She had no idea when exactly it all started. It was just a little after puberty, past that age when goodness and evil, innocence and knowledge became all of a sudden chaotic, confusing, as if the clear demarcation between the two suddenly became invisible, altogether disappeared. And with the changing bodies, those inexplicable impulses, worldviews all along taken for granted became unrecognizable. Innocence arose from a kind of unknowing not of evil just of the self. She became aware of her desires as what they really are, something animal yet it all seemed so natural. She was a humanist, at least that was the way she would classify herself, she did not see that human had some sacred duty to prove that they transcended animals by their denying of impulses or by repressing certain urges. She had felt all along that human were part animals and it did not pay to punish that part of themselves which made them exactly what they are. Imperfect, yet, that was what we all are, she had always thought.

She had felt frustration when it started first as a burning in between her legs then a sensitivity around her nipples. When it came, she had not felt surprised, nor dirty as women or girls are expected to feel regarding this very taboo issue of sensuality. She had often wondered about the bodies of others, men, women, not in any sexual way but just out of curiousity. What built us all, there had to be very physical and tangible aspects other the spiritual, the intellectual, the part which often classifed as the filthiest, that we all somehow hope to rid of in death. The physical part of being which partook of materials and discarded waste. The faeces, the urine, the blood. The fluids she was taught to feel repulsed at as a child, taught to shy away from. But she realized that as she grew older, more than acceptance, she developed a certain fascination for them all.

And when the sexual awakening happened, a slow process which invovled a lot of coming to terms with the self, with the shame which females are made to feel by society, with their innate desires, of the unspoken, only in little hush and whispers and denials and fear. When she began to feel herself changing and desiring, she had realized that shame was not part of the equation for her, she felt liberated, and honest for the first time. When girls began flirting during puberty, and the eventual curiosities and experimentations in secret happened, all these were closeted and kept so silent as if none of all these actually took place in girls. As if only boys had sexual fantasies which needed satisfying, and the society seemed more ready to accept and even condone.

Tales of big bad wolves waiting to ravish little red riding hoods were spoken often enough, she did not know when she outgrew fairy tales. She loved them still, but only as a blueprint for behaviors she saw that she now had the power and the possibility to reshape and trangress. She was all in all sick of the place little girls, princesses are made to stay in, those little circles the stories so well loved placed them in. Always they had to wait for things to happen to them. Always they had to be saved, or victimized.

Somehow along the way, her prayers as a child had changed from "keep me good and pure" to one in which she prayed that she would not have to die a virgin. She had learnt that she no longer felt that sex was dangerous and that girls needed self-protection. Somehow that dissolved into a myth, a myth built to keep women from feeling guilt-free of their sexual desires. "Why?" she wondered did society provide sexual outlets for men as something quite natural and accepted but pretend that women really did not need any of these. Was outright display of sexual desires a perogative of men only? IF so God was unfair, men had their sexual organ displayed on the exterior and they can display their desires and yet have a free conscience. In fact the more transparent the more they are seen as normal. Repression and denial only breed perverts. Yes boys, you should all talk about it, sweat it off in some healthy games. while women must always have their's hidden from sight, like their sex organ, something mystical, unfathomable.

IT was always the pretend that society had a fear of rape, when in fact the anxiety had always been about virginity. It is not the act which terrifies but the desires of women. They are not supposed to desire, they are supposed to be desired. No, they must not look, they must be looked at. So have society moved a long way, all that talk about gender equality and women's liberation when deep down, women are not socially permitted to talk about their sexual desires, their needs and the very real need for sexual liberation. A courage to confront something society still wants to pretend is not there.

Once upon a time, the movement had been to let girls go to school, let them have equal education rights, let them have the same working opportunities. She wondered what happened to all those movements. All of a sudden, all the material and surface aspects seemed to have been satisfied, there is nothing more women can fight for. They have achieved it all. We even have female presidents now. See how far we've come? But she still suffers from the silence surrounding this central aspect of being human--that sexual ache. The need for discussion, and acknowledgment. And there is nothing she desires more than to stand honest with her sisters with the frank and courageous acknowledgment of the secret which burden them. It is the secret the had partaken when they ate that forbidden fruit and have been punished for ever since, with that mute-ness and inability to talk about its taste and how she had once tempted Adam. Once she told him about her desire and made him share in her scheme. Once she made her desire material. Now she is made to bear the punishment. Of eating that fruit but never ever having the power to discuss its taste and her discovery of it.

chained up. Look for that special key which opens that heavy gate.
Death to that white dragon. Stinky beast lose all your scales.
That blue fairy of death guards the entrance
No exit. No exit. Even if you die.
Drink some tea, vomit blood
tear your throat apart screaming.
Deep dark black red
sharp and dull
my anger
a beast wanting to break loose.
Trapped animal torn fur
losing sanity
the dragon is slayed but not its spirit
it still foams and howls
flap its dead stiff
wings like stale meat
blops of fat hanging from its greasy trap
Shut your trap. shut your trap.
Take a walk, s slipeery fall
long slide down to that hellish dungeon of decay
where human flesh have been rotting for a thousand years
the kindgom of flies
a paradise for maggots, a million
zillion white grubs in those hollows of flesh
coming to life after death
coming to life, swamps,swamps of them.
There the queen resides on her throne
her lovers with their face guards and their lances drawn
the palace glorious decked with faeces.
THis insect hell hole a lybarinth
turn left, turn right and right again
Dead end. Dead end. Dead end. DEAD. END.
Fallen soldiers, massacred, and the human forms disintegrated
intestines overflowed and bodily fluids drained into the
blood stinked gutters
next to the falling blossoms of the season
everything is ripe
pregnant and waiting to give birth to all sorts of monstrosities
Anger muted drowned out by the red dust rain
a mudslide buries it all
in that desolated landscape of black withered trees
once a magical forests
stands all these ugly plastic figurines
of the grosteque forms possessed by rage
my handprint on all of them
my babies spawned from my agonies
AMong these dead wood where only the foul breath of dead moans
Thunder strikes, volcanos erupt, gun shots, glass breaks,vehicles collide, things fall apart in confusion, the plates underneath cave in and give way, all things scream in unison
A fire breaks out
Burn, burn every red hot
let this seething flame
rid this landscape
exorcise and purify.
I close my eyes and I see red
and feel peace wash over like blood tide.

Frustration like those nights of dinner with intolerable relatives. Intolerable because everything is an absolute bore. And that boredom seeps into one's core, not silent like black water but like those jackhammer on roads, vibrating till the very teeth and your bones chatter and jump to its rythmn. That's how I feel right now. Just an inexplicable boredom with Life. LIFE for god's sakes. I never feel frustrated with life. OR at least maybe I have not reached that stage in life when boredom like an inescapable blanket descends out of the sky and every single thing you touch turns to dust, to ashes. I am looking for a way out. Any escape, but all these are so feeble. It is like moving to another room when what you need is another universe. I have thought about suicide, not anything bloody, or vio.lent like swallowing a bullet coupled with a rich cranberry juice, but just a nice peaceful sleep and a flight away into my dreams to cease this mundane existence. Not that kind of suicide, just a murder of this grey grey reality.

This reality where the rest of the family is still at the table discussing a reality television show. Where I can hear the cheers of the audience ready to partake anything of a slice of fantasy a suspension of the real. They sound like canned laughter, those fake laughters on comedy shows to cue audience to :" Laugh. This is funny." The audience, their excitement and their gullibility gets on my nerve. Suddenly my space, my desperately needed isolation is betrayed, destroyed by a wandering Uncle. Flipping through his magazines and things while I am trying to get away from this horrible dimension. He is folding his pillow case for bloody sakes. I feel even more anger and black hatred for no reason other than the fact that the sanctity of my time and need to be alone is intruded upon. It is a sacriledge. I am afraid of the next sentence which is trying to force its way into my consciousness. Try to bubble its way out of there, this swell of poisonous emotion, it is as if hate for the first time is given a shape, a sound, a word. how do you hate for no reason, why is there this rebellious instinct to bite the hand that feeds. Because the dog has an urge to attack and a stinky hand appears? Is it then the dog's fault?

THis dull chain hangs heavy, and my need for inspiration, for the beautiful and the natural and the meaningful all these seem to be too light and high up there. Floating, floating in the bright blue sky with those magical sun beams and the rainbows. While here I am tied and anchor to this tiny space, too small for the inhabitants, for our physical reality, our psychical necessities and our imagination and dream. I want to fly away on a balloon, feel that our existences are unbearbly light and airy. While here I am grounded and feel myself becoming fossil, turning into stone. My immovability scares me. I want to shatter myself that all my dust pieces can disintegrate and flitter off when the next wind blows, scattering me far and wide. Away, anywhere but here. Anytime but now. I want to break myself to free myself. I want to cry to scream to laugh but there is nothing here to cry about. I have no reason to feel sad, no reason to feel mad no reason to feel anything. I am fed, clothed, sleep well, but where are my dreams. Those magical moments when I hear a whispering voice, a mystical song, and an unbelievable beauty. When I see truth. Now all I see is what is.

Superman cannot be real, because if he is he would have flown away long ago. The 'real' world is intolerable especially when you have seen so much more. No one needs him anyway. We don't need people with special powers, just enough slice of reality placed on television for us to bitch about. Another advertisement to convince us we are powerful and more myths about our ladder up evolutionary charts. Our dominion over animals. I would rather be an animal, nothing is boring, beautiful, things are the way they are nothing more nothing less. Now-a-days these thoughts become depressive. A flower calendar in its bright artificial colours make me want to cry. Hearing music makes me feel as if they have all been synthesized. And that longing to return to where I came from is ever so strong.

Nature has become inacessible. "From dust were ye made and dust ye shall return." I long for that existence. If all of this world is of a similar consciousness, I wish a huge star rain would cleanse everything that is conscious. I want to believe that the rock has life, but I see those huge billboards and I think if those have a life too, I would much rather not exist alongside it. Suddenly nature is a category, and I have, even before I was born, been excluded from it, classified as distinct from it. I try to look for the way back but things have already irrepairably shifted. There is a gulf and to jump, to jump would only be a dream. If only god would speak to me. But now he only talks through words, speeches, images on screen and songs written by man. Everything is man-made, even his words. I want to hear that grass swish, those leaves rustle, the sea scream through rocks, but my ears have evolved, to take in too much words people tell you, songs pop singers pour down our ears, products we believe will buy us happiness. I wish I knew what happiness was. I raise my hands and try to touch my God, but all I am touching is just air. I look across that irrepairable gulf and see him there trying to get back to me. I try to feel. A tear.

Rain. rain. rain. rain.
drain.
Drained.
Brain. brain. brain,.
Drained
rain.rain,rain. Rain.

television a taiwanese chatter incessant
the middle lies empty
voices I'm sick of hearing
the house I long to fly free and escape
Brainless. Empty.
More tv-dinners
superficial conversations
"yes, the weather's really cold today."
"I'm better thank you."
"More soup for you?"
"Thankyou maybe later."
televisions incessant chatter
hollow
hollow
hollow
hollow

dinner time of silence
hell
Hell is not other people
it is your family at dinner time
asking you to eat more and more and more and more and more
you politely declining
more talk of the unimportant
"thank you"
"I like that"

Eternally.

I wait. Waiting for Godot? Hah a good joke. Though too dry and intellectual for my own taste. I wait. For the bus? Too boring and mudane, who cares about people waiting for buses. People don't give a damn about the ordinary. I wait. For death to descend, too metaphysical. Besides, aren't we all sick of death by now? What? Am I sitting at a candle lit dinner table waiting for my date with Mr Death all dressed in black to appear and sit right down and start carving his bloody steak. Please. I wait. What am I waiting for. Bloody hell. This is the worse kind of question. I wait. For the love of a lifetime. Dah, down with fairytales here. I'm in no mood for sunset rides on horseback with royalties. I wait for my lucky break. For that lottery number to materialize. No, the wait is too long and most certainly will lead to nothing. An unfulfilled wait. Then what's the whole point? Where's the drama of waiting? I need more suspense. I wait in the claustrophobic office for my job interview. I wait. I wait. For the microwave oven to do its little counting down. I wait for the food inside to explode. No no no, too morbid. And besides I already mentioned people don't give a shit for the everyday. Unless it is the fictional kind of everyday where peole are nothing like the everyday dressed up to be everyday-like. Do you get my point? I wait for the information to sink in. I wait for you to understand. Catch up with me. I wait.

I wait. For the phone to ring. How the hell should I know who's call I'm expecting? The phone haven't rang off its crackers yet. Ok, this definitely does not work. I wait. In line. Always the second, the third, the fourth. Never the first. I wait. I wait. On a sunday afternoon, for something extrodinary to change my life? I wait. With patience for an acknowledgement and understanding of myself to evolve. I wait for my calling, my meaning. I wait. I wait for the frivolous. A letter? A telephone bill? The wait must be of an indeterminable length of time, it must be torturous and feels like eternity? I wait for eternity. I wait. It is too spiritual. I wait.
I wait for an inspiration, a song from the muses while I am musing. I wait for the muses to change their sex, become a man and then seduce me. I wait for the mould to grow on the bread, watch nature paint a white surface.

I wait. For this story to take its shape. Become meaningful. Fruitful--a wait. Unlike all our little waits our whole life. Lives after lives after lives of waiting. Waiting. Waiting for Godot is no longer funny. Only the waiting remains.

I wait.

Inspired by the song " Year 3000" which starts: " I said I've been to the year 3000, not much has changed but they live underwater..." and a late night conversation with my sis.)

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Yes, I've been to the year 3000, but unlike the stupid boy band song, No. They don't live underwater. Things are not fine and dandy. What has been rapidly happening in the 21st century-- a deep suspicion of the progression of man and the upward path of history as a long drawn road of improvement and evolution has long become a myth, so badly disfigured and destroyed, no one any longer recognizes it in even a mangled resemblance of humanity's once glorious past and deep but naive belief in its ability and destiny. Once upon a time, like in the fairy tales, humanity had a glorious period of culture and growth and that deep faith in its unique destiny to fulfil on the planet. But that is all gone now. It takes a traveller who has seen where the world was heading in 3000 and what was left of it really, to say this.

People are asking themselves questions, difficult ones, even in the 21st cenutry, by the time it reaches the 31st century, the questions have almost altogether disappeared--no point in asking them any longer. Everything no longer needs an answer nor even a question. The Earth, I can't even bear to say its name or rather what is left of it, is no longer the idyllic paintings we see in Renaissance nor even the cheesy photoshopped calendar photos you all are so used to seeing and taking it as a stand-in for the real nature in your little steriles office spaces and homes. I don't see the point in describing the view of the world in 3000, it is not all grey, black, red like some angry expressionist painting of a bloodied mess. No it is not ugly, but beauty is no longer relevant, nor is nature nor is anything for that matter by the 3000. Nothing is relevant, nothing is reverent by 3000. I wish I can say it is because of boredom. Human kind have reached its peak and boredom quickly took over pride and ambition, boredom is of course a more lasting emotion than many we call inspiration, anger, love, hate all those. Boredom is long drawn and lasts much longer. But it is not boredom, at least it did not start out as boredom. As always it is a new discovery. It is always the new discoveries which destroy, but this one. It is different from all those which came before it.

When the cavemen discovered fire, it changed everything. The new discovery destroyed everything old and ushered in something new, a step up some would say. Then there is that realization that the world is not flat, then a whole series of major breakthroughs which of course changed our world views forever. The occasion great philosophers dotted the earth and gloried the world with their ideas and they too, forever changed the course of humanity. There was Jesus, Buddha, all the Greek godheads who came and are gone to become stories. You in the 21st century are alreaady starting to challenge a certain notion called truth, only by 3000 they will take it even further. Even in the 21st cenutry peole are curious about what the next great breakthrough and next earth shattering discovery would be that will forever change our perceptions or should I say misconceptions.

Galileo suggested that the earth was not fixed and that it was the sun which was stationary, Newton and his theory of gravity, Einstein declared that time was relative and many more scientists in the 20th century contributed greatly asked many great questions sought the magnificent answers and shaped the way everythign is understood. The reason why questions no longer became relevant by 3000 is because perhaps, the wrong kinds of questions were asked and tragically, the wrong kinds of answers were found. It may seem strange or even crazy to you that I may even suggest that answers can destroy questions. Douglas Adams discussed this when he in his way of trying to shed some light on the nature of finding ultimate questions and answers--an impossibility because his characters can never both find the ultimate question and the answer, if you have one you cannot have the other in that way you can never make full sense of it all.

I wish I can tell you Adams was right, if he was then it would have saved alot of trouble and perhaps the 31st century, but unfortunately he is wrong. By the time of 3000, the reign of science and scientists the great movers and shakers of your own millenia has long drawn to an end. It fizzled out slowly, the fierce battles between religion and science destroyed each other. The both have little life left by the 3000s--what was left were the many philosophers who have for the longest time been forgotten and left to fester in isolation, publishing works and saying things which no one gives a damn. Turns out, by 3000 they are the sole survivor of anything form of knowledge even left intact. But knowing philosophers, they have to question everythgin and destroy all assumptions--they are in other words people who can only make a mess out of things and not put them back together. Descartes of course is enough an example--he was trying to prove without a doubt the existence of god, what he did was prove that nothing can be trusted for a certainty and no one has been able to patch up his mess ever since.

The philosphers, somehow, have managed to come up with an irrefutable argument. A question and answers about the foundation of all of humanity's knowledge. Philosophers need to attack things and as always they work from the foundation up. Turns out Galileo, Einstein, Newton and all that gang of famous photos you can do a quick google on the internet were all wrong. Darwin was wrong, Jesus, Buddha and everyone preceeding had it wrong all along. It is a very simple fact about human is that they learn things by building one block on top of the other, we call it improvement. We 'improve ideas', meedle, make it better find more evidence to support our knowledges put them in shatterproof glasses so no one ever touches the core the foundation. Even if we are wrong we will be safe from finding out. But by 3000 we can no longer even fool ourselves from ourselves. All our millenias of mistakes built one on top of the other, have finally fallen to the dust. The very first caveman was wrong, Darwin the wrongest of the lot. He most famously observed the flower and the butterfly seeing how the butterfly's delicate tongue was almost designed to fit the flower to better feed on its nectar gave him the idea of evolution. Of course they fitted because the problem started long before Darwin, when the first caveman gave a distinct name to the flower and the butterfly, he had been wrong. when our ancestors first thought of themselves as separate and distinct they had made a mistake. Darwin could have been the first to discover the mistake but of course he was still too blind to humanity's own foolishness to see where his theory was pointing. Of course they fitted they are but one organism, the butterfly moves from flower to flower but really all that is one thing, it is only our system of classification which made things different. And boy, you can imagine how knowing that our most fundamental system of classification was wrong threw the world into a fit.

To make this easier for the peole of your time, just imagine what happens when bloodcells start thinking that they are distinct from other things functioning in your body--that apparently was what was driving the Earth to death. Just be thankful bloodcells have yet evolved consciousness--ok that is a bad joke on my part. By 3000, evolution is really just a good joke along with everything that has happened in human history thus far. People just stick to thinking about the everyday that is just safer, no questions thank you, no answers either. HAve a good day. No one is interested in anything anymore. No, Nietzsche was wrong, God was not dead in his time. God is dead by 3000, he is only dead when questions die. And when the last question died so too did God.

And that is why I'm back here, life without questions is just intolerable, people are trying hard to revert back into being an animal but really that is just foolishness. WE have gone to far and gone on too long to turn around now. Stuck in the middle trying to carry on, that is the hardest. Hey but knowing you, me and all of this humanity, I know you are just going to take my words as fanciful stories told by an imaginative drunk. But anyhow, that is they way I like you to take my little story, go on question this. It is the most precious thing we ever had and don't just take my word for it.