Ernesto Wong

C'est ne qu'un bout de bois. Un bout sec de sèche bois dont pointues échardes, si on le touche, peuvent s'enfoncer dans les doigts. On a été marron, mais maintenant l'éclat de sa couleur a passé. Le bout dont je parle est petit et plutôt laid. Quelqu'un sûrement l'a oublié à ce coin-là au lieu de le jeter avec les ordures. Mais le bout mort est rempli de vie. Ses nœuds racontent des histoires du temps passé, de les jours où on a été la fière branche d'un arbre, et sur lui ont poussé des fleurs.

When among dark shadows some lost voice mutters disturbing its sad calm; if deep within my soul I hear its sweet echo, tell me: is it that the wind in his swirls is moaning, or is it that of love your passing sighs speak to me?

When the sun on my window shines red in the morning, and my love your shade recalls; if on my mouth I think I feel of another mouth the touch, tell me: is it that in my blindness I’m delirious, or is it that in a whisper a kiss sends your heart to me?

If in the bright day and in the high somber night, if in all that surrounds the soul that wishes for you I think I feel and see you, tell me: is it that I touch and breathe in dreams, or is it that in a whisper your breath to drink you give to me?

Hmm, no. Regret is an act of conscience, which is a superior state of the psyche exclusive to human beings.

Dearest A.:

Yet again these thoughts haunt me; yet again I don't know what to do with them. Other times before I have been snowed under by them, so the give off the smell of a known enemy. Still, it feels like the first time; it always does.

I look at you and I can only think of your mouth panting on mine. You talk to me and your voice chafes my ears making my whole body stand on end. You touch me and stiffness takes hold of me, and I'm too awkward to breathe, and I just shy away. What wouldn't I give to own your mouth, to drink your voice, to touch you back! I long for you to fall asleep beside me, to wake up with me. What wouldn't I forsake in exchange!

It must be beautiful to feel my chest against your back, to take shelter on your neck, to clutch you to me as I get drunk with the smell of your skin, with your breath, with you. How wonderful it must be to softly bite your lips, to caress that mole below your cheek, so tenderly that I almost don't; what a quest to push your head back and kiss my way down to your navel, where I would gladly live all my days.

But what am I to you? Something more. Something more, you said. Well, I don't really know what that means. Not just a hello-goodbye acquaintance? Not your regular commonplace buddy? Not your ordinary all-purpose mate? Not just your friend? Too long the road and too grueling the journey; I've already been up that hill, and once you're at the top it's only down slope from there.

Such curious things, confessions. How do your peers manage to make one on this matter? Some cold lives they must live; it's not in their nature to confide. Where did yours come from? What did you mean 'something more', you fascinating unknown creature? I like to think of you as one of them. It makes those two words special. It makes the moment you spoke them special. It makes me feel special.

Did you somehow hurt me, you asked. How can I say you did? In what deluded world do I have the right to blame you? How can I be so selfish as to say out loud what I scorn myself for thinking?

So far yours,

Me.

independence restrictions... meddling...

"Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tune without the words and never stops at all", said Dickinson, and I now realize my hope has been singing for something more than a year now, waiting for the words to the tune to come, me not being able to write 'em down for my hope. Oh, Elizabeth, I couldn't even begin to count the ways I love my hope... I love it to every measure my soul can reach, to any level of everyday's most quiet need... I love it freely, purely, with passion, with faith, with a love I seemed to lose with my lost saints... I love it with the breath, smiles and tears of all my life, and I'm sure I shall but love it better after death... Because, had I the heaven's golden, silver, blue, dim, dark cloths of nigh and light, I would have spread the cloths under my hope's feet... But I had only my dreams... I spread my dreams under my hope's feet, and my hope didn't tread softly, and violently trod on my dreams...

today i´m the fool that looks for, not finding a way out for all the wasted love; today i don't care if the shaft has only thorns, or if the garden has only dry branches; today, the music is my sigh, and the paper, my kiss...

it fucks you up so much doing the impossible to see someone happy, to help someone, and see that that "someone" doesn't give a damn and thinks about you only when (s)he needs you... an irrefutable evidence of the power of affection in times of necessity... now, i DO understand that thing of "you only know friends in hard times"... when they're OK, you don't even see them, but when they're with the shit to the neck, you're their Christ... that, if you're lucky to be one of the first ones in the list, cuz if there's someone above you who helps them first, you don't see them either... friendship is that cute...
thus, i'm gradually dissapointing of all the things i used to believe in... and of all the people as well...

this is a song i wrote...

FORBIDDEN FAERY-TALES

When all they scream is
"All for one and one for all"
She tries to fly away and fails
With her wings in pieces
And her heart shed on the floor
She dreams forbidden faery-tales

Grieve and pain
Have covered the walls of her soul
She cries afraid
Out of her veins
"Can anyone help me at all?"

Thoughts have come this morning
In the shape of faded flies
Streaming 'round the darkened room
And sick of turning
The other cheek to all those lies
She crawls away from her gloom

Then she cries no more
Her sorrows are turning to pale
The pain is gone
And she will go on
Free of forbidden faery-tales

after some time of being away, i'm here again... hugs-n-kisses for my friends... hope you haven't forgotten me...

forgetting you will be easy, i can tell,
i only have to stop looking at the sea,
and blind my eyes at the stars' light,
not see the moon glowing through the glass.

forgetting you will be easy, i can tell...
i only have to rip you off my skin,
and fast close all windows and doors,
not see the coming of night or dawn.

forgetting you will be easy, i can tell...
i only have to kill this supreme feeling,
and cover the whole sun with just a thumb,
and exchange my living heart for a paper one.

forgetting you will be easy,
i only have to close my ears
to the singing of birds
and to the piercing whisper of the rivers
forgetting you will be easy, i'm telling you,
it's all about forgetting i was born.

God is a prankster. He gives man instincts. He gives you this extraordinary gift, and then what does He do? — I swear for His own amusement, His own private, cosmic gag reel — He sets the rules in opposition. It's the goof of all time! Look! - but don't touch. Touch! - but don't taste. Taste! - but don't swallow.
And while you're jumping from one foot to the next, what's he doing? He's laughing his sick, bleeping head off, he's a sadist, he's an absentee landlord! Worship that? Never!!
-Al Pacino "The Devil's Advocate"
Satan (a.k.a John Milton)

this is taken from a matchbox twenty song... 'Bent'...

"... and when my smile gets old and faded, wait around, i'll smile again..."

maybe i'll make an icon with that verse... let's see...

WHICH INTERVIEW WITH A VAMPIRE CHARACTER ARE YOU??


Armand

WHICH NIGHTWISH MEMBER ARE YOU??


"This is me forever one of the lost
ones..."
You are Tuomas, the soul, the spirit of music of
the band!
The poet who seeking for hope inside the nature,the
dark,the love,inside the world...inside his
self!
Those tales of him showing us the beauty of a lost
soul!
Oh,if only your hearts had a home!

i'm doing kinda the same as zectorzero... keeping in here everything i don't wanna forget... this one is really special...

"If", by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!

"All men have the stars, but they are not the same things for different people. For some, who are travelers, the stars are guides. For others they are no more than little lights in the sky. For others, who are scholars, they are problems. For my businessman they were wealth. But all these stars are silent. You--you alone--will have the stars as no one else has them-- In one of the stars I shall be living. In one of them I shall be laughing. And so it will be as if all the stars were laughing, when you look at the sky at night . . . You--only you--will have stars that can laugh! And when your sorrow is comforted (time soothes all sorrows) you will be content that you have known me. You will always be my friend. You will want to laugh with me. And you will sometimes open your window, so, for that pleasure . . . And your friends will be properly astonished to see you laughing as you look up at the sky! Then you will say to them, 'Yes, the stars always make me laugh!' And they will think you are crazy. It will be a very shabby trick that I shall have played on you... It will be as if, in place of the stars, I had given you a great number of little bells that knew how to laugh... You know, it will be very nice. I, too, shall look at the stars. All the stars will be wells with a rusty pulley. All the stars will pour out fresh water for me to drink . . ."

--- this ain't mine... of course not... it's from The Little Prince, Antoine de Saint-Exupery... but i just want it to post it here, cuz i'm one of the many people who think that nothing in the universe stays the same if somewhere, we don't know where, a sheep we don't know has eaten a rose...

Your Seduction Style: The Natural

You don't really try to seduce people... it just seems to happen. Fun loving and free spirited, you bring out the inner child in people. You are spontaneous, sincere, and unpretentious - a hard combo to find! People drop their guard around you, and find themselves falling fast.

What happens when you wake up one day and you realize that you're loving someone without wanting to anymore? I know it sounds crazy, but it's possible. You tell to yourself: "What are you doing? It isn't worth it!" or "There's no reason at all" or simply "You can't!". Oh, but you can't stop feeling, cuz you're human... You just ask yourself why are you loving so much, and of course, you won't find the answer. Maybe you know that so much love is pure nonsense, or just your love interest is just the kind of person you couldn't by no means love in normal circumstances, but still you're inlove and you don't want to... and what's more important even, you don't know what to do to stop it. It's like breathing... try to stop breathing long enough and you'll surely die... Is it that love, after some time, becomes a reflex you just can't help?

i made this kinda stupid quiz, and here's what i got...

Today is a day of personal rediscovering. I've been accused of messing around with people's lifes withouth caring about the consequences, trying the impossible to really piss someone off (of course, someone who, to my understanding, really deserves it) and not minding at all if that someone was or could by some strange providence be a friend of mine, or something like it. And here's my answer: YES I DO! I DO mess aroun with people's lifes withouth caring 'bout the consequences; I DO try the impossible to piss someone off, and I DON'T mind at all if that someone was or could be an intimate. Ah, read carefully where I say "was or could be". Notice I don't mention "is" in that list. Above all things, I respect my intimates and leave them out of my weird f*cked-up "Kill 'em all" philosophy. It's just that if I don't like someone, I do everything in my hands to make her/his life unbearable. I know that's not very human or polite, but is it THAT bad?