Sunday, November 29, 2015

POEM: THE USUAL TEA.


Hot Earl Grey.
Japanese messenger's bicycle.
Old house in Trang Tien alley.
As seen at Lukas.
The little garden.
Hanoi swings in the cold of winter
Gives us time for cookies and tea
Dipped into the liquid
Softened with ease.

"No Dignity" played
Smoothened in jazz
Leather shoes danced
It wasn't bazaar.

Dark outside
Half past 5 no less
Tea ran out
Should have already left.

Jamie.
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Wednesday, November 18, 2015

OUT OF SIGHT. OUT OF MIND.



The special friend I've never met but always like to talk to is now fading. I've stopped feeling excited about our conversations. I even feel awkward and less of myself talking to him. When the sense of humor disappears, I know something's wrong. I hate to see the reality of his not because of its core, but the fact that I don't know anything about him. The entire thing is about guessing and based entirely upon improvising. Sometimes I wonder what I have done to make him uncomfortable talking about his life with me. Every time I try to get closer, I screw up. Is it because of my age and that I haven't been through many stages of life? This distance is making me feel like a forgotten puppy. I don't like being lied to, who does? But I don't mind him telling it, either. I understand even though I don't know what I actually understand.

I want to talk to him more than to see him. I'm afraid if we meet, we'll become normal friends. All I ever want is one breezy night on the roof, two drinks and a sincere conversation. But all the things used to be simple have turned complicated. And distant. How can I ever talk normally again when I have to ask myself if it is true or not, whether he's doing it for fun? This disappointment isn't like losing. It's me having something that I shouldn't have.

Yes, I'm still thankful for his appearance. He turned up right in time to change me and give me more motivation, a reason to get back to my trait. I'm thankful because he spent time and I remember how he made me feel. But if we were near each other right now, I hope he wouldn't tap on my back and say hi. I don't know what to say. I don't know who is standing in front of me. All I can see is the vision he's created.
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Monday, November 9, 2015

LEON IN REAL LIFE



Where should I start? I'm writing about a man who has no story to tell. He doesn't belong to anywhere nor anybody. This man, Leon, is the loneliest man on earth I've ever known. 

I met Leon in a different kind of life, the one you can only imagine. We'd never met face to face but we saw each other through our souls. The case of Leon was a mess. He grew up baring the departure of a parent and later parted from his daughter. He didn't know what a family was but he had a similar one formed with his chosen friends. Leon's life was a fucked-up one. When I knew him, I was so glad that he'd been through enough to understand me, and also that my life wasn't as fucked up as his. There was a part inside of him that died long time ago, before he even knew it existed. Maybe that empty space was the reason for the existence of Leon. He could turn into the wind as his body and soul contained nothing. Nobody would realize the transformation. Not that they didn't care. People cared enough to know he should have been the air. A man who didn't belong to anywhere, belonged to everywhere. Knowing a tiny edge of Leon's life, perhaps a little deceiving one, I feel sympathetic. I couldn't beat his age and that enormous amount of experiences. 

Leon told me to take loss as a gift and never compare myself with anyone. Regardless of his inability to love, I don't feel bad for Leon. I hope someday someone will come and change the distorted, heart-broken man in him. Give him warmth and a reason not to run away. For now, I don't know how this story will go. I'd like to be friends with Leon but he seems inattentive. That should have been my place with most of people I know. If the curtains are falling, I will choose to remember Leon. I have the feeling that one day we will stop seeing and talking to each other. Like looking at myself in the mirror, I'd have to break the glass with my bare hands. It'd cut my skin but that's my intention. Leon should be back to his life, now that he has successfully finished his job.
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POEM: I LIKE TO SIT IN THE DARK


Copycat of Wayne Thiebaud. Lemon Cake. 

I like to sit in the dark. 
Even when it's daytime
Any where I choose will blacken
And my fingers will rhyme.

I like to sit the dark.
Beneath a ceiling of stains
Sipping tea in steam so hot 
That my lips could taste the pain.

I like to sit in the dark.
Nostalgic feelings delivered by fall
Soft breezes surf the greenish face
Reminding people what is lone.

I like to sit in the dark.
Disagree with the sun so bright
He comes up to lighten my faith
Bless those eyes no longer are blind.
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