The Boy Asks God to Make a Star

Cold at Night, clouds cover the sky
The Boy sits alone, outside, Cold and in Darkness
No moon, nigh, no luminous glow to draw comfort from
Nothing but tendrils of chill, loneliness prevails
The Boy calls for God, he prays with fervor
like the Mother had taught him
And God comes.
He comes without chariots
or a thousand angelic heralds
He comes with neither sound nor visual display
Quiet and non-central like the Cold Darkness they are in
But He comes.
The Boy calls for God and He comes.
Soldiers at war beg of God in zealous crusades
Leaders demand that God lead them to power
Priests ask that God show the people the way
The Boy calls for God and He comes.
And within the dark of Night, Day's brother devoid of much meaning
other than nothingness, Quiet vows, reigns supreme
Within the lack of heat and low centigrade temperatures
only unlighted zones can bring
The Boy Asks God to Make a Star
And God makes for him a Star.
It is a small Star, just born, unsure of its task
to cast wishes into the world
It is dim, the Darkness moves to swallow it whole
The Quiet seeks to muffle its glow, the Cold readies to stifle its warmth
for who would want a Star to bring joy in such a peaceful, silent time?
The Star cries out painfully, fingers touch it, they hurt it
The twinkle falls dull, the glow quietens, the Star shrinks
God looks saddened, He shrugs his shoulders and prepares to throw
the little Star away
Who could love a Star that cannot twinkle?
Then the Boy touches the Star, he whispers encouragement
he holds it close to his heart
and defies the brother of Day, denies the Darkness
scorns the Quiet, curses the Cold and
loves the Star
The Star blinks once, twice and on the third, twinkles
brightly, pushing back Night, singing higher and stronger
burning warmer and warmer
Brighter, Higher, Stronger and Warmer
From Olympus it can be seen, from unknown lands and forever people
the Star can be seen
There is a Star, that grants wishes, that glows in the dark
that sings a song
that warms the heart
And the Boy is pleased.
And God is pleased.
The Boy Asks God to Make a Star
God did make a Star.
And He is pleased.
The Star sings louder for Universe to hear

the end

I am currently in the midst of a literary euphoria, unlike the post modernist, cynical yet bland variety of speech and writing I tend to have. It is as if the Muse herself had come, whispering inane ramblings that flow from mind to heart and fingers, allowing this lowly of lowest mortal to type on this blank screen of the future his life, dreams and everyday happenings in the most figurative way.

Some may be surprised, others shocked and many repulsed by such a formless, structureless attempt at writing. However, I like it and in the words of any typical Englishman of any good standing, noble or not, "Bugger off". Yes, the Muse and I seem to be having a lot of fun, which I understand to be the best thing for a deranged individual. Let us hope this sudden inspiration will last more than this night, perhaps the next or dare I wish, until the end of the stars. Needless to say, wishful thinking does not ail a person much so I shall wish upon as many stars as I desire, and pray to the many forms my Muse takes. I shall take my leave now until later when the moon is high. And yes to the sceptics among my faithful yet ignorant readers, I do like mushrooms and I am pretty positive in any nature, that I am a fake. Adieu!

I dun seem to be able to converse with women anymore, all that charm and wit and the tools of the male trade, vanished into thin air, leaving only a fool staring ahead with a mouth like that of a goldfish.

But enuff of that, I refer you to this article

http://www.theage.com.au/articles/2004/08/09/1092022403750.html

An author has cheated us readers. She has spun a wonderful web of story-telling, one that we all enjoyed and eagerly clamoured for more, writing to tell this... charlatan, to grace us with more of her emotions, characters and plot. We loved her. Until we found out that her words held no shred of truth in them, until we discovered we were the foolish idiots who had given ourselves fully to a book that was not real, to a story that was fabricated. And we do not like being fools.

So we pull her book off the shelves and scream for her head. This author, Norma Khouri.

Why? What was the problem? Yes, the story was not real, the facts falsified, the whole book untrue. Norma Khouri wrote about a story of a loss, she described a situation most of us would never know, a life which was pretty much foreign to most of us. SHE TOLD A STORY.

Now correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm pretty sure story-tellers have the ardous job of doing just that, telling stories. If not, they would just be called tellers and that job's taken by people in banks. That's besides the point of course. The main point I'm trying to make here is this: Yes, she lied... but does that give us an excuse to lynch her? Is it right to attack somebody with such mob intensity, jus because her tale is just that... a tale?

When read, ignoring who wrote it, why it was written, when and where, how the book is written is absolutely amazing. The descriptions are discrete yet powerful, the characters strong and believable and the tale moving indeed. Put in the author and we have a person who is supposedly from Jordon. From there we can move to the other questions, why, when and where. Answering those questions can only enhance the whole experience, and the lack thereof should not cause readers to deter from the actual gem within the text. It is the text itself that grips people, that causes us to think, not who wrote it.

It is not a question about truth here, it is the idea of a superficial reading society. It is one that focuses more on what is known rather than what is yet to be known. If Norma Khouri's book was a fiction, would it sell as well? Moving past sales, would the book still intrigue readers? I seriously think it will. Being optimistic, I tend to think the best of people, that they will see past the politics and economics and morals of a lie, and rather, flip the page and read what happens next. Norma Khouri's lie should not have caused her book to be taken off shelves, just relocated to the Fiction section.

a psalm for echoes



Echoes go round and round
And somehow or rather, we do hear them
When we do, we ignore them
But the echos are there.



They are the repurcussions of
Life, the searing pain of tragedy
the boisterous nature of better things
Love, the deep tendrils of Venus's touch
both joy and hurt that can mean,
we hear it, acknowledge it, yet leave it alone
People, the voices, lives, fingers they clutch
Eyes that see and noses that smell
City of countries, the apple of what we know



The sounds go round in echoes
the echoes go round and we do hear them
Round as a circle is round, as a wheel,
But somehow, while we do hear them
we do ignore them

btw... happy bday singapore
*waves a small spirit-made flag*

This is supposed to be therapeutic. Blogging. The laying of one's life, one's worries, desires, troubles, joy, jubilation and MUNDANE ordinariness... all in one neat package, on an electronic space, a whiteboard, for all the world to see.

So see this.



This is what I see everyday of my life. This is what I am. This is, I'm afraid, what I'll become.

So rather than boring the few pple who read this, as I have many many many times, which I apologize for, like I'm apologizing now for the mindless ramblings of a semi-dangerous, yet even more so dulled mind, where was I? Oh yes, I shall show you why my watch is worth making love to. Perhaps with your tongue or other appendages, whichever you prefer. Sure beats looking for REAL companionship.





No... I'm not feeling any better. What can I say? I'm normal.

Been a while since I've blogged. Sorry pple. So wat's been up?

3 peking ducks yesterday night. Yes, I had 3 peking ducks... and they were so good. Some restaurant called Old Kingdom, I swear, the next guy with a bday gets it. I want Peking Duck.

Being seeing Ams more often which is a good thing :) Glad to see her so cheery and happy and yes, you should really buy that bag. It's beautiful lor. And I wun say anything about certain aspects of you that stick out yar?

Signed up for Video Dogs today. Might as well, they stock good stuff anywaes. Which leads me to a small review of Runaway Jury.

It is good. So damn good. An exciting, original storyline with a pretty surprising twist at the end. Good stuff man.

That's my review. Heh. Anywaes, feel like writing again. Maybe finish up Villain or something. Maybe.

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