styrofoam chapel

once said my baby pink nail polish turned you on

fuck chocolate, let’s fall in love

sitting at your desk, perched upon your lap-oh

“let’s get hitched in a Styrofoam chapel”

– quickie 2k16




i’m confused by: clapping

It was in 2013 that I stopped clapping.

My clapping analysis began in the weekly school assembly. A slew of awards were being presented, each individually applauded. I felt an internal agitation surge through my body and my hands began to appear blotchy and feel tingly. I stopped clapping for each individual recipient and was immediately relived. While sitting in a crowd of clappers, not clapping felt odd at first, the realisation that the claps no longer signified any real appreciation, consoled my conscious.

I then began to wonder how many people clap at the cessation of a ceremony/performance and actually think about it; and how many people clap as a reflex response.

Clapping is disturbing. Clapping takes the calm, silent time at the conclusion of an event, during which each individual is considering and processing, turning it into a cacophony of slapping skin.

When I clap, the action immediately diverts my attention from appreciating whatever has just occurred, to the unpleasant and piercing sound of sweaty palms and the awful vibration which courses through my body upon the abrupt and forceful meeting of hands. Personally, I feel that the absence of a clap indicates a calm period of processing, acknowledgement or appreciation, during which, individuals can rest in peace with what they have just experienced.

new med dreaming 1.0

my boyfriend and i had been dating for years. for me, it was truer than love.

one morning, as we awoke in our cute terrace; situated under a bridge on a busy highway, he was too quick to rise from bed. our house was always messy with useful objects which had simply found their way out of their appropriate confines. he began to tidy with a foreign aggression, so i asked:

“what is wrong?”

he stopped and starred. dressed in a white robe, his fluffy curls covered his spectacle-d eyes and he told me that he was homosexual. i broke into pieces as microscopic and numerous as my single cells. i told him that i would not leave him. he told me i didn’t have to, so long as i could accept his true infidelities.

that afternoon, i took a long walk around our shady neighborhood. everyone wore pink wigs like natalie wore in closer, and most people passed you silently. the girls who lived on the level above us giggled as they returned home alongside me, with white bags of fluorescent coloured clothes.

as i opened the door, a pile of papers flew off the dining table and my acceptance of my lover was put to the test as i saw him making love with a man. he looked scary so i left and ran to my mother’s home for comfort.

my mother was not home, but i heard her voice in the vicinity. i walked into the asian grocery store next door to inquire. they were vague and i had almost made my way through the fan-blown plastic flaps, when i heard mother scream.

i ran up the external stair case, to find her tied to a wooden chair on the second storey balcony. the grocer’s son would not let me untie her without a reward.

for my mother’s sake, i rewarded him.


disclaimer: this is a dream and does not correlate with reality in any sense.