han.

listening for resonance fluttering at my own pace.

[han-law]

If I don’t look at my shadow, It doesn’t mean that it’s not there. But it doesn’t mean that I should be staring at it. I’d rather stare into the blinding sun.

[han-law]

simple. be careful of the word simple.  when used on others. it is offensive to the concept of thoughtfulness. and heart.  if it is that simple why don’t you do it yourself.

Rather than simple. i prefer straightforward.

it may look simple. but in my mind, nothing is simple.

[han-law]

 side step, and let the charging bull through. plenty of it is not my fight, so there’s no need to jump onto the train-tracks to stop the train-wreck which I think is going to happen- it might or might not happen...  just let it flow through. it will stop when it should but not when i think it should. so that i can stop procrastinating to save myself by trying to save others that don’t need saving. love others who don’t need loving. superheroes are procrastinators finding excuses not not deal with their biggest nemesis- themselves. for as long as possible. stop writing to the third person. and write as me, to me. to help me think, process and deal with me.

[han-law]

and bad advices from the conscious self

They call you an eraser and so you rub yourself thin trying to clean up for others. Who signed you up for these self binding blinders - makes it easy to focus on chasing the rabbit nah, what do you mean it’s a bait set for routine. Burleyed by the scent of constant praises, your purpose is to search for the next pat on the back - but pace yourself for the warm comforting pats to catch up. or catch you. so stay within coverage of the good-job tree. an apple shouldn’t fall too far - that’s if you abide by the decree.

[han-law]

brb

If I flicker in the wind, in the land where no hands will shield me, my tiny hands gripping tightly onto the sweaty wick- It doesn't mean that the flame would go, If I Sway when gusts are thrown at me, on the hill overlooking the land where my brothers and sisters warm your houses, are your houses, your picture frames and shelves for books that no one reads, it doesn't mean that I will break and tumble. I am not yet ready to be your fire-wood. If I take a rest, disappear or turn away. It is only because i have to play dead for the bear, drown out the ripples on the surface and wait for wind to calm. but i am there. I'm only relentlessly trying to be me.

[han-law]

Aren't we all remoras of time. Sifting by. One way or another.  Passengers on one way sharks. 

________________________________________________________

Since you cannot teach one to understand what one doesn't want to honestly see. We are all just very different people why measure with different goals?

Aren't we becoming the cat who chases after something just because it is running away? The difference between curiosity and missing out is the constant chase.  missing out = trying to fill the insatiable gap of feeling inadequate.

Because Statistics says it ups engagement but what is the engagement for if it is something you have to constantly chase after? 

Polish what you enjoy doing.

[han-law]

Overdose on questioning

And we ask ourselves, Whether we are redundant?

[han-law]

Conversations

Vowels and consonants, Grammar, language. still does not make up a conversation. The analogy Drilling, techniques = language Rolling, exchanging = conversation With conversation, we create bonds. When was the last time you had a conversation?

[han-law]

Conscience

Ploughing his ultra fine pen on the blank piece of paper. harshly scratching the surface to break land, loosen gravel. as if unearthing buried treasure. he attempts to break free, and sprout meaning from the barren page with seeds of words sown.

hoarding onto jars of lost hopes and forgotten dreams all of their lids open. half filled, half empty? what matters is their collective insignificance. Moored in time, awash in the bacteria of procrastination and germs of delay, and “one day i will be” sentiments, that is what breaks him down, piled onto the heap, prepped for the decomposition.

He peels out to reveal the remainder of what’s left. Sinews. The ship's out of water; the fish runs aground

[han-law]

heads down.

something flickers by on the sidewalk, is it a brown bird  hurrying to join it’s migratory flock? Oh no. it’s just the shadow of a withered leaf flailed by the wind, winding down to its conclusion on the rough, cold sidewalk.

[han-law]

pent

“so just get angry” she says, “or it will gnaw away at you     at me,     and at us.”

[han-law]

yes no

He says and then she says. Relays of displays.

When you can’t decipher each other, why bother to entertain another?

[han-law]

Perhaps.

1am. 6 fermented grape juices and a vodka shot later, he squats in the bathtub shaving his head. the battery runs flat and leaves him with a half shaven head, questioning his unnecessary melancholy. "why do we have to use these external influences to allow us to see past the daily hustle to be reminded to appreciate the beauty in the people and things that we truly treasure?" "I'm going to be a different person tomorrow. I'll start to appreciate things for what they are and try to see positivity in all things and people." Tap Tap Tap, "grrrr" , the battery of the shaver is really dead. "O well, no choice." he goes to sleep with a half shaven head, but a heart full of genuine feelings bursting at the seams. but, will he wake up in the morning to remember these profound realisations? Most likely not, perhaps the true beauty lies in the impermanence of such appreciations? But, but perhaps, there is hope, it's different this time. The half shaven head might serve as a reminder as he wakes up on the morrow into full consciousness, that there was something real about the night before. we shall see.

[han-law]

squawk

Like seagulls fending for an imaginary turf around the single poo-lined park-bench; We wait, bug-eyed for the non-existent next meal.

[han-law]

Oh Dear Enchantress

Dear miss Fantail. the bringer of mischief, fatale- your tail. i am forever chasing after your quick moves, the charming swoops. erratically you are addictive. like a naked siren on the rock, i can only see you from your back, So I drop my sails and navigate around the reefs for a better view -- Searching for monalisa's side view And you had me wanting for more. consuming me with my eyes wide-open. you charming little enchantress, I have to watch you closely, for you might flutter away, and so... not very different from the python you'd beaten yesterday, your paralysing occupation slowly consumes me. devoured alive. But i have been told. one day that You have a crazy cousin, over in the tropical lands, where i have come from... they call him the crazy thrush. equally as rambunctious as you are. If not more. why have i not paid attention to her before? perhaps timing. out of the blue, i have only come to know of her, through getting addicted to you. i wonder how crazy can she be? I need to see her!  If i sailed around, would I be able to see her face? but wait. these sails are torn. exhausted by chasing after your flickering tale. As I release my imaginary talons jumping off one branch to the next, during that transition, the answer has ceased being the answer, and the process of realising-has made the answer altogether irrelevant. realisations. surrendering to the consummation which has through time drained the flesh off my bones, As i look down on my bony structure, realising. through the infatuation with your unpredictable flutterings, i have gained the appreciation to love the peace found within that chaotic nature. peace. a new found ability. i have learnt. that it is not you that i love, nor your cousin. addiction in the love that consumes would leave me with nothing else to give. it was right under my nose all these while. you have helped me realise it, though i have drained myself chasing after the shooting stars running on a treadmill. Side step, you have sharpened my palate. shaved off the excess and helped me find myself. now...to save whatever is left,  i have to step off this treadmill- I thought was a travelator.  I am walking home. ( to the addictive nature that exists in all us)

[han-law]

Jetsam to save some.

[han-law]

Born two stone skips apart, the third count of “ready or not here i come!” You’re a witness to the ripples of blunders- your big brother calls them a fine work of art. Fart. But I have nothing to teach you, perhaps only lessons you can derive from your own observations of me. You stood by me, countless times through my heartaches, infatuations with shiny and unusual things ; jumping head first into ankle deep potholes, setting up dynamites with a broken matchstick… Run!  Yet you stayed, observed and listened, and you never left (well, not that you could, i suppose) Good. now tell me, who’s bullying you? This is how you climb the tree, jump the fence; “see, you don’t need 3 wheels in the back!”; “hey toe the clutch”, “save some gas.”, “are you coming back tonight?” “Ok you drive, let’s go for a drink– cos you’re buying” “see you next year :(”...  As a sister’s needs for a brother’s attention flows and ebbs with the tide of time, you leave with me a high tidemark composed of precious moments, reminding me of my fortune for having you as my sister. Thank you for sticking in there and encouraging me to be whoever the hell i wanted to be. Now its your turn! Happy birthday Xin and welcome to the silly thirties!