楽太朗

"You're like the moon on the water's surface. When the ripples are gone, you'll become the perfect reflection of the moon again."

Then you can't touch me, can you? Is anybody able to reach me, if I am but a reflection of a distant longing?

There is a breeze that stirs the surface of the water in which I sleep. For a brief moment, I feel as though connected to the outside world. Once it dies down, the calm that follows the restoration of an unresounding peace placates the tremours spread by a beating heart.

Even if you would drown yourself in this body of water, the ripples that distort my flawless reflection eventually seize to be.
Unaffected, I continue to bask in moonlight.

I am not real.

I do not exist.

Rakutarou, sail along the river bank on your lotus flower until the Eagle swoops down, under the glory of the Sun where I no longer am.

As It Is

Because I am unable to pretend, I am unfit for society.

Why do you think honesty is held in high regards while people constantly search for what's genuine? Yet as they sieve through the grains of mistrust, what's naked and true fall through their flawed reasoning all the same, and the search for sincerity continues without end; a meaningless labour enforced by an obsessive preconception that is a result of their insatiable greed. Demanding the truth with arms outstretched, they are never willing to accept what is given. So unaccustomed to candid exchanges is the civilised being that when spoken to bluntly, their defense mechanisms malfunction, triggering hostile responses where they would accuse the perfectly honest person of being an uncivilised baboon. Then they turn on their heels and head back into society, wondering why there aren't honest souls left alive.

What is valued isn't the straightforward nature of one who refuses to tell a lie, rather, it is their ability to frame the truth. As long as the listener believes the speaker to be an honest being, lies turn into truth, like water into wine. The search for honesty ends here, because momentary satisfaction has been met, bringing to light the realisation that what they wanted all along was simply someone who would plaster their wounds with words they wanted to hear.

Cradling your head against my chest, I'd love you like a child.

Indulging in the hypocrisy of society, my tolerance ebbs away. Day to day the receding tides gives way to the airs of pride and its refusal to acknowledge the unassuming hypocrite who feigns innocence.

Ah, before I let go of you and let you be swallowed by the sea, please close your eyes and breathe into your own soul. Ask yourself: do I really want what's real?

Apathetic Reflection

Giving when you have nothing to give-- what is the price I'd have to pay for spreading empty promises fueled only by hope? Take a bite of me, you, all of you, and tell me that the flowing blood is as sweet as you had expected. In the incessant whispers of your selfish honesty, sanity shuts itself inside a pretense of inflated courage. While the blood pours, I become a balloon.

Haa-- haa--- aa...

I would much rather die of xx frustration than to ask for relief.

Drip
.
.
.

Everybody needs a friend who tells them about universal empathy at 1:30AM, agreeing to the fact that human beings are primitive apes no matter the evolution we've gone through. Ah, to think that I could say and do anything without being judged by a reflection just as apathetic... Either this will one day lead to a murder, or a suicide.

I don't think I'll leave a note.

啦啦啦~

最近听的歌都是中文歌。爱上了薛之谦。他有谁会不爱？唉。前妻不要，我们要。

可能是亚洲人的苦情心吧？我们这些没人爱的小黄人就只好听回没希望的歌词，心碎的旋律。英文歌里就是找不到这种让我想要哭的感动。听来听去，不是要上床就是还要上床，听到我想把西方给炸了。人们的基本要求何必这样宣布？他妈的没听见你们唱出对食物的渴望！

好久好久好久没他的消息了。这样也好吧。我也没不开心。

其实我真的不想说什么，只是还不想睡。

那我就回房间去唱周兴哲的歌咯。姐要准备去他十月份的演唱会！VVIP，第一排！妹子买了票不过不敢去，怕妈妈骂所以就让给姐姐去，呵呵。

这次的update可算是废的。

Three Places

Past the ripening fields of paddy, time is warped. Each day, you wake up as if you've woken up on the day before, undisturbed by the surrounding calm and the constant flutter of feathered wings. There isn't the echo of a ticking clock growing louder as your consciousness is brought back into its cell because there is no clock, and time is but the colours in the sky. Greeted by whispers of static, you've woken up in a place that lies on the border between reality and dream, a place you physically exist in but can never go back to.

Outside of this realm, hours and days seem to be as clearly defined as the creases on the many unhappy faces. Resting on a chipped children's stool, beaten by the heat of the hanging light bulbs; frowning at the dinner table and glancing at the slow-moving needle of the wall clock; driving your sister to work without brushing your teeth, not even bothered to put a bra on; forced to indulge in lavish meals that would otherwise go to waste; rubbing the warm belly of a snoozing pup; smelling the perfume that isn't yours.

Smile. And run back to the place at the waterfall of reality, drown in the essence of time and let the fish lead you down the gentle stream of consolation.

If the place beyond the paddy fields is too far away, then lean your back against the foot of the Monkey God and pray that the clouds would carry you as far as the ends of the Earth. When you cannot cry, suffocate in smoke until your eyes water.