http://www.myspace.com/anamanam

a very very impressive musician i had the pleasure to hear in Philly!

ahhh im soooo happy in few mins i could pack the smallest bag i have and get out of new york! i have never been to Philly, but somehow because of a past, it still is a romantic place for me that once filled with music, love and hopes.  of course that has changed long time ago. now i am traveling to the land of autumn, to escape what has been building up in New York.  In the past mere weeks of 2007, i put an old love in a mirror and put it in front of me, hoping my life could be as fulfilled as his, and my love can be as simple and grounded.  But in less than three month, a decision needs to be made that will change my life. it could shift everything and i have to walk away from some of the most important people i ever loved. so until then, i will hold on to what i have, and ask for no more than kisses and kindness.

oh Philly, lets see how much you will inspire me. 

I’ll be your mirror
Reflect what you are, in case you don’t know
I’ll be the wind, the rain and the sunset
The light on your door to show that you’re home

When you think the night has seen your mind
That inside you’re twisted and unkind
Let me stand to show that you are blind
Please put down your hands
‘Cause I see you

I find it hard to believe you don’t know
The beauty you are
But if you don’t let me be your eyes
A hand in your darkness, so you won’t be afraid

When you think the night has seen your mind
That inside you’re twisted and unkind
Let me stand to show that you are blind
Please put down your hands
‘Cause I see you

I’ll be your mirror
(reflect what you are)

- Velvet Underground

My words were meaningless, but I couldn’t stop writing. My days were colorless, and I kept on living. I went to bed tonight at age 24, welcomed the luring bite of a beautiful vampire. He had dark hair and lovely eyes, with slender fingers and sensual lips. When he drunk my blood, I asked for a story in exchange. It was the first time he told me about you. He said the house of three witches would burn, and in the afterglow of its remains, I would see you for the first time. You would walk through the smoke and cry for their death. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. You were the unborn son of lady Macbeth, with a dagger in your soul, seeking a sweet stream, murder a suffering mermaid and take her silver pearls. You would muddle them into powders and put them in our wine. He said I would fall in love with you drinking the first glass and become your slave in sadie’s lonely songs. We would grow old together, watching politicians drown and oceans dry. Then one day I would kill you in your sleep, suffocate you with a kiss and lie next to you until the last day of mankind arrives. I woke up the next morning at age 25. My words are no longer meaningless and my days are blessed with rainbows. I never met you, but somehow I could feel you in every drop of wine, every note of music and every kiss lovers share.

when it rains, it’s like someone sends me a message, and tells me that there isn’t anything different under the sun. too many moments of coming and go, i wonder who loses direction first, it may be me, it must have been me. the day i turned 28, iron fan lost its speed, winter smiled and covered the traintracks with snow. the day you turned 28, the old guitar lost its strings, summer cried and washed the streets with rain. i sometimes wonder if i see you again, sharing a drink with mint and sugar, walking under the autumn moon. if every new beginning has a meaning, then every ending has you. if i finally escape, tell me you are happy, and tell me you will thinking of me from far, far away. i won’t remember, and i won’t forget, when u dont say a word, there is a whisper in the rain.

when London snow falls, the grey sky gathers itself into an earthly reflection. i remember quite well. youngsters whisper. the smell of vinegar. a sense of naughtiness. it’s the english disease i have, displayed on the stone beach of brighton, carved into the sand. i could still feel the green water drifting lives, washing all the broken mirrors onto the shore where I lit my first fag. the floor beneath my feet bares unspoken gaps. the ocean shivers as i reach the end of the pier. i always walk to the end and stand alone between english class and netball practice. the world is merely a velvet underground and a being could be as lovely as codling and as lonely as a popular lie. i gaze toward the ending line where sky makes sweet and silent love to the ocean. someone once said that’s the place we will all meet someday, rich and poor, beautiful and ugly, happy and sad, one day we will all meet at the line, standing together and waiting. if you are lucky, you will see a face or two that you loved along the way, smiling at you, and asking you to move on. the next morning you wake up, struggling to find a pen to write down your dreams. your phone will ring in the same tone, your dog will eat the same food, your friends will laugh at the same joke and your men will always be men. unless you move on. unless i move on. if tomorrow i board a plane and fly to that beach of cold stones, walk along the london snow and shiver with the ocean, i will never see you again until we meet someday on that line. don’t forget to smile at me and ask me to move on. after all, you always know i loved you.

**

this is what sincity does for me.. mindlessness.. thankgod im back.. bloody cold tho..

I was there! I WAS THERE!!!!!!!!

Pain. Not so much of a physical one. Such a generalized definition of all the pieces of isolated memories composed of lost loves, unfulfilled promises, that few seconds of connection that could spurt into an eternity or an eternity of nothing, all so unclear, and massively stored in her mind. “I must live.” She said to Pain yesterday. “I must live, in rain and grey, another mindless day of formulated fun and frustrations. I must clear the sky and wait for a home beyond truth. I must try. I must.”

Another day. Another year. I want to walk across the oceans and swim through forests. I want to make love to him in a language I don’t speak, sense a scent of sadness I can’t smell. I want to feel a moment of love than an eternity of loveless. I want to fall with him, holding his hand when the nuclear rainbow explodes, watching the plane takes off into the whiteness of an unknown cloud painted with the lost one’s wet brush. I want to kiss him, and sit with him, listen to the song without lyrics that give away the past or the future.

It will be the truth we breathe, even just for a second.

“i have layers in my existence, they are like filters in my veins, controlling the volume of my feelings.” i found this sentence on a sticker on my mac screen… dont even remember writing it… xanga is like a reflection of my past that no longer inspires me. it’s time to move on, after all 7 is my favorite number.