressed up for pity, disinfect mockery while
traversing accelerating train tracks and
broken bodies

Flummoxed, clarity, magicians toppling astronomic solitude
Cringe crash crack cast, collide, the black
Asylums of normality, riveted by two moons, once
Alive dead, feed sensitivity to deprived hounds
Dousing the world of two with perpetual ecstasy
Symphony of derangement, void
liberated us, liberate not us

Withdrawals and flashbacks, continuity and promiscuity
Shooting galleries, strollers possess no better fantasies than ours
Rejection of speech, profound ridicule redecorate the blueprint of our artistic specialties
Languish languish, eliminate systems with daily dose of heaven,
luxury of prayers
the poorest of pain and

barring, rigging desolation with abstraction,
plain hopeless
found rules in fateful

23/09/2017 01:10am

//My Insomniac Take On Activism//

It is always easier to put the blame on others, especially on politicians, because it takes us no more than five seconds to express hatred.
Try blaming ourselves today.
Try putting the burden on ourselves and take little actions today. We do not have to start Black Lives Matter to be an activist. Activism is just about spreading ideas and taking action on ideas.
Activism is human.
To I myself, being an activist is merely about attempting to understand what being a human being means. Being an activist entails a humble recognition that we are not the center of the world and a realization of our greed and fragility. Being an activist also means that we still strive to work towards redeeming our own crime despite how futile some efforts may feel.
After all, activism is just self-reflection.
This wall was my activism a month ago. No it did not save Palestine or Hong Kong. But if it taught at least one more person on this campus about something or motivated at least one more person to spend two minutes a day to read about the occupation, it still IS activism.
Beyond Hong Kong, Palestine, and the US, I hope we all are building towards our common human project of saving the dying bits of humanity and attempting to talk to human apathy in the midst of the growth of isolationist policies. It attempts to talk and it is waiting to be heard every day.
I tell myself this every day – be patient and take baby steps. We don’t have to care about the whole world – no one can. Let’s admit that we are barely taking care of ourselves. Care about ourselves, our family, our friends, and plus just ONE extra thing for now and act on it.
That’s all I ask tonight from myself and from people who still feel human inside them somewhere.
I am not cool. Bernie Sanders isn’t either. Caring about politics and acting on issues aren’t “cool.” It is just human. Don’t make “corrupt politics” our excuse to be apathetic. Politics isn’t corrupt – we are.
Let us blame ourselves once more tonight and turn the passivity of blame into practical actions tomorrow. Goodnight my fellow human beings who read through the above.

//First Draft of an Imaginary Dairy//

15578793_10210806271529104_4944689960094522561_nThe world was so very beautiful today.
If only, if only, I could shed a drop of tear about it.
I thought, perhaps, my futile contribution could let one of my favourite dandelions grow with the hollow desperation I today generously donated.
It was a thirteen celsius degrees with winds that, finally and surprisingly, weren’t indifferent to my cracking skin. I faintly saw the unusually-humble buildings creepily recording every step i took on the concrete. Undisturbed by the eavesdropping, I was unconsciously whispering something, something important, to the chilling air. They were, in reply, asking me to lengthen my initially-unwanted stay. I looked into the background, into the building which I, in my mind, befriended a few seconds ago. I knew the windows had stolen my iris, yet, all I could do was to receive the wind’s filthy bribe. I could not stay, but did not dare releasing a single word of harshness. So I, secretly, ran away, even though my mild heart was painfully, painfully bleeding. My blood, swiftly and automatically, flowed though my sparse scalp of hair, into my salt-filled bitter eyes, and, into my frail, frail fractured bones. I was able to, for the first time, truly imagine a world without the occupation of my devilish torso; for the first time, walk on the flawed concrete like a brave near-death soldier’s stride.
But here came the passing millionaires-filled limousines. Alas- how I wish they had not witnessed my moment of foolishness.
My self-hatred, nonetheless, happily flew with the naive kite on top of my dreamy head and screamed “oh freedom, oh liberty.” The uncomfortable sounding of these words, especially on the land of “United States of America”, scratched open the wall of my brain. I realised, however beautiful the day was, the only bearable part of my existence was perhaps, still, merely and only, the tiny little fraction that possesses the ability to perceive the transient beauty of the day.
Maybe, maybe, I should let it stay. The rest, I guess, it’s time to get out of beauty’s way mate.
15/10/2016 1:04am