|Blogs > doubletrouble_hk > He Cums/She Drips|
Eight Months Ago
Eight Months Ago
Like many other little men and ladies, Ling has the habit of re-re-re-re-reading old e-mails, text messages, love letters, birthday cards, scribblings at the back of photos and beer coasters et cetera. She finds it a happy sad thing to do, a combination of innocence and experience, closures and new beginnings, aporia and non sequitur, guilt and nostalgia. Tonight, Ling was looking through her poetry collection (yeah, the project that has been indefinitely postponed, partly because she cannot be arsed lol) and she realised she had not contributed anything for three months! Ling often feels embarrassed about her writing, like showing the world her chubby knees or something lol. Then again she knows she needs crticism in order to write better.
Ling dug up the following poem from the crypt. It was written after her first meeting with Mr. SLIC (Casanova From Hell!). She was happy when she wrote it. Now she sees sadness seeping through, which she might have projected it onto Mr. SLIC at that time, or maybe it was the other way round. After all, they met up more or less because of the tragedy of Icarus (the Greek myth - go look it up, it's worth your time). It's funny how much imagination a stranger can bring us. And Mr. SLIC is an important stranger to Ling:
You are the gallery face on a
Masterpiece lined not in canvas
But thin gold leaves.
You are the unframed youth
Pondering on a big red couch
While acessorise the pallid me.
You are one plotless triptych
Intrigue not with beginnings nor ends
But gaps, flights and plunges.
You are always the boy with wings and
desires, gyrating and dancing on -
My sunbound Icarus.
Well, a very naive poem and not exactly the naivety one would found in Marcel Proust when he was 21 but it's the thoughts that count, isn't it? LOL